by Renee Rose
Al’s eyelids closed and his lips moved. No sound issued, but when his lids opened again, the brown eyes focused directly on his face. He put his hand on Al’s shoulder and tried to keep from crying.
“Fractured skull. And some cracked ribs. Your head will hurt for a few weeks but you’ll heal.”
Al gave a barely perceptible nod and his brows drew together.
“Does it hurt?”
Al’s tongue worked in his mouth as if he were testing it out, then he muttered, “Yeah.”
He couldn’t keep a ridiculous grin from spreading across his face. “I’m so glad you woke up.”
“What was she doing?”
“What?”
“Was that Sophie?”
“Oh, yeah. She was giving you an energy healing.”
“Woke me up. It was like she opened the curtains and let in the light.”
“No kidding,” he said with wonder, grinning even wider. “That’s great. I’ll tell her--she’ll be happy to hear it.” He flipped open his phone. “Lemme call Carmen, she’s pretty shaken up. They wouldn’t let your kids in here to see you.”
Al’s eyes drifted closed as Joey made the call and delivered the good news.
When he hung up, Al choked, “Who...did it?”
He looked around the room with meaning and Al caught on and closed his eyes, understanding they couldn’t talk.
Chapter Nine
Sophie’s mind whirled as she drove home. She’d been surprised to hear Al and Joey wouldn’t be supporting the families of the victims, but maybe things had changed since Al became boss. Something about it bothered her but she wasn’t sure why. Joey’s explanation had made sense, and it would certainly be an enormous burden to support so many families. She just hoped they had put away the money Joey was sure they had.
The next day she bought the ingredients to make homemade pesto--hand chopped, the way her grandmother taught her, not blended in the food processor--for Joey’s dinner. That night, she hummed as she minced the garlic, thinking of her first attempts at pesto, when she would prepare dinner after school to eat when her mom got off work. She remembered Pauly stopping by to drop off cash and sampling it with his finger, declaring her a full dago.
She stopped chopping, blood rushing to her head.
Pauly.
Had Pauly been supporting them all those years and not the organization? Was it because….oh God.
She could feel her pulse beat in her temples as she picked up her phone and dialed Joey.
“Hey, babe.”
“Pauly did it, didn't he?” she rasped.
The long pause answered her question.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped at last. “You don’t call on a cell phone with a question like that! We can talk about it when I get there.”
She hung up without answering, her fingers trembling. She’d guessed correctly. Breathing hard, adrenaline pumping as if her life were in danger, she paced around her small place, trying to figure out what to do. Some kind of action was in order. Remembering the gun Joey had left, she retrieved it from the bedroom closet, examining it to refresh her memory on how to use it. But where would she put it? She had no pockets and her purse would be too difficult to get it in and out of.
And a better question was could she use it? Could she kill Pauly for what he’d taken from her? She pushed the question out of her mind. She’d figure it out when she got there. Throwing on a jacket, she slid the pistol in the pocket. Perfect.
Then she got in her car and drove to Oakbrook, where Pauly lived alone in the same little house he grew up in.
She knocked on the door, her heart beating at a dizzying tempo. Pauly answered, registering her appearance with surprise. His eyes traveled immediately to the hand she kept in her pocket, and she realized how obvious the gun’s presence must be, especially to a man conditioned to look for weapons. She swallowed, sweat trickling down her neck. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought the gun. He probably had one strapped to his back and could shoot her before she pulled hers out and figured out how to get the safety off.
His eyes moved back to her face. “Yeah? You wanna talk?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Come in,” he said, holding the screen door open for her. She stepped past him nervously, eyes darting to his hands to be sure he wasn’t palming a weapon. He led her to the kitchen, where he pulled a chair out for her. She kept an eye on him as she squeezed past to sit, looking over her shoulder as he pushed the chair in. “What can I get you to drink? A Coke? Coffee?”
“No thanks,” she said quickly.
He grunted and sat down across from her at the 1950’s Formica table. She kept her hand in her pocket, the gun unforgiving in her sweaty palm.
“I remember when you used to make me coffee,” he said, looking across the table at her. “You were a good kid, always.”
Her heart thundered in her chest. She licked her lips. “Yeah, I was kinda remembering that, too,” she said.
“Your father would be proud of you--the way you turned out, you know.”
Her face flushed with hot anger. How dare he speak for her father? When he was the man who killed him? She gripped the pistol tighter in her fist.
“Did he ever visit you--after he died?”
“What?” she asked, taken aback.
“You know, visit you? He used to visit me.”
Angry tears pricked her eyes and she felt her lips tremble. “He haunted you,” she spat, accusation clear in her tone.
Pauly nodded, his eyes far away. “Yeah. He haunted me. You know what he used to say? ‘Go and check on my girls. They need help around the house.’ And sure enough, I’d go over there and your ma would have the garbage disposal stopped up, or the vacuum cleaner taken apart trying to change a belt. And then I’d know why he sent me over. You know, aside from the money.”
Every hair on Sophie’s arms stood up and unwanted tears spilled down her cheeks. “He-he’d send you over?”
“I’ll get you a tissue,” Pauly muttered and got up, returning with the whole box, which he set in front of her with an awkward pat on her shoulder.
“You remember the time you wanted to go to the prom?”
She let out a sob and grabbed a tissue. She remembered. She and her mom had been at each other’s throats--she couldn’t remember why anymore, just normal teenager/mother stuff, and her mom had refused to buy her a new prom dress. She said she could wear the same gown she wore to junior prom or borrow a friend’s old gown. She’d been furious, so angry with the perceived injustice.
And then Pauly had shown up, just like he’d known. He handed her a wad of bills--five hundred bucks--said it was just for her to go to the prom, that she didn’t need to share it with her mom, or even tell her about it, if she didn’t want to.
She sobbed--her face a wet mess hidden beneath tissue after tissue. “Oh God,” she moaned, trying to get a hold of herself. All her grief at the loss of her father rolled over her, fresh again, but different this time. This time it was an ache to thank him, guilt at how she’d come to hate him in his death, for leaving her.
He hadn’t left her--he’d been taking care of her all along, through the most unlikely person--his own murderer.
She sniffled, trying to get her breath back. “Do you think,” she sniffed again, “he forgave you?”
Pauly nodded slowly. “I told him I was sorry, over and over again. He said he knew I didn’t mean it. He knew it was--” Pauly’s voice broke and he blinked rapidly, “--it was a stupid mistake.”
Still bawling, she reached across the table and closed her hand over the top of Pauly’s large knuckles.
“Sophie?” Joey banged on her door again and cursed. He looked through the keys on his chain to find the one to her apartment and unlocked the door, though his gut already told him she wasn’t there. And he feared he knew exactly where she was. He opened the door.
“Sophie?” he called out, taking a quick walk through her place. Food was lef
t out on the counter in mid-preparation, ribbons of basil cascading off the cutting board, the smell of raw garlic in the air. He walked down the hall to her bedroom, and on a terrible hunch, checked her closet for the gun.
Shit.
He ran for the door, fear pumping through his body in icy bursts. Dear God, let her not do something stupid. If Pauly saw she packed a gun…well, he had no doubt who would win any battle between them.
He got in his car and peeled out. He made a quick sign of the cross. Mary, Queen of Peace, please let her be unharmed. Please don’t let her do something stupid. Don’t let her get herself killed. Please.
He arrived at Pauly’s in record time, jumping out and running to the front door, which he pounded with his fist, his heart in his throat. He waited only five seconds before he circled around to the back and banged on the kitchen door.
Pauly opened the door and took in his expression of doom. “First Sophie, now you knocking on my door, huh?”
He wasn’t breathing at all.
“Come in. It’s all right--she hasn’t shot me yet,” Pauly said.
He followed Pauly in and literally sagged against the wall with relief at the sight of Sophie. She sat at the table, her eyes and nose red, used tissues balled up all around her, but very much alive.
“We’re just talking.”
“Hey, Joey,” she said softly, standing up to greet him. He could see the handle of his pistol poking out from her sweater pocket and he grabbed it, yanking it free and giving her a sharp smack on the ass.
Pauly lifted his eyebrows in surprise and hid a grin.
“I was just leaving,” Sophie said, turning to hug Pauly as if something meaningful had passed between them. “Thanks, Uncle Pauly,” she said, kissing both his cheeks, then hugging him again.
He gave her an awkward pat on the back, but appeared pleased.
When she turned to him, it was with the meekness of someone who knows she screwed up. He raised his eyebrows with as much stern warning as he could impart. “Go wait for me at your place.”
She nodded. “Okay, bye,” she said weakly.
When the door shut behind her, he blew out his breath and eyed Pauly warily. He had tucked the gun in the waistband of his jeans, and he didn’t think he’d need it, but he was ready if an attack came. “I didn’t tell her. I swear to you, Pauly.” He ran his hand through his hair. “But it is my fault she put it together.”
Pauly looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m glad she came over,” he admitted. “Her old man’s ghost is the one that haunts me the most, you know?”
“It was an accident, Pauly.”
Pauly nodded. “Yeah, I think she might understand that,” he said, his eyes going to the door through which Sophie had departed. Pauly looked at him with grim assessment and he stood tall for it, still on needles wondering whether there would be paybacks for his blunder. “So what are your intentions with her?” Pauly demanded.
Joey was taken off-guard, but quickly jumped to the new tracks. “I’m going to marry her,” he asserted. “Just as soon as I convince her to have me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you good to her?” he demanded. “Because if I ever find out you’re not, you’ll be answering to me.”
It was so endearing, he couldn’t help but grin. “You standing in for her dad?”
Pauly lifted his chest as if it were a role he would be honored to fill. “That’s right.”
He held out his hand and when Pauly took it, pulled him in for an embrace. “Thanks, Pauly. I promise I will take good care of her.”
“You’d better,” he said as they parted.
“Thanks for talking to her. I think she needed it, you know? She never got over his death.”
Pauly’s face sagged. “Yeah, me neither.”
Joey climbed in his car and made the sign of the cross, looking heavenward. Thank the Virgin Mary everything had turned out all right. As he drove to Sophie’s, all the fear he’d suffered on the way over morphed into frustration. What the hell had she been thinking? Jesus, Christ she could have gotten both of them killed.
He used his key to enter and she emerged from the kitchen, looking overly bright. “Dinner’s ready,” she chirped.
“Put it back in the oven, we have some talking to do.”
She eyed him warily, but obeyed, returning to the kitchen.
“Sit down,” he ordered when she returned to the living room where he paced the length of the sofa and back.
She sat in an overstuffed chair, looking small and uncomfortable.
“What in the hell were you thinking?” he started in, waving his arms and raising his voice. “You could’ve been killed. You don’t show up at the door of a soldier carrying a weapon. Not unless you’re absolutely sure you’re going to use it, and Jesus, were you really thinking you wanted to?” He didn’t let her answer, storming on, “Is that what you intended? To go over there and kill Pauly? Exact your own retribution? Do you know what it’s like to kill a man, Soph? Do you?” He shook the back of the chair she sat in.
Tears spilled down her cheeks and she shook her head. “No.”
“Did you want to kill him?”
“No,” she sniffed. “No, I just--” she stopped. “I don’t know, maybe. I didn’t think it through.”
He shook the back of the chair again. “You’re damn straight you didn’t think it through. I told you we’d talk about it when I got over here, but you ran off, half-cocked. You could’ve been killed, Sophie! Or you could’ve got me killed for breaking the code and telling you. Jesus Christ, Soph!”
“Jesus, yourself, Joey!” she yelled back. “Why don’t you just spank me and get it over with?”
“I’m going to,” he thundered. “But I’m too angry to touch you right now!”
She drew in a sharp breath, realizing how meticulous he’d been to not lay a finger on her. Instead, he’d shaken the chair she sat in, banged on the end table beside her, waved his hands in the air.
Hearing he was mad reduced her to a small child. She drew her knees up to her chest, perching her bare feet on the seat cushion and hiding her face, her tears turning into a full sob.
She must’ve looked pitiful, because when Joey knelt beside her and peeled her hands back from her face, his expression was kind. “I’m sorry. Don’t be scared, little girl.”
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you, Joey. I just don’t want you mad at me.”“Aw, baby. I’m not mad. You just scared the hell out of me, that’s all.” He rubbed her knees.
He loved her. She knew it now. She hadn’t believed any of his smooth talk, but his expression had been absolutely terrorized when he burst into Pauly’s, and the way he’d sagged against the wall, pale and exhausted, had told her everything. He wasn’t the sort of man to show fear, not to anyone. He hadn’t looked afraid when he’d been injured in a bomb and his brother had laid in a coma--he’d looked worn and resolute. But tonight she’d seen real fear. And it had been for her.
“How did it go with Pauly?”
She sniffed. “Good. My dad visits him sometimes. Tells him to take care of me,” her voice wavered.
“Whoa, really? Did that make you happy?”
“Yeah, kinda,” she laughed through her tears. “I guess I always felt like he abandoned me, you know? But he didn’t.”
Joey stood and pulled her to her feet and into an embrace. They stood locked together, her cheek pressed over his heart, his arms solid and warm. After a long time, she pulled away. “Dinner’s probably ruined by now, but I don’t think I can eat knowing I have a spanking coming.”
He smiled. “Let’s get it over with, then.” He led her into the bedroom, seeming to understand her fear mounted with each step they took, because he wrapped his arm around her waist, providing reassurance.
“Get me that paddle you ordered,” he commanded when they stepped in the bedroom. Though she’d been quite certain he would ask for it, his words made her dizzy. She retrieved the box with
paddle and butt plug she’d ordered and handed the wooden implement to him, feeling herself blush, not quite able to meet his eyes.
He cupped her chin and lifted it. “You are getting a serious spanking, little girl.”
She flushed even more. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled, wishing he’d let go of her chin so she could hide her embarrassment. He held her eye long enough to make it clear her humiliation was registered and perhaps even owed.
“Pull down your pants and bend over the bed,” he ordered.
She unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down to mid-thigh. He hadn’t specified her panties, so she left them on, bending over with the lacy lingerie still intact.
She should have known better because in a moment it was yanked up into her cleft and the hard wood of the paddle cracked down on her bared cheeks. She gasped at the sensation. He’d been right--wood was completely unforgiving. Not at all like the surface sting of his belt. This was a deeper pain, a shock of force that connected with her sit bones and lifted her to her toes. He smacked her again and again, not giving her time to catch her breath or recover before the next swat landed. The long plank of wood was able to hit both cheeks at the same time, seeming to double the pain. She jerked and jumped, but his hold of her panties prevented her from listing to the side. After ten solid whacks, he paused, leaving her whimpering softly into the blankets, her legs trembling too much to hold her.
He yanked her panties down and leaned down, speaking low in her ear. “The next time I tell you to take your pants down, you pull down your panties, too, or you’ll be wearing them up round your ears for the rest of the day, capisce?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
It was funny when he turned tough, more of the Sicilian came out. Her sex pulsed in response to his gruff admonishments.
“You don’t ever,” he began spanking again, “ever,” another whack, “threaten a member of the Family with a gun.”
