Most of the kids in school are getting into their limos to go to the Hamptons for post-grad parties, planning to get drunk and party. Meanwhile, my father and I step into the back of our Rolls Royce, heading to one of our warehouses in Long Island.
Sitting side by side in the back seat, my father takes a small black box from inside his suit jacket. “Open it.” The warmth in my father’s tone from earlier has disappeared.
I use my thumbs to pry the box open. It’s a gold crucifix. I let my fingers touch the simple chain. Every member of the family wears this. Everyone’s got ink, too. The Borignone insignia.
“You aren’t getting inked,” he says, reading my mind. I move my head in confusion. “When you’re in college, you have to focus. I don’t want people seeing you and automatically knowing you belong to us. You’ve gotta be smarter. Cleaner.”
I look into his electric eyes. “Yes, sir.” I keep my mouth in a firm line, my attention solely on him.
“And you don’t wear this until tonight is complete.”
I shut the box, sliding it into my pocket. I’m not sure what tonight will bring, but I’m ready for anything.
I may have a propensity for books, but I take my fighting and gun skills very seriously. People like to think that today’s mob families are less dangerous and powerful as they once were. Well, that’s an utter lie. We’re just better at cloaking ourselves in legitimate work. Regardless, behind the surface of intellect and schooling, I still have my father’s blood running through my veins.
During the ride, tiny pieces of doubt creep inside my head, but I shove them down, focusing on my future. It’s time for me to man up and accept my destiny. Scenery passes by in a blur; before I know it, the city skyline is behind us. The traffic, as usual, is ridiculous on the Long Island Expressway.
“I swear to God, Vincent.” He lowers the window before taking out a cigarette and lighting up. “They could add a tenth lane to this motherfucking highway and there would still be bumper-to-bumper traffic at any hour of the day. Fucking bullshit.”
“I heard the mayor is creating this traffic on purpose as punishment or some shit, for someone in the political arena for not supporting him.”
My father laughs. “That’s life. Tit for tat. Someone should leak that shit to the Post.”
Other than that comment, he sits beside me without a sound. Completely unmoving, other than taking slow and deep drags of his cigarette. A lesser man may be afraid by his silent demeanor, by the way he’s trained his eyes to show no emotion. The government would argue Antonio Borignone is an enemy of the United States. They wouldn’t be wrong.
About an hour later, we step out of the car and stand in front of a huge warehouse; the combination of heat and recently smoked cigarettes permeate the air. Sweat drips down my sides, dampening my starched Armani button-down shirt.
My father opens the heavy gray door and has me walk ahead of him; I’d be lying if I said exhilaration wasn’t the primary thing I feel.
The warehouse is dim and damp. We strut through towers of gun-filled wooden crates while my father’s shoes clap against the concrete floors, echoing through the space.
Standing at the top of a concrete staircase, my father taps my back. I look into his eyes and he nods, telling me in his own way that what I’m about to see and do will probably change my life forever. I stare at him unblinking, communicating that I’m ready.
I move ahead of him, my steps measured as I walk down the narrow staircase.
I smell it first: a twisted mixture of piss, puke, and blood. Two young-looking guys, at least from what I can tell beneath their broken faces, sit in plastic chairs. Their arms and legs are bound together with cable ties. They’re crying like little bitches, noses broken, eyes blackened and shut. Pools of liquid saturate the floor under their chairs.
“Jesus Christ,” I say out loud, lip curling in disgust. A tightening sensation moves deep within my bones.
I swallow hard and take a moment to look around. All the men in the family are here, jaws tense. My heart thumps. I crack my neck from left to right, relieving the tension before moving to my knuckles.
“Finish ‘em.” The order leaves my father’s lips as easily as if he were telling me to take out the trash.
I’ve beaten up plenty of guys in the past, but killing—this is something new to me. I neatly pull off my suit jacket and hand it to my father, as if I have all the time in the world. I look around the room again. If the family wants these men dead, they must have done something deserving of this ending. Borignone mafia doesn’t kill for nothing. But if you fuck with one of ours, payment will be due.
I nod at the ten Capos around me, giving my respect. And then I turn to the two men seated in front of me. Before I can question myself further, I pull out my gun and steady my hands, shooting each of them directly in the head. Their brain matter splatters around them, black and red, like some fucked-up Jackson Pollock painting.
My father places his hand on my shoulder, letting me know without words, that I completed the duty. I immediately turn the safety of my gun back on, sliding it into my holster. The men’s faces register pride.
“These two gangbanged Sammy’s daughter out in Central Islip a few weeks ago.” I open and close my fists a few times. Sammy is an associate who we all love. He isn’t here tonight, of course. But I know his daughter, Allison, well. She’s a thirteen-year-old girl who I would guess is on the Autism spectrum. No one talks about it since weakness isn’t ever discussed within the family. Here, we only strengthen our strengths. But she and I play math games together during Sunday night dinners. I’ve told my father already that when she’s of age, we need to get her to help us manipulate some numbers; her ability is off the damn charts. And these motherfuckers hurt her? Took advantage of a disabled child?
I pull my gun out again, shooting each of these bastards again, and again, picturing sweet Allison in my head. I wish I could revive them just to kill them again. When I’m finished, I see the back of my father’s suit as he walks over to the bodies, his shiny black Ferragamos clapping against the gray concrete. He leans over the dead men, spitting on them.
“Chop ‘em up before you burn the bodies,” he demands. One by one, each man in the family steps up to me, shaking my hand.
Single file, we walk toward another door in the back, entering a new room. It’s small and completely wood-paneled, smelling distinctly of cedar. The table in the center is huge, taking up most of the space. My father pulls out a large knife with a jewel-encrusted handle and turns to me. “This part of your induction will represent sharing of blood. This is the Family,” he says, gesturing to the men around us. “Nothing else comes before it. Leaving is only possible in a coffin.”
He lifts my hand, slowly slicing the center of my palm with the knife. Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt at all; my adrenaline is so high right now; I can’t feel a thing. My blood beads up to the surface of my skin. Taking a piece of white parchment paper from the table, he turns my hand over, letting it drip onto the sheet. The paper is then passed from man to man until reaching my father again.
He lights a match, setting the bloodied paper aflame. “Repeat after me,” he says with a nod. “Honor. Allegiance. Family.” With a steady voice, I repeat the oath, sealing my fate.
“There’s still a little more, Vincent.” He taps my back, motioning for me to follow him again. He brings me into another room, crates piled low to the ground. The men circle me.
“We all know how fuckin’ smart you are. You all know that my son graduated Tri-Prep tonight? Columbia is coming this fall.” They do a slow clap at first, which turns into whistles and hollers. “Sound mind, sound body. Now, show us what you can do in the ring.”
I turn my head left and right. A few men wearing ski masks walk inside the circle. I can tell by the way they move their feet that they are trained fighters. Luckily for me, I’m a machine.
The family doctor stitches me up before sending me back to the townhouse. I walk up a fe
w floors until I get to my bathroom. Dropping to my white tile floor, I vomit into the toilet bowl.
“What have I done?” I sit up against the cold marble wall, willing my body to stop shaking. I feel my teeth chattering in my mouth, but I can’t will them to stop.
Dropping my head in my hands, I roughly grab my hair. The night’s events need to be compartmentalized. I’m not a pussy. I can handle this. Somehow, I force myself up to stand in front of the mirror.
I grip the sink hard, my knuckles shaking with the pressure. “I’m a made man. This is my destiny.” My voice is quiet. I look at myself harder, moving closer to the glass and repeating the words. I need my brain to believe! “I’m a made man. This is my mother-fucking DESTINY!” I scream, punching the glass with my fist, shattering the mirror to pieces.
***
A taxi honks his horn and I’m brought back to the present. Shit, I need to calm the fuck down. I let an image of Eve float into my head and somehow, I exhale the tightness in my chest. It’s not just how stunning she is. It’s more. It’s the way she moves. Thinks. Breathes. How she sees more than just the sum of my parts. When people look at me—with the family or during my fights—they see the muscles and the anger and a good-looking face. When people look at me in school, they see an image that Daniela projects. Somehow, my life has become increasingly fragmented. But with Eve? I’m whole. She’s someone I can’t afford to lose.
I lean against the railing when the balcony door opens It’s Tom. He moves next to me, lighting up his cigarette. “Fuck, it’s getting cold,” he mumbles, rubbing his hands together like we’re on the Titanic.
“Why don’t you bring yourself a sweater from inside? Maybe make a hot chamomile tea while you’re at it?”
He laughs. “Erez is coming in from Israel next week. How many men of his do you think we’ll need? They’ll have to be ready by spring.”
“I expect things to be pretty tense when we get there. I already know the Tribal Council isn’t down with us partnering up with them. We may need around fifty guys to convince them otherwise.”
Tom exhales smoke. “Fuck, yeah. It’s time to take what’s ours.” He spits off the balcony. “Don’t let that bitch derail us now, true? You’ve gotta keep your head on the prize. You’ve got to be all about your girl right now. And I don’t mean the tiny one with the big brown eyes. I mean the snake with red hair and claws.”
“Yeah.” I flick some ash off the balcony. The lie burning my throat. There’s no way in hell I’m going to have Eve near me and not make her mine.
“So, you won’t talk to her anymore?” He drops his cigarette on the concrete balcony floor, stepping on it with his shoe. “I know your vague answers. You say ‘yeah yeah yeah,’ but in the end, you always do whatever the fuck you wanna do.” His voice is harder now.
“Think before you speak, brother,” I reply firmly, daring him with my eyes to spew more bullshit at me. We stare at each other wordlessly, aggression fueling our stances.
“Fuck, Vince!” he seethes, stepping closer to me. “Swear to me you’ll stay away from her! We’ve got plans. The family needs you to stay on the path. Shit between you and Eve almost ruined everything for us last year. Since that bitch, you can’t even be with another girl! You know I’ve been telling you that it feels like a storm is brewing at the ports. On top of that, we can’t be left with this much dirty cash. It’s a bad recipe.”
I grab his shirt, lifting him to my face. “Don’t call her a bitch.”
“Calm the fuck down,” he yells. “I’m not the enemy!”
I try to blink the rage out of my vision. When I finally let go, he shakes out his shoulders, still fuming.
“She’s turned you inside out. You don’t want any pussy other than hers? Fine. Keep being a damn monk. You used to fuck a different girl every night!”
“Who I fuck is none of your goddamn business!”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He steps up. “That fake relationship you’ve got going on with Daniela directly affects all of us. We aren’t done with her yet. And we both know that if you cut shit off with her too soon, we’ll be up in a shit storm. You know how long they could put us away for?” His voice tempers at the end, but it does nothing to chill my anger.
My lips curl in fury. “Don’t fuckin’ lecture me. You think I don’t know every detail of what you’re talking about? I’ve got it under control. Whatever is going on with Eve has nothing to do with this!” I breathe heavily.
His eyes widen and he lets out a cackle. “Control? You find a girl with a face wars are fought over, and you think you can pull off control?”
“Yes. For her, I will do whatever it takes. Once I get this shit off the ground in Nevada—”
“You know what? You aren’t thinking.” He starts breathing hard, gripping the railing in rage. “Eve will cause a clusterfuck for the family. Let. Her. Go. You think you can keep a relationship alive with Daniela while having Eve? It’s hard enough for you to be fake with Daniela right now, despite the fact that you haven’t fucked her in ages. Your temper with her is borderline abusive. Three weeks ago at that charity event? The photos of the two of you don’t look fucking convincing. Daniela will catch wind of another woman, brother. And when she does, there will be hell to pay for all of us.”
“I’ll talk to Eve. I’ll explain everything, and she’ll get it.”
“That girl’s got her finger hooked into your heart, and getting reacquainted with her again after working so hard on trying to move on, is going to fuck. You. Up.” He looks at me with an incensed expression and I turn to him with an even angrier one.
“Don’t talk to me like that, motherfucker. Not now, and not ever!” I take a heavy step toward him, and Tom immediately shuffles back. Instead of hitting him like I ache to do, I pull out another cigarette and light up.
“You don’t give a fuck about anything but that girl. That much is clear.”
I stare at his ashen face, taking another step closer until we’re barely an inch apart. I use my height to my advantage, staring down at him.
“The family always comes first, but I’ll never be fucking done with her. Understand? Never. I will walk through fire to keep her. And the next time you question me and my authority, I’ll break your fucking face.” My voice is quiet, but the rage simmers beneath my skin.
“Well, you’ll have to walk through shit worse than fire in prison, ‘cause that’s where you’ll be if you can’t keep your dick in your pants and eye on the prize. Until we get our new business running, there are no other options.”
The doorbell rings. Tom turns from me, stepping back into the apartment and sliding the balcony door shut behind him. I watch as he opens the front door and hands the delivery guy some cash from his back pocket. Dropping the pie on the coffee table, he opens the door and pops his head into the balcony again. “Hey fucker, come in and let’s eat.”
I walk back inside and we dig in, our conversation shelved for now. I’m biting into a hot slice, my mind running rampant when his phone pings. He lifts it off the coffee table to read the text. “Wanna fight tonight?” He looks me up and down, my posture rigid. “Looks like you could let out some steam.” He raises his brows and leans back on the couch, crossing his feet on the coffee table and biting into his pizza.
I nod my head. “Fuck yeah.”
Three hours later, I’m in the basement of some underground warehouse, kicking the shit out of some faceless guy. And man, does it feel good.
CHAPTER 9
EVE
My entire day passes in a blur. I clean my dorm room and then get to studying. Before I know it, it’s nearing five o’clock. I need to wash up and get dressed before Janelle comes. After showering and putting myself together as decently as I can, I hear a knock at my door. I swing it open and see my beautiful sister, blonder than usual.
“Nice hair!” My head pounds with nerves, but I want to keep it together until it’s time to fess up.
“Thanks. I felt like lightening
it up a few days ago.” She fluffs her roots with her fingertips as she struts into the room, her black booties clapping on the wooden floors. “I can’t wait to rearrange all the furniture.”
Janelle is so creative; I’m sure she’ll find a way to maximize my space. Our tiny room in the Blue Houses could have been horrible. But between her little touches and the way she set up our beds and my desk, she was able to transform the space into a small oasis. “Well, what do you think we should do with the place?”
“First of all, we need to push the beds together and make you a king. Then, we can ask your RA to get rid of this extra desk.” She walks to the door, staring at the room from a different angle. “Should we do Target or Bed Bath for fresh bedding? Honestly, Eve, I’m sick of looking at those old sheets. They’re old and full of shitty memories.”
My eyes widen. “Janelle, I don’t want to spend—”
She puts her hand up. “Je-sus, Eve. Stop with that shit! It’s not that expensive, and knowing you, you probably haven’t spent a dime of your grant money for anything other than books. That money is meant for you to actually live! I’ve been doing well in tips, too. You’re buying yourself new sheets and maybe even a few pillows for the big bed we’re about to set up for you. And then we’ll reorganize the room and order in some takeout! Oh—maybe we should get you a small table too, with two chairs? There’s room for that now.”
“Here we go…” I say under my breath, nervous that Janelle is going to take this whole room rearrangement to an absurdly expensive degree.
“Now sit down. Let me put you together before we leave.” I drop into the seat at my desk, knowing that with Janelle, there is no room for negotiation. Luckily, it only takes her a few minutes to apply eyeliner, mascara, and a little blush on my face. Moments later, we’re knocking on my resident advisor’s door to make a small request before heading to Bed Bath and Beyond.
Reckoning (Vincent and Eve #2) Page 8
