Mob Daddies: A Contemporary Romance Box Sex

by Alexa Hart

  I braced against the frigid breeze and hiked along the shoveled sidewalk, dragging my suitcase behind me. Counting the houses as I passed, I noticed a few window shades and curtains being slightly drawn aside. Curious and distrusting eyes searched me over for signs of recognition – any sign that I actually belonged on this sidewalk. There never really had been anything even close to privacy here. What happened in one house was known in all, eventually. What happened on the street was neighborhood business by right.

  “Did your cabby throw you out for being a west coast traitor?” I heard my brother’s voice call out playfully, mercifully breaking up my melancholy thoughts.

  “Dario.” I looked up the street to where he stood, on the concrete steps of our enclosed front porch, grinning like an idiot. Those grins were always contagious, and I found myself returning it instantly. He ran out to meet me – no coat, no worries – typical Dario. Bright brown eyes full of mischief, he grabbed me and hugged me hard.

  “It’s good to see ya, Nat. We’ve missed you,” he said this while still tightly embracing me. I felt myself tearing up a little, not accustomed to many genuine acts of affection in my daily life anymore.

  “You too,” I responded, giving one last good squeeze and gently pulling away. Dario looked exactly the same as he always had, but something was different. Of course, he had been an adult for a while now – he was twenty-six this last August. But now he looked like a man, and perhaps a slightly exhausted man at that.

  He realized I was observing him, measuring him up. “Okay sis, let’s stop the psychoanalysis before it starts. Pop’s waitin’ for ya.” I could see something flash through his eyes when he mentioned our father, and I tried to steel myself for what I was about to see.

  Our dad was very sick. A year earlier he’d been walking with me on the California beaches, not a care in the world and as close to blissful as I could ever remember my father being. Three months later he’d been diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer, and now he was basically on his death bed. In true Pop Angelone fashion, he’d decided after one round of chemo that he’d be damned if that was how he’d spend his last days on this planet. Hospice care came in twice a day to administer pain meds, and make sure he was generally as comfortable as possible. Thankful as I was for that, it didn’t change what was happening.

  My father was dying.

  Dario had called a week ago, saying the words with his voice but not really sounding like he believed them himself. “He’s dying, Natalia. You need to get out here. Soon.”

  Following my brother through our childhood home, I noticed the disarray that had fallen upon it. My mother had always kept everything in the most orderly and cleanliest of states. When she had died, my father had continued the regimen out of respect for her. We were so little then – just nine and ten – but had realized the upkeep of the house somehow made our father feel better, and we had always helped him without any protest.

  It looked to have been a long while since Pop was up to housekeeping duties. A feeling of foreboding washed over me, and I knew this would be worse than I could have even imagined.

  Dario had set him up in what used to be the first-floor guest room. The stairs had become too much for him, and he said he’d rather be down “where all the action was” anyway.

  “My Natalia!” That deep voice hit my ears before I could even process what I was seeing. “My Natalia! My love! Come! Hug me!” He was smiling so widely that it seemed his mouth might overtake the rest of his shrunken face. He had lost weight – so much weight – and now the skin seemed to stretch across his bones and his kind, dark brown eyes stood out disturbingly large on the withering body.

  He’s dying. He really is dying.

  I smiled, swallowing the rush of emotion that wanted to escape from my throat, and went to him. Embracing him and feeling his once strong arms struggle to tighten around me, I felt the sudden fear that if I let go, he would float away like a feather. Gone forever. I pushed that sensation away with all of the mental training my six years of college and psychology degree had given me, and felt reality settle like a lump in the pit of my stomach.

  I could deal with reality later.

  “Pop! Takin’ it easy these days, huh? Room service and everything, I see,” I laughed, waving an arm at the trays and tv set mixed between the bottles of pills and IV bags. We joked in this family. It was what we did. It was how we dealt. And I knew it would be more important than ever, for Pop’s sake, to continue this tradition even now.

  “Eh, you know. I thought it was time Dario got off his lazy ass and did somethin’ ‘round here,” he returned, visibly pleased with my choice to stick to the Angelone book of humor.

  “Ha! Pop knows better than anybody that the business doesn’t allow for any rest. I’m not even sure when the last time was that I got a solid eight hours of sleep at night,” Dario spoke with good nature, but I could hear the sadness that edged every single word. He would break down at some point. Not even Dario Angelone could keep hold of that bright, forced façade forever.

  The mention of “the business” made my skin crawl slightly. I didn’t want to think about all of that. Right now, I just wanted to talk to my father and –

  Pop had fallen asleep.

  “Just like that?” I whispered, looking at Dario in alarm.

  “It’s the meds. Well. The meds. The cancer. He naps like a cat these days,” Dario explained, motioning me to follow him from the room.

  I gave my father one last lingering stare, still in disbelief that the shell of a person in that bed was my father, and followed Dario into the living room. It was certainly not the tidy setting it always had been, but it was home, and it was comforting. I dropped onto the cozily broken-in couch and let out a long sigh.

  Dario had disappeared into the kitchen and now came to me with a steaming cup of coffee. “Black, right?” He asked, grinning and handing it over. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was more of a cream and sugar person these days.

  “Thanks. I know the jet lag is gonna kick in at some point pretty hard,” I said mindlessly, focusing on a scuff that had graced the coffee table for as far back as I could remember. How had it even gotten there? Surely it was Dario wrestling around with...

  “Nat?” He interrupted my thoughts abruptly. “Nat, I know that you probably weren’t expecting it to be... like that. But he’s really been so happy ever since I told him you were coming,” Dario’s voice faltered, and I realized his break down might be coming sooner rather than later. “You’re staying until... You’ll be here for a while, right?” He didn’t make eye contact, and I knew exactly what he meant.

  “I’ll be here until it’s over, Dar. I’m FMLA approved and ready to ride this out with you, okay? As long as it takes.”

  Which won’t be very long at all.

  We were thinking the same thing – I knew it – and now both of us avoided meeting gazes. Dario let out a tired sound – some mix of relief and despair. “Thank you. Seriously, Nat. I need you for this. It’s... it’s too much sometimes, ya know?” He looked at me then, seeming to pull himself back together. “I was just trying to be funny before... but the business really is getting demanding lately. So many of the old-timers have died, or want to step down before they die... And now Pop is on his way out. No one really knows who’s in charge anymore. Shipments aren’t going out on time – we're gonna have the whole east coast pissed at us pretty soon if we don’t pick up the pace. It’s Max’s place, really. He’s next in line as far as anyone can tell – ”

  If I had been tense when the business talk began, I now turned into a wooden board at the mention of that name. Dario had stopped short in his rambling, realizing what he had just said, and was already apologizing.

  “Shit, Nat, I’m sorry. Really, Natalia, I didn’t mean to bring him up. I can’t even keep my thoughts straight right now. I really didn’t – ”

  “It’s fine, Dario. Really.” I leveled my gaze with his, attempting to force a calm, even tone. “It�
��s been years. Literally. Years. You’re allowed to say Max’s name.” Although when I said it, I felt like someone had taken a hot iron to my chest. I gathered what was left of my composure. “I was really hoping, eventually... I was hoping you’d maybe find something else to do. A career. Maybe get out of this city. Have a real life.”

  Dario shook his head, smiling in spite of my words. He had always been the type of person who it was nearly impossible to offend. “Natalia. This is a life. This is a real life. And you know I’m not going anywhere. This is the family way. Grandpop, Pop, me – you know I’m in this for good. I want to be. You gotta accept that at some point, Sis. It won’t change.”

  And there it was again. He was a man now. Even with his gentle manner of doing it, he was putting his foot down in a very cemented way. The business wasn’t just a part of his life anymore. He was part of the business.

  “I know,” I conceded, nodding and realizing in that instant that I really did know. Any other hopes I had for Dario needed to rest in peace. He had chosen his path. And he was okay.

  For now.

  “You want me to cook something up? Order somethin’ in?” Dario changed the topic, relieving both of us.

  I shook my head. “No thanks, Dar. Maybe later tonight? I thought I’d drive around and just see some of the neighborhood. See what’s new. You know,” I waved a flippant hand, trying to seem casual.

  “By yourself?” He asked, eyeing me carefully and trying to deduce my state of mind.

  “Yeah. Can I take your car? Is that cool?” I smiled at him, feeling like we were teenagers again, fighting over the beat-up two-door Toyota that Pop had forced us to share as a “lesson in family”. I hadn’t quite understood what he meant then, and wasn’t sure I did now either. All it had taught us as adolescents was that one of us would often be walking, and both of us would often be frustrated. But it had kept us together a bit more than we may have preferred, and that had kept us a lot closer than we may have turned out.

  I did understand it now.

  “No prob, Nat,” Dario agreed, cheerfully slinging a ring full of miscellaneous keys across the room and straight into my lap. “Filled her up this morning, so you’re good on that. Kinda touchy with the get up and go, so take it easy, Flash.”

  We both laughed then, as I was notoriously known for my senior citizen driving habits. I had always been careful enough for both of us, and that had often been quite necessary. The amount of scrapes Dario had narrowly avoided thanks to my overly observant caution were too numerous to count.

  I felt the lump forming in my throat again and hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I absolutely understood my father’s lesson now.

  After that, I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. Dario pointed out his car – sleek and black and new – parked slightly down the street from our house (there were no garages here in rowhouse territory). I was in it and gone down Oak Street, turning fast onto 10th and sobbing so hard I could barely see through the windshield.

  This is some smooth leather. The thought burst absurdly through my misery, and I was laughing and crying simultaneously for a few blocks. An observer would have predicted that I was experiencing a nervous breakdown, and though I knew the clinical definition of that condition did not quite fit whatever this was (yet) – there was certainly a disturbing mixture of sadness and delirium erupting out of my body.

  I needed air. I needed comfort.

  I mindlessly drove to the neighborhood park. Unimpressive as it was, we had loved it as children. There was a dilapidated little gazebo near the center of it that proudly peered over the park’s one and only pond. I parked near it, and rushed somewhat blindly through the snow-covered grass until I was leaning on the old wood beams, staring at the frozen tiny pool near its base.

  Everything surrounding me was silent and barren. The frigid air rushed into my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply. I began to calm down, the tears stopped, and I dreamily thought of all the times I had tossed little wildflowers into this pond for my mother, hoping somehow, she could see them from wherever she was. Pop had always said heaven, but I had never been quite sure of that. I just knew she was somewhere. I could feel her.

  Today I didn’t have any flowers and the pond was frozen. Today my father was fast on his way to joining my mother in her “somewhere” existence.

  Fresh tears were beginning to form and I stubbornly brushed them away. Just a few moments of quiet – that was all I needed. A few more deep breaths and solitude...

  “Natalia?” Called out by a deep, husky voice that carried uncertainly through the still air.

  I felt my heart stop, and my head turned slowly to follow the sound. I knew who it was before I saw him, but it did nothing to protect me from the bolt of pain that ripped through my insides when my eyes were finally actually viewing him.

  Max.

  Chapter 2

  Maximo

  If I stared at him long enough, I could start to forget.

  He’d fallen asleep on the drive back from Jersey, and I had carried him in and deposited his little body on the couch – no signs of waking any time soon.

  My boy. My Nic.

  He had inherited his mom’s blonde hair, but his eyes were all me. Hazel. Serious. When he told you a story, you knew he meant every word, and he was only four. We shared our intensity, and I found it reassuring that there was a piece of me in this world that was still 100% innocent.

  For now.

  I collapsed in a chair at the kitchen table, putting my face in my hands. It was getting worse – this anxiety or whatever it was.

  “Max, I’ll get it to ya. It’s a little late, that’s all. These are tough times. Max – Max, ya gotta understand...”

  I did understand. I understood that there was a type of pressure and responsibility being bequeathed to me by the business’s leaders that required a part of me to turn to stone and die. And I was more than aware that this particular part of me was something that I could never take back.

  “Max, cmon, man. You know you can – ”

  One second Frank had been begging, pleading with me, and then I saw the flash in his eyes as he realized that this wasn’t going to end well for him. Next, he was reaching for his gun with a mad man’s desperation – no warning, no clear thoughts. Johnny had shot him right between the eyes before he could even get it out of his pocket.

  And then I had just stood there, watching the life swiftly fade out of Frank’s eyes. Frank, whom I had known since childhood. Frank, who had smoked cigars with my father around tables full of cards and beer. Frank, with the deep belly laugh that could be heard echoing through the blocks of the neighborhood like a jolly, drunk Santa Claus.

  I wasn’t even gonna kill him. I wasn’t even gonna do that.

  But it had gone wrong that night. Sometimes things went wrong. And as Johnny told me later over straight shots of whiskey, “You roll with it, Max. You ain’t got no time to feel bad, you hear me?”

  I had been “rolling with it” for two weeks, and it didn’t seem that there was any way to avoid feeling bad. Bad wasn’t the right word for it anyway. It wasn’t even guilt or remorse; it was just this creeping sensation of being choked to death by hands I couldn’t see. These hands clenched mercilessly, forcing me to watch the replay of that night over and over until I couldn’t breathe and finally released me as some crippled, defenseless version of myself – gasping for air and head pounding.

  You ain’t got no time to feel bad.

  That much was true. All of the shipments were behind. Our suppliers were growing less and less dependable. Everyone knew Pop Angelone was dying, and it seemed that he was taking all forms of sanity with him. The cops were coming by the store much more frequently. I felt like I was sitting in a field, holding Pop while he died, and trying to fight off the vultures that would have him torn apart before he was even cold.

  These vultures weren’t scared of me like they had been of Pop, or even of my father way back when. I hadn’t proven mys
elf to be much more than the kid son of a deceased boss, punking his way into power – power I hadn’t ever asked for. I had simply been given it.

  That had changed when Frank died. Word spread, and it spread fast. Mistakenly, everyone had assumed that I had pulled the trigger. Johnny, in his sixty-eight-year-old wisdom, had told me to let them believe it. He had said that I needed this, that it was a turning point.

  “Let them see you at Frankie’s funeral, standing there respectfully, watching the man you killed get lowered into the goddamn ground. Let them see you cold, kid. Show ‘em you ain’t going nowhere. Let ‘em think about the fact that you’ll take out one of your old man’s best friends if that’s what it takes. You need this, kid.”

  I had done as he said. I had stood there in the freezing wind, my best suit on, somber faced but absolutely no tears, becoming the ruthless monster that the business so badly needed right now. I had stared calmly at Frank’s coffin going six feet under, while the entire neighborhood watched.

  Now they knew Maximo Fanucci was in charge. Now they knew Maximo Fanucci wasn’t playin’ any more games. Now they knew Maximo Fanucci was a man – and a man you didn’t fuck with at that.

  I had properly assumed the role of “scary motherfucker”.

  Nic sighed in his sleep, disrupting my thoughts and making me smile sadly.

  I was just a dad. The only thing scary about me was the fact that I was in charge of something I had no desire to run. It didn’t bode well for the business – not that anyone knew.

  I was just a dad with a sweet little kid, a hellion of an ex-girlfriend up in Jersey, and recurring nightmares. I was a 27-year-old kid with a kid.

  The rest of this bullshit was something else – someone else.

  I had fallen asleep in the reclining chair facing the couch. Staring at Nic and his shaggy little head, I’d been able to relax and finally doze off. That was until my mother came barging into the house, arms full of grocery bags.