by Amy Rachiele
“What’s the matter, Megan? Can’t you talk?” He torments even more, and I roar with laughter.
“Stop...please...” I try to get out, but my words are cut off as I attempt to suck in air.
A knock on the door halts us.
“Meg? Are you okay?” It’s Erin.
“Yeah,” I call out. My response is fuzzy from wrestling.
“Are you guys hungry? Vito made dinner.”
“We’ll be out in a sec,” Antonio yells to her and lifts off me. He gets his shirt from the floor and slips it on. I lay on the bed panting. “It smells good,” he comments.
Antonio reaches down and helps me up off the bed. He caresses my hips and draws me in, kissing me sweetly. I can’t resist, and I wrap my arms around his neck, drinking him in before we head out to the kitchen.
At the table, there are four dishes filled with frittata. A huge loaf of Italian bread sits in the middle of the table. Everything looks delicious. The whole scene reminds me of South Bend. When we stayed at the suite at Notre Dame, there were many nights that Vito cooked. We all sat together to have a family dinner, and I miss it. Doing something as simple as sharing a meal together has been lost these three weeks while Antonio has been chasing his Uncle.
I notice that is it dark now and wonder how long Antonio can stay before he has business to take care of. I push the unwanted thought away, determined to savor the time I have.
We sit down, and Antonio slices up some crusty bread and gives me a piece. Vito digs right into his plate.
“So, have you started packing?” Antonio asks Erin in light conversation.
“No,” she says.
We eat quietly for a while.
“This is wonderful,” I say to Vito. I am always floored by his skills in the kitchen. If this mob thing doesn’t work out, he could always be a chef, I think comically.
He shrugs as though embarrassed by my accolades.
Dinner ends just as quietly as it began. Antonio and I clean up the dishes, putting them in the apartment-sized dishwasher and let it run. There seems to be an elephant in the room, but I’m not sure what it is...I’m sure, though, that something is bothering Antonio. It’s not at the surface; it is buried deep down. His outward appearance shows the same breathtaking, handsome, mobster.
After the kitchen is cleaned up, Antonio sits on the couch, and I lie down, resting my head in his lap. Vito and Erin each sit in a chair. Vito mindlessly presses the channel button on the remote. Like a typical man, he never slow down enough to watch to see if a show is something he might like. He just goes around and around, like a Ferris wheel until he arbitrarily stops on a station that is running the Three Stooges. Erin and I both groan. I’ve never found them funny. Vito and Antonio howl with laughter. I just don’t see the humor, even finding it repulsive at times. I close my eyes instead of watching, and revel in the contentment as Antonio strokes my hair. It feels so good that I could fall asleep again.
I hear, rather than see, Erin pick up her book off the coffee table, settling in for a relaxing evening. Antonio’s occasional laughter echoes in his chest.
Erin falls asleep between episodes, and I am in a profoundly relaxed state. Vito reaches over and takes the book out of her hand, careful to hold its page. Leaning down, he lifts her in his arms and carries her to her room. Her head is pressed against his shoulder as she sleeps peacefully. I very subtly notice him incline his head down to hers affectionately, pressing his lips to the top of her head. I look away hurriedly. It is an intimacy that catches me off guard.
Antonio flicks off the TV and we go to my room. There is a weight on him, despite his appearance and behavior this evening watching that ridiculous show.
I reach into my drawers and find a pair of fleece pajama pants and a cozy white t-shirt for bed.
“You won’t need those,” a husky voice says from behind me.
My belly flip-flops, and I straighten. Strong arms roam down my back and then encircle my waist. I lean into the embrace, passion fueling my shallow breaths. His hands glide freely across my stomach and up to my breasts. I mewl in the back of my throat, already filled with need for Antonio. I let him explore while I stand still enjoying every caress. He spins me around, and I can’t hold back anymore. I open to him and kiss him hard. He squeezes my butt and pushes me into his erection making me squirm delightfully.
He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He walks to the bed, and sets me down, moving slowly. He kneads my breasts and nuzzles my neck at a painful pace. I need more.
A plea poises to spill from my lips when I hear his jeans unzip. My pulse quickens, and I am adrift in a hungry passion that is only satisfied by Antonio.
Chapter 13
Underground: Mafia world
Megan:
The next morning I wake up warm and comfy. Antonio’s muscled arms are wrapped around me tightly, and I close my eyes to relish in the moment. I could stay like this all day, but the bathroom beckons me. I reluctantly roll out of bed, untangling myself from his arms. I am completely naked. I go to my dresser and pick up the pajamas that I had planned to wear. I slip them on and open the door.
Curiosity leads me over to the couch to see if Vito slept there. I look down and the couch is empty. Hmmmph!
As I drag myself towards the bathroom, Erin’s door opens and I behold a very disheveled Vito. Uh oh! I freeze. This is highly uncomfortable.
In the past when he has slept in her room, it’s been to keep the nightmares away and make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. Erin’s thrashing can be very violent. Lately, though, she has been great and even insisted on sleeping on her own. She said something about wanting to face her own demons. Doc Howie said we should give her space...said that when she needed help, she would ask for it.
“Hey,” he says sleepily.
“Is Erin okay?” I ask.
“She’s fine,” he says through a yawn.
“Oh.” I wrestle with asking more.
Vito doesn’t seem as uncomfortable as I do. The awkwardness of his lavish purchases makes this whole situation all the more unseemly. Is he trying to buy her?
Antonio strides out of my room. The way he looks should make flannel pajama pants illegal. His body is so fit and formed; I find it hard to look away from him.
Vito immediately starts the coffee pot dripping and beats me to the bathroom. I realize I’ve been standing there a long time, completely dumbfounded. I am trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, when Antonio grasps me by the back of the neck and pulls me in for a long luscious kiss before he makes his way to the counter for coffee. The coffee smells heavenly and just what I need to wake me up from my daze. Erin must have smelled it too, because she comes out of her room.
I can’t help but feel a bit uneasy, but I tamp it down and try to enjoy the day. Antonio has a big dinner to go to tonight, so I just want to live in the now.
*****
Antonio:
I dress for the dinner in Megan’s room. She is sitting on the bed watching me. She looks good enough to eat. Her red hair dangles down her back and around her face, making her look like a celestial angel...one that is mine.
I button up my dress shirt and start on my tie. It is a tradition carried down from the 1930s to dress up in your best suit for these types of occasions. It is the candy coating over what’s really on the inside - mobsters. It makes us appear civilized and refined in the underworld of criminals.
The celebration dinner is a time for the families to get together who have formed an alliance. It is not a business meeting, but a time to be social. It is always a four-course meal with lots of wine. Vito and I need to be extremely cautious. Not knowing where the Furlottis stand is a difficulty. We can’t trust anyone right now. Signs of weakness are not an option. Not showing up? Impossible! Even when suspecting you are walking into a trap, you go prepared and with your head held high. Fear and cowardice are invitations for mutiny and death.
I am ready, and I kiss Megan goodbye. I don’
t want to leave her, but I have to. It gets harder and harder each time.
I think about what Ennio told me earlier today. He didn’t find out anything out of the ordinary, but we both surmised that it’s because of the Omerta, the code of silence. No one wants to talk to him because they know how close our families are. You don’t rat on your friends or your enemies. It’s part of the code and stays in the family.
The restaurant is located in the heart of Chicago’s Little Italy, and is owned by the Furlotti family. The place is shut down to the public for the evening. Vito and I drive to a designated spot a couple of blocks away to meet Pop and Donny. We roll to a stop at their car and park. Vito and I get out slamming our car doors, and Pop and Donny do the same. I light a cigarette and take a puff as we all move to stand in the darkness of the building beside us.
“Antonio!” Pop reaches out to me and hugs me. His demeanor is sour and perturbed. I feel his familiar pat on my back. It’s as comforting as ever.
“Hi Pop,” I say taking the burning cigarette out of my mouth.
“I got some not so good news, son.” He takes out a piece of paper and hands it to me. A letter?
I did what your son couldn’t. I have Tutti. Send Antonio to the docks tonight where we met before. Same time.
~D
“That filthy Demetrius!” Pop curses on his name. “Do what you got do, Antonio! It’s kill or be killed.”
“How did you get this?” I ask Pop as Vito stands over my shoulder reading.
“It was delivered to Donny by some flunky.”
The sick son of a bitch is playing his hand. My eyesight is as red as the tip of my cigarette, burning as hot as the fires of hell. I want him. The whole package so that he can never do this again. He is going down. He is done shattering lives and not playing by the rules.
“Tonio,” Pop growls, “Take as much firepower as you can. He’s clever; he’s probably figured all this out a while ago. That fucker’s got nothing better to do than start a bloody crime war!”
If Demetrius succeeds in taking down me and Uncle Tutti, he would be sending a deadly message to rivals. This would put him on an even higher pedestal in the mob underworld...would make him a living legend. But egos like that just shorten your life span. If it wasn’t me he was fuckin’ with, it would be someone else.
What is it about me that has drawn his attention? He called me ‘Golden Boy’ in the fight ring. I was born into this life...I grew up in it. But Demetrius had to work his way in and up. He had to prove himself worthy and get himself noticed.
That note indicates that he wants to shame me. Little does he know that he has done the exact opposite. He has fueled my fury and wrath to a level that I have never felt before. The monster inside me is uncontainable, ready to rip and tear.
“I’m going with you!” Vito spits acidly. “There is nothing you can say or do to stop me! We handle this together!” Vito’s tone is livid and unmoving.
I doubt I could stop him. Just like the last time, he will not listen. When it comes to my welfare, Vito’s loyalty overshadows and squashes his mafia discipline.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say quietly, trying to contain my rage. Demetrius has moved into the wrong territory, trying to steal my thunder. Uncle Tutti is mine to deal with.
“It’s time to go,” my father says, looking at his watch. “We’ll meet you over there.”
The car ride to the restaurant will take no time because we are only a few blocks away. At first, Vito and I are quiet, both working out a strategy in our minds.
“We need to take Carlo, Alex, and Joey with us,” he says out of the blue.
“We’ll call Patrick too. I want to let him in on all this,” I tell him.
“I agree.”
Patrick has been an unusual ally. It is weird to work with my girlfriend’s father on such a personal and macabre level. It just solidifies the fucked up way things are.
“Set up a meeting tonight for after the dinner.”
Vito makes some calls on his cell phone, while I navigate to find a parking space. I scan the area the best I can in the dark, checking for threats. This could turn out fine tonight...this is the pre-show. Demetrius has planned the main event for 3 a.m.
The restaurant is filled with bosses, underbosses, thugs, and enforcers. Everyone is dressed in sharp-looking suits, even the little guys.
The restaurant is fairly large, and tables in the back are set up with white linen tablecloths, napkins, and big goblets for wine. Candle centerpieces line the middle of each table, the candles lit and casting a golden glow. The maître d’ shows us to a table
Mr. Furlotti greets us. “Antonio! Vito! Welcome! Mangia!” He gestures with his hand to sit and I tense up. He is being so nice to me, but I’m thinking this guy is a rat. I put on my best façade.
“Thank you,” I say, watching his every move.
Vito doesn’t even try for nice, he doesn’t say anything. Good choice!
Pop and Donny come in with a few of the guys from home. They are welcomed the same way and come to join us. Vito and I stand while my father sits. It is the proper way to greet the Boss if you are already seated before him.
The guys from home ask me how I’m doing. I exchange pleasantries with them all while watching and waiting for some shit to go down.
And then he arrives...
Fucking Asshole! Vito is doing everything in his power to not shoot out of the chair at Demetrius. The tension when their eyes meet is thick and solid, not a trace of friendship in them.
Don Furlotti claps his hands. “Everyone please be seated!” he calls out to those who are still standing around talking.
Pop and Donny are completely emotionless. They are masters at hiding their feelings and their temperaments appear genial and friendly.
Pop taps my hand. “Don’t worry, Tonio. You’ll get your chance.”
Pop has complete faith in me. He always has. He trusts me, he confides in me, and gives me the freedom to become what I need to be.
A thin waitress with long brown hair fills each glass at our table with red wine. I think twice before drinking it. She didn’t open the bottle at our table. Pop notices too and halts her.
“Please bring new glasses. Open the bottles at our table please,” he orders nicely.
“Yes, sir,” she says, and scurries away with the open bottle.
Donny gets up and heads to the kitchen to talk to the staff. It is common protocol that wine is opened at the table and is checked by the head enforcer. It is tasted by the senior person at the table to check its drinkability and vintage.
The last thing I am is hungry. Rage fills my stomach and adrenaline quenches my thirst.
Everyone is talking at their own table. A waiter is bringing out the salad. A very flustered waitress comes out with a tray of fresh glasses and an unopened bottle of Chianti. Donny is behind her. He waves away the waiter with the salads and says sternly, “No, thank you. She is the only one who serves us.”
The waiter disappears to a new table. Donny is going to watch everything that is prepared and served. The young girl is such a mess that I feel sorry for her.
“Thank you,” I say as I stand and take the bottle. “I can do this. Why don’t you get our salads?” She smiles at me with relief and leaves with Donny for the kitchen.
I expertly insert the corkscrew into the bottle and pop it open, letting it breathe for a minute. I then put only a swallow in Pop’s glass. He swirls it around and sips.
He nods his head at me. “It’s good, Tonio.” He holds out his glass for me to fill. Standing gives me an opportunity to scan the room, but it also makes me an easy target for a bullet. Vito holds his glass for me, and I fill his too. I put the bottle on the table for the others to take what they want. It is inappropriate for me to serve them.
Donny comes back and sits as the waitress places the salads at each place setting. Her hands are shaking. A grape tomato rolls off Vito’s plate and hits the floor. She sucks in a scared breath.
“It’s okay,” he says to her.
The guys across the table engage us with news from Palmetto, giving us info on Sommersville and some punks they have had to put in their place. I am only half listening because of the severity of the situation we are in.
After the salads, Don Furlotti makes a toast. He stands and raises his glass. “To our new family. May we have many happy years working together.”
My first reaction is to snort at his declaration.
“This is a new era. Welcome! Salute!” he says, and everyone clinks glasses and says, salute.
Demetrius looks in my direction and sneers with his glass pointed at me and Pop. I give it right back, not allowing him to rattle me.
Dinner is long and drawn out. I push the food around on my plate. I am running out of patience. Many goombahs and cavones come over to our table to speak to Pop. My father is admired and respected. They shake his hand, make jokes, and are generally happy to see him.
“When the fuck can we get out of here?” Vito whispers to me.
I totally agree. We need to get out of here and plan for meeting Demetrius tonight. “Soon,” I tell him.
We can’t leave before dessert; it would be considered an insult, and I am not leaving my father and Donny here with the wolves.
Finally, the waitress comes over to our table with tiramisu. Pop gives her a hundred dollar bill and thanks her for helping us this evening. She blushes deeply and slips the money into her pocket. I make mush out of it with my fork, not caring the least bit about eating. Dinner and dessert...and now it is okay to leave.
We cautiously say our goodbyes, and I am on edge, waiting for something to happen. I find it hard to believe that this whole thing has gone down without a hitch or a gun shot.
Outside is a cold Chicago winter night. The wind is howling with the threat of snowfall. I press the remote for the car to unlock the doors, doing my best to search the surrounding area for danger. Pop had left a guy outside, Rawlo is his name, I think. His job is to watch the vehicles and keep a look out. The guy must be freezing.
