Loving Dean (Mafia Generations Book 3)

by Roxanne Greening

  My chest ached as if a fist were clenching and squeezing my heart. My eyes burned, and my head hurt from a lack of fluids. I was becoming weak and shaky, dehydration was setting in.

  I had cried so much that the tears should have been all dried up and a lake should have been by my feet. They should have been waterlogged from sitting in my tears.

  Mia had come by yesterday begging me to go home, and shower. I smelled of this hospital and my own bodily fluids. Basically, I reeked.

  At times when I was lost in my head, I would wonder if this smell would seep into my bones and never leave. Then the doctors moved my dad to a hospice house, which is a hospital of sorts for patients that are close to dying.

  The sound of the phone ringing resulted in me jumping slightly in my seat. That thing never rang, who the hell would be calling us?

  I stood on shaky legs, my body moved on its own accord. I watched in a daze as the ringing of the phone grew louder as my hand latched onto the plastic handle.

  The plastic was cool like the room, a nice comfortable seventy-two degrees. At least that’s what the nurse told me. I couldn’t really tell what the temperature was, and I honestly didn’t care.

  Pressing it to my ear, I listened as some telemarketer tried to sell me something. Anger started to boil in my blood.

  “You shouldn’t call here,” I tell her, my voice cold and flat.

  She continued to spiel some shit from a pre-written speech on a piece of paper.

  “This is a place where people come to die, lose the number and don’t call here again,” I tell her before placing the phone calmly back on its cradle.

  His breathing became more labored, taking longer in between inhales. My eyes were swollen already and filled with more heated tears.

  I could feel it deep inside of me whispering to my soul. It wouldn’t be long before he was gone. Minutes, hours?

  The air felt heavier and more suffocating. The cold had seeped into my body chilling me. My body was stiff as I slowly lowered down back in the chair. My dad’s hand once again gripped mine.

  How I longed to feel him tighten his hand just a little, but it was limp and heavy in my hand. His veins were stark against his frail hand. His skin was pale and cold.

  Then there was a knock at the door, and I turned towards it. As it slowly opened, my world started crumbling in one long drawn out breath. The nurse’s blond hair was pulled into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. Her medical scrub pants were a cheery pink color, and it was accompanied by her scrub top that was covered in little pink foxes.

  I wondered, was it getting colder in here? Is that why he was felt so cold? I leaned over and pulled the blanket higher. There was a little blue and red quilt covered in little sailboats covering his legs and a standard white hospital blanket under it covering the rest of him.

  At some point during the week, he all but stopped producing urine, and my dad’s catheter bag was low. Weeks ago, it would have been filled and emptied sooner. Or maybe they were emptying it when I wasn’t in the room?

  I watched as she pulled the stethoscope off her neck and placed the round end against his chest. Her eyes were somber and full of pity as they rose to meet mine.

  “Is it bad?” I whispered.

  “Maybe a few more minutes,” she said.

  This wasn’t her first time, and I was sure it wouldn’t be her last. I leaned over and pressed my lips to my dad’s forehead. I tried to take small even breaths as he fought to get the oxygen he needed to keep living.

  God, why did it hurt so bad? It felt like the world was closing in on me. Like there was a darkness entering the room and sucking all the life from it.

  Those tears continued to burn trails down my face. They felt like they were burning a trail down my cheek. I kept his hand in mine as I whispered how much I loved him into his ear.

  His lungs were rising less and less and soon they stopped. I thought it was over, but then he started breathing again. The nurse jumped slightly the third time this happened. By the fifth, I was begging for her to help him along.

  “Give him something to help him go,” I cried.

  When she put that syringe in his IV, my world felt darker. I had uttered the words to finish him off, to help him go over the edge and to the other side. I killed my father.

  The knowledge was painful and intense. It was a moment that would haunt my every sleeping moment. It would hold onto my nightmares and grip me during the day.

  The nurse informed me that there was a snowstorm outside. She asked me to leave the room while she cleaned my dad and prepared him for the final goodbyes.

  But I held onto the promise to never leave him, to stay until it was over. I stood over the nurse’s shoulder watching as she pulled his IVs, but turned when she cleaned him.

  When the nurse was finished, she rushed from the room. She tossed over her shoulder the message that she would call the funeral home. I didn’t reply, there was nothing to say. I just sat back down in my chair and held onto his hand.

  Hours passed, and his body turned cold forever ago. Who knew your body turned cold only moments after you were gone? Blood drained and pooled no longer able to flow without the beating of his heart.

  My lungs moved. Each breath hurt more and more. I looked at the clock and realized that I had held my dad’s hand for the last three hours. Just sitting with him as his body changed and looked less and less like he did just hours before.

  I could hear the wheels before I saw the person pushing the stretcher. They had finally come for him. Tears still flowed but sobs were lodged deep within.

  They all pleaded with me to leave the room. This wasn’t something someone should see they said. I just ignored them. Instead, I went and sat at the little table and closed my eyes.

  I couldn’t watch what was coming. I couldn’t stand to see them tag my dad’s foot or lift him up. But I heard every moment of it. The sound of his flesh sliding along the lining of the green canvas body bag. The sounds of his body as it pressed into the stretcher. The zipper as it closed. Each new sound became marked on my soul.

  Through it all, I knew one thing. I would never forget this night, the night I killed a man. The night I kept a promise to the only family I had left, even if it changed and destroyed me.

  I held strong as they wheeled him down the hall and out to the waiting vehicle. I held strong as Mia came and picked me up and tried to coax a conversation from me. I held onto my sanity until the door to my apartment clicked closed. That’s when my world finally fell apart. That’s when the sobs I had been holding back erupted from someplace deep within. My body shook as they left my body. I tried to hold myself together, but I knew I was failing.

  Something changed inside me, something died with him tonight. I knew one thing for sure, I would never be the same.

  Chapter 11

  Charlotte

  Two Months Ago.

  They say time heals the wounds left on the heart. That I would eventually feel better and it would eventually hurt less. My dad haunted my dreams, questioning why I killed him.

  My waking moments were filled with a hollow loss that I didn’t understand. For two weeks after I received my dad’s ashes, I slept barely three feet from the urn.

  Guilt ate at my soul, shredding it. I couldn’t escape him, I couldn’t escape any of it. Winter had set in hard, and I couldn’t bring myself to wear a winter coat. The sounds of the zipper reminded me of the body bag. It was a reminder of that night.

  How do people move on from this? How did they not succumb to the grief and guilt? How could I see past this?

  When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. Yes, it was me, but something was different. This experience tarnished me, diminished and shaped me into something I couldn’t figure out.

  My hands shook as I sat on the couch. It was soft and comfortable, but I felt nothing. Grief has blinded me and made me hollow. I bet if someone tapped on me, there would be an echoing sound.

&
nbsp; I wanted to drink myself into a stupor. Drown out my dad’s voice and his suffering. I wanted the cold, harsh memories of his true nasty nature to make me feel better for my crimes.

  But with his death, those haunting memories left me. I forgave him in the end and in doing so opened myself to a new world of hurt and despair.

  How long will I be trapped in this dark, cold place? Will there ever be a moment where I was warm and free?

  Chapter 12

  Dean

  One Month Ago.

  Her hair was limp, not the usual glossy brown that drew my eyes like a moth to a flame. Her eyes were glassy as unshed tears filled them, only for her to blink them back.

  She was lost in herself, and I could see her drowning under the weight. I wanted nothing more than to help her. Confusion filled me, why the fuck do I want to help her? I barely know this woman.

  I couldn’t stop my curiosity. What caused her so much pain? What happened that forced her to draw in on herself? Fuck! I was going to find out. Something about her made me feel this need to protect, this instinct I only felt for my family was swirling inside me.

  I watched as she filled another cup of coffee and placed a cover on it. She was going through the motions, I knew the signs, and I had to be wrong. She was feeling guilty. And if my feeling were right, she took a life.

  Who? Who did she kill? The idea that she committed the ultimate crime drew me to her even more. She was like a butterfly with a damaged wing. She was desperate to live, and her beauty shined through even at the harshest of times.

  I watched as the line moved forward and her head lowered as she continued her tasks. She made another coffee and some frou-frou thing with whipped cream.

  Her hands shook slightly, and I watched as she took a deep breath and stilled the shaking. She was coming to terms with the pain, fighting to keep strong and my admiration for her grew.

  When I finally reached the counter, she turned to me. I watched as the fire that lurked beneath her surface start to reflect towards me.

  Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned pink under my scrutiny. She felt what I did, and it scared the fuck out of me.

  I killed people, tracked them, watched them and then ended their life, and she scared the fuck out of me. This little slip of a woman instilled fear where I’ve never felt it before.

  Her fingers brushed mine as she placed the cup in my outstretched hand. The pink in her cheeks darkened, and I could almost see the heat pulsing off her cheeks.

  A war broke out inside of me. Should I stay and figure this out or go and do my job.

  You could always watch her later, my mind whispered,

  like a fucking crazed stalker. Even as I thought it, I knew that’s exactly what I would be doing.

  My feet moved me forward even though I wanted to stay planted right where I was. She had a job to do, and so did I.

  The door silently closed behind me as I made my way down the sidewalk. My target would be getting home right about now, probably with another woman from his office. Another notch on his bedpost.

  He wasn’t a very attractive man. I had no idea how he kept women interested, it was like they were in heat. But he still shed them like yesterday’s dirty clothes, every time.

  Not that I was much better, I didn’t have much room to judge. It was something that irked my mother to no end. She was hoping I would find a nice girl and settle down. Maybe pop out a few grandchildren to soothe her baby fever.

  As I turned down Stevens Ave, my feet silently hit the paved sidewalk over and over. I was growing closer to my destination. Portland was a big city, and lots of shit happens here.

  My father agreed with my desire to move to this city. We needed a hitman here, and they only lived a few hours away. The family has been branching out and started sending more and more of us out into the other cities. This made completing hits much easier. Also, it made their reach much more dangerous to those who cross the line.

  Tony, my next hit, believed he could share a few details about our organization and that no one would be the wiser. The mole was ferreted out by feeding different information to different people.

  My uncle Kell sat back and waited for someone to take the bait and tighten the noose around their own necks. The information this man had was nothing that could hurt the family, but he didn’t know that. That’s probably why he wasn’t offered witness protection.

  No one said Tony was the smartest. He took a chunk of money they offered and was out blowing it on bullshit. Maybe that’s what kept the girls coming, it was the money.

  Today wasn’t Tony’s day, but I’ll let him get his rocks off first before I killed him. Sipping the dark brew, I leaned against the brick wall and watched him with his lady friend.

  She looked bored as Tony stuck his dick in her and did his thing. Her moans were as fake as the shit Kell feed him.

  The poor man couldn’t get anything right. He fed false information to the cops, and he couldn’t pleasure a woman. What fucking good, was he? I was helping the world by eliminating another loser.

  I thought I would be here for a while. I mean, whenever I fucked a woman, I made sure it lasted longer than the fifteen minutes Tony was giving this woman.

  I watched in fascination as she pulled her dress back down covering her ass. She didn’t even bother pulling it off, must be a repeat performance.

  Her heels slipped effortlessly onto her feet as she leaned into him for a quick kiss. His hand slipped from her waist as he greedily squeezed her ass. I couldn’t see her face, but I’m sure she was wincing at the harsh hold.

  He was talking, and I could see his mouth move and her head nod. He was probably promising to take her out or another round of what he called sex. I called it lazy fucking.

  As the woman walked out the front door, I slipped into the back door. I timed it and closed the door when she closed the front door.

  Tony was walking into the kitchen, probably looking to eat after his exertion. The man wasn’t in shape, his overly round stomach was a testament to that. So, I’m sure that was a lot of work. The thought had a laugh erupting quietly from my mouth.

  His eyes connected with mine, and I give him a nice toothy smile. It was a smile of a predator. I could see the dots connecting in his head as he swallowed. I was sure he had some good curse words.

  “Dean,” he said cordially.

  “Tony,” I said quietly. I wasn’t informed you were stopping by,” he said in a scratchy.

  I wanted to laugh at the look of fear filling his eyes. He knew why I was here, but I would play along.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” I told him.

  “Oh, did you move?” he asked.

  “You could say that,” I tell him with another smile.

  “Want a beer?” he asked me.

  What the fuck, why not.

  “Sure,” I gave him a nod of approval.

  I could see the relief on his face. He thought this beer was a sign that he was in the clear.

  “Did you know we had a mole?” I asked him as I grasped the cold, long neck bottle in my hand. I already finished my coffee, and the cup was crushed and, in my pocket, waiting to be disposed of later. I couldn’t leave evidence behind, and I wasn’t going to jail over a coffee cup.

  “No,” he tells me, his voice slightly unsteady.

  Anticipation filled me as the thought of what was going to happen came to mind. How long before I ended him? They wanted me to take my time, something I relished in.

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Tony,” I tell him, pointing to the wooden chair slightly pushed out from the matching wood kitchen table.

  “Ss sure,” he stuttered and plopped hard in the chair. It caused a scrapping sound echo around us.

  “Do you know why I’m here, Tony?” I ask him, my voice low and cold.

  “Nnnnooo,” he stuttered and stumbled.

  “I’m here to kill a rat,” I tell him as I walked closer to him. His eyes grew larger, filling with the cold fear I knew I
was instilling in him.

  Instead of stopping in front of him, I walked behind him grabbing a handful of his hair. I waited for a beat thinking if he was going to try and run?

  He shook like a leaf in the harsh wind. He was weak, and it made me sigh in disgust. Our world was harsh, and it took a strong person to survive it. Tony here wasn’t strong at all.

  Pulling his head back, I forced it forward and watched as his head slammed into the solid wood surface of the dark table top. The shock waves vibrated up my arm.

  I made sure he was out before I tied his feet to the legs and his wrists to the arms of the chair. Pulling the little roll of tools from the inside pocket of my coat, I slowly unrolled it on the smooth surface.

  When Tony awoke, he saw all my little instruments. He would watch which one I was going to use next before I punctured his flesh with it.

  Looking around, I make sure to lock the door and close all of the curtains. The only window in the room was over the sink.

  I placed plastic under his chair, over the table, and around the surrounding floor.

  I pulled the chair across from him closer to his before I sat down. Sipping my beer, I waited for him to wake up. My fingers moved gently over the shiny metal. I was debated where to start.

  Chapter 13

  Charlotte

  One Month Ago.

  He’d been here, standing in line waiting for a coffee. His warm fingers had brushed against mine as I placed his cup in his hand.

  Warmth had filled me, washing away some of the sting that I’ve been suffering from these last few months. I hated and loved my moments with my mystery wine man.

  Knowing he would never be mine made me hate every encounter we had. Although, he washed away my pain, and I wanted to know how he did that. At the same time, I didn’t want him to go anywhere and asking him would have him running for the hills.

  A man that hot couldn’t be single, not that he’s given me any sign he wanted me. For a brief moment, I pretended that we could be something and all this hurt was a distant memory. And that I was a whole person, untainted by the death and destruction a human could cause.