by Addison Jane
It was like I felt, if only for a moment, that I was in another country. The culture of the place so intense and thick.
“The DePalmas may have done some shitty things over their time,” Angelo continued. “But the one thing they always stuck to was their loyalty to the people here, and in other Italian neighborhoods like over in East Harlem.”
“They helped them?” I asked curiously.
“Not just helped, protected, and stood for them when building owners would try to raise their leases, and they knew they couldn’t afford it. They made it known that if outsiders tried to take on their people that they would come for them.”
I could hear Anthony’s words in my head, and suddenly they started to make more sense.
“Because there is more to this than just me and my family. It’s not always about power or notoriety. It’s about being a voice for those who are unable to speak for themselves.”
Angelo stopped, and our eyes met. “Uncle Anthony helps these people?”
“The DePalma family made a vow to these people a long time ago,” he explained, his eyes piercing through me. I could tell he wanted me to understand, he needed me to know that the blood that ran through my veins may be tainted, but that it was also blood that came from a history of sacrifice, loyalty, and respect. “Every leader of the DePalma family has kept their word. This is how we maintain our history and our culture alive, and this is how Anthony stays on top.”
I heard him, I knew what he was saying was true and while I still didn’t agree with many of the things that they did, I could respect and admire the fact that there were unselfish intentions there.
“You’re not going to try and tell me that the mafia is these amazing like Robin Hood-type figures are you?” I said, raising my eyebrow. “‘Cause while I can appreciate what they’re doing for these people, I think we both know that the DePalmas are not on the right side of the law.”
Angelo chuckled, pressing a hand to the small of my back and ushering me inside the small Italian Pizzeria that we had stopped outside of. “Just because a bad man does good things, doesn’t make him a good man, Bella,” he replied, dipping his head, so his words brushed against my ear.
“Angelo!” I looked up to see an older man with an apron tied around his waist, walking out from the kitchen and coming toward us with his arms open wide. His body was covered in speckles of white flour and clumps of hardened pizza dough, and his salt and pepper hair was slicked back from his face.
“Sal, it’s good to see you,” Angelo replied as he stepped around me and embraced the man.
I watched Angelo’s features soften. This was obviously someone who was important to him, and as Sal’s eyes moved to me, I found my gut starting to twist and turn, like for some reason I really wanted him to like me.
“You brought a friend,” he said, his eyes widening in confusion, letting me know that Angelo didn’t do this often, if at all. Sal practically shoved Angelo out of the way and strolled toward me, the grin on his face slowly growing bigger and bigger. “Salvador Romano,” he said, holding his hand out.
I smiled, feeling a warmth flowing off him, and shook his hand. “Emerson Rossi.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he flicked his gaze back to Angelo, who nodded before adding, “Anthony’s niece.”
“Well then, come,” he said excitedly, pulling my hand forward and ushering me toward a corner booth in the small pizzeria. I slipped in, and Angelo scooted in beside me, shaking his head but unable to stop smiling. “I will make your favorite, then we will chat.” Suddenly Sal was gone, ducking back into the kitchen and leaving us both in silence.
I cleared my throat. “I hope your favorite is good and not something weird.”
“Ai quattro formaggi,” he replied, the words just rolling right off his tongue. I had to admit, it was sexy hearing him speak in another language, especially one as beautiful as Italian.
I searched my brain, trying to remember the little bit of Italian that my father used to use, especially when he was cooking. “Quattro means four…” I said, screwing up my nose. “Formaggi… formaggi… wait, is that cheese?”
Angelo chuckled. “Sì, ben fatto.”
“Four cheese pizza?” I asked, raising my brow. Maybe I was expecting something manlier, like some sort of meat pizza. This man was constantly full of surprises.
He shrugged. “I like cheese.”
Who could argue with that, really?
“So you know some Italian,” he said, pouring two glasses of water from the pitcher in the center of the table.
I sighed, smiling softly as he slid one over to me. “No, not really. Sophie was the one who was always interested in the Italian culture. Dad spoke it occasionally, mostly when he was in the kitchen.” I couldn’t help but smile. “He loved to cook… my mom, not so much. She loved to burn.”
“Cooking I think is bred in Italian blood. We are raised to find beauty in food, just like you would in the landscapes of Italy and its surroundings,” he explained, his accent seeming to grow thicker as he spoke. “We learned to make things from scratch and to create something delicious out of a handful of ingredients because those were the recipes passed down from times where people didn’t have a lot of money.”
I stared at him in utter amazement.
How this man could make me so angry, and push so many of my buttons yesterday, and now today he’s sitting here speaking so passionately about the country he was born. It was like I was in a crazy dream.
“When did you come to the United States?” I asked.
“My father brought us here when I was eight,” he answered simply, the look in his eyes telling me that if I pushed any further, I could risk him shutting down. And I wasn’t ready to lose this part of him just yet, the part who smiled, who teased, and who shared a piece of himself and who he was with me.
“Sir.”
I looked up, seeing Andre standing at the side of the table. His eyes flicked to me before moving back to Angelo. When Angelo nodded, I realized that was Andre’s way of asking if he was free to speak in front of me.
“A contact informed me that Freddie Ricci has been running his mouth,” he said, a deep frown on his face. “Apparently one of his men showed up dead… looking like he’d gone one-on-one with a professional fighter.”
I didn’t understand the meaning of his words, but obviously Angelo did, as I could feel the tension and aggravation instantly begin to flow off him. The whole atmosphere changed in the blink of an eye.
“Tell Sal I’ll have to rain check on the pizza,” Angelo said, slipping out of the booth and gesturing for me to follow.
He’d shut down, that part of him that I’d felt was gone.
The Angelo I knew good and well was back.
“We’re going to go have a few words with my good friend Freddie.”
Freddie Ricci was a powerful man who let others do his dirty work. It wasn’t often that you got to a place of such influence without lifting a single damn finger. Drawing blood within the Mafioso world came with some degree of respect. It showed your willingness to fight and do what you had to for your family.
It proved your worth.
Freddie, on the other hand, was just a lazy, slimy motherfucker with deep pockets.
Money spoke loudly. You pay someone enough, they’ll do anything you ask of them, and he was proof of that.
“One of my boys shows up beaten to fucking death and barely even recognizable, and you’re coming to me demanding answers?” Freddie blubbered, spittle flying from his mouth.
I flexed my hands, prompting myself to stay calm and not leap across the table in the busy restaurant and kill the useless piece of garbage myself. In any other situation I would have, but this needed a more delicate hand, I needed him to do the dirty work for me. Then his time would come.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I told him, keeping my voice neutral. “One of your boys is asking questions that he has no business knowing the answers to, and you expect we�
��re just going to sit back and give you a damn pass?”
“I didn’t send him nowhere to do nothing,” he protested, slamming his palm on the table causing both our men to reach for their weapons. “You’re lying!”
I bristled. “Don’t disrespect me by calling me a liar, you piece of shit,” I snapped, mimicking him and slamming my palms flat on the table, my voice low and deadly. “I’ll cut off every single one of your chubby fucking fingers, and then you know what I’ll do with them, Fred?”
He glared at me across the table, huffing and puffing like he was a bull, and I was waving a bright red flag directly in front of his face.
I lowered my voice. “I’ll take them to your house and fuck your wife with them, one by fucking one, until she’s screaming for something bigger and better. Then I’ll stick my fucking cock in her loose—”
“Enough!” He started to flush in anger. “How dare—”
“How dare I?” I laughed darkly. “And what exactly will you do? All I have to do is offer your boys more money, and their loyalties will soon change. And we both know you don’t have the fucking balls to do anything for yourself.”
“You kill my wife’s nephew, then come in here insulting me in my own restaurant?”
I grinned in success before pointing my finger across the table. “See, now we’re getting somewhere, Fred. What’s your wife’s nephew doing, running around with the Bellucci boys? Hmm?” I leaned back in the cheap wooden chair, careful not to rest my whole weight there. Obviously, Freddie was using his money elsewhere because it sure as shit wasn’t used to do up this dump. When he sat across from me blubbering quietly, I tsked my tongue in disappointment. “You know how shit works, Fred. You pay Anthony a fee to be left alone, but he doesn’t need your money, so I’d be careful what I said if I was you.”
“I didn’t send them anywhere,” Freddie snapped. He was sweating profusely, and his breathing was so heavy I was almost expecting him to have a heart attack. He pushed his chair back to stand, and I followed, my face lighting up in excitement.
“Well, now hold up there a second my friend… them?”
His eyes widened, flicking from side to side as if he was looking for his nearest escape, but there was no way out of here, he was outnumbered, and his boys would flip on him in a minute.
He shook his head nervously, the fat around his neck shaking and jiggling. “I… I…”
Reaching into my suit jacket, I was instantly aware of the number of guns pointed at my chest as I pulled a cigar and lighter from my inside pocket. Freddie’s eyes watched me cautiously, as I lit it and puffed away, enjoying the smoky taste.
Everything seemed to slow down as I puffed for the third time. Two gunshots went off simultaneously. I wasn’t worried about drawing attention, Freddie’s rundown fucking roach infested restaurant was in a part of town where gunshots were part of the ambiance. And the bonus was if these people were eating in Freddie’s place, they weren’t new to this kind of shit, so I knew the cops weren’t going to be called. Only a handful of the few patrons let out surprised screams as the two men crumbled to the floor. Most of them stayed frozen in their seats as they watched the situation play out.
I shrugged. “That was a shame. Wasn’t that a shame, Freddie?”
He was shaking now that he was alone. No one was coming to his rescue, and if he didn’t hurry up and give me the names I wanted, I was about to make his wife a widow.
Samuele and Daniel rushed forward, tucking their weapons away, rounding on Freddie and grabbing his arms. “Wha… what do you th-think you’re doing?” he cried as I stepped forward, holding my cigar between my index and middle fingers casually.
“Give me a name and address of the other kid,” I said simply.
Slowly I raised my cigar, moving it closer to his face. People around us gasped, some taking the distraction and using it to escape. Sweat poured from his hairline, and the closer my cigar got to his eye, the more they watered, due to the smoke wafting into them.
He struggled, but Samuele and Daniel—they weren’t small boys, they were fucking strong men—contained him.
“Okay,” he screamed, his breathing heavy and uneven. “I don’t have an address, but I’ll get it. I’ll get it… I swear!”
I pulled back, placing the end of the cigar in my mouth and puffing on it as my boys released him, both snickering at how pathetic he fucking was.
“You’re so easy, Freddie.” I chuckled. “I’ll be back tomorrow. A word of advice in the meantime…” I tapped my head. “Learn how to control your men, and you won’t get into situations like these.” I turned to walk away, suddenly noticing Emerson standing in the doorway, Andre with his hand on her shoulder, talking to her quietly and trying to pull her away.
I didn’t look away. Instead, I chose to stare her down.
So she’d had her first look at the real me.
Would she run?
“Maybe…” Freddie puffed from behind me, “… you should tell Anthony to do the same. That beautiful little niece of his—”
Before he even finished his sentence, I tossed the cigar, spun and raced toward him. My fingers grasped the fatty flesh of his neck. He pulled at them desperately, but I didn’t budge, my anger fueling me and sending me into a rage.
Normally I was cool, calm, collected. Anthony trusted me with business because he knew I could keep a straight face and a clear head when shit got tense. But this time, Freddie had overstepped the fucking mark, and I would tear his face off with my bare hands if it meant showing him that Emerson was someone he shouldn’t even imagine fucking with, or speaking of, with his filthy fucking mouth. He struggled to find air, his lips turning a soft shade of violet as I squeezed tighter, completely done with this piece of dog shit.
“Threaten my family again,” I warned him. “I fucking dare you.”
I pushed him backward, and he stumbled, landing against a small table. It shattered beneath his weight, and he fell to the floor, groaning and writhing in pain. No one came to his aid, the people who were still left in the restaurant, and hadn’t run, all simply stared on in horror, some even in glee.
Freddie was a motherfucker.
Nobody liked him. Not even his whore of a wife who’d spread her legs for more men than I could count on both hands. But Freddie came from old money, and he was loaded. People didn’t see him, they saw dollar signs. But me, I saw a man who was going to get the information I needed, and then I would put him to rest.
Shaking my head, I moved in on him, fury flaring inside me threatening to burn this whole damn place down if he ever spoke of her again. “You want to live… you give me the information I want,” I growled, crouching down beside him and slapping his face to gain his attention. “Tomorrow.”
I pushed back to my feet, standing over him. Lifting my foot, I pressed it against his throat. “One fucking day. That’s all you have, then I’ll be back.”
His head bobbed with difficulty due to my shoe pressing against his flabby neck.
“Don’t disappoint me, Fred.”
With that I walked away, my boys following me to the door.
My eyes zeroed in on Emerson as she stood frozen to the spot, staring at me. I couldn’t read the look in her eyes while I struggled to figure out what she was thinking or what was going through her mind. So I simply grabbed her hand as I stormed past, pulling her with me. She stumbled to catch up, the group of us moving down the sidewalk to where the two cars were parked.
“Angelo, stop it!” Emerson protested, trying to pull her arm from my grasp.
I dropped it instantly. Unable to curb the anger that still flowed through my veins, I spun around, throwing my fist and connecting it with Andre’s jaw.
He stumbled back, and Emerson screamed, “What the hell are you doing,” she cried, racing over to him as he cradled his face in his hand. I ignored her.
“You were supposed to watch her, Andre,” I snapped, my feet pacing.
His eyes flared as he looked up at me.
<
br /> Many thought Andre was quiet, a peaceful kinda kid. But I’d seen him kill. Sure, he was quiet, introverted even, but he wasn’t innocent. He had pain, he’d been through shit in his life, and he wasn’t afraid to take on even the most gruesome tasks that would make a normal man reconsider whether he wanted to continue living.
He was a dark horse.
Andre held his hand up to keep Emerson from getting any closer. “It’s okay, he’s right.” He stood taller, pushing his shoulders back and shaking off the pain that was no doubt still radiating through his jaw. “I apologize, sir.” A darkness flashed across his eyes, one that not one of my other men would dare look at me with, as he stared at me from beneath his brow.
Stepping forward, he held the door of my SUV open, and I climbed in the back, Emerson following suit but still upset. I couldn’t give a fuck at the moment whether she was distressed or what she’d seen inside that restaurant. I’d been fairly restrained, keeping a level head. In reality, though, my body was still tense, and I had to grip tightly to the door to stop myself from going back in the restaurant and stabbing the useless fucking bastard like the pig he was.
But I couldn’t, I knew he’d do the work for me.
And I wanted answers.
Answers first, bloodshed second.
The ride back to Angelo’s apartment was slow. For midday, the traffic was a fucking bitch, and I had to keep reminding myself that this was New York City, not Jacksonville Florida.
Angelo had climbed out of the car before Andre had even turned the key to off. “I’m going to work out, Andre will take you upstairs. If you need me, I’ll be in the gym.”
The apartments had all kinds of amenities—a gym, a massive pool, kids playroom, valet, twenty-four-hour doorman, plus so many more.
I didn’t even get time to reply before the door was shut, and he was heading for the parking garage exit.
Andre made his way around to my side, holding the door open as I climbed out.
