by Tara Oakes
I watch his shoulders rise and fall as he breathes in and I want nothing more than to reach out to him and hold his body next to me, to let our flesh speak to each other in a way our words can’t to help me understand.
“Theresa, this can’t happen. This… you wouldn’t understand. I can’t risk it.” The finality of his words doesn’t match the quaking voice behind them. He’s conflicted, wrestling with himself.
I reach out, placing my hand on his back to reassure him that nothing’s changed. I see his head bow, but not less than a moment later his shakes off my touch, causing me to rebound, dropping the pile of clothes at my feet.
The sound causes him to turn, my naked body fully on display in front of him. His eyes travel up before resting on mine. There are so many emotions in his eyes, but, I can’t get a read on them. They close tight before I can try.
“You have to go, Theresa. You have to leave,” he speaks, his eyes still heavily closed.
The air in the room has changed. It’s bitter frost nipping at my skin. “But…” I try once again to bring him back to me.
He shakes his head, determined. “What don’t you understand? This is over. I’m no good for you.”
I swallow hard. “You’re no good for me? What are you talking about, Carmine. Ten minutes ago you were good enough for me. Don’t use such a lame cop-out.”
I see his lips tighten, “Don’t make me do this, Theresa. Please, just leave.”
I feel anger building. Rejection starting to fester like water on the brink of boiling. “Do what exactly, Carmine? Show your true colors? Prove that I was nothing more than a notch on your little bedpost over there? Once I’d played your little game and given into you, you’re not interested anymore? It’s not worth the chase anymore?”
“Don’t be such a child, Theresa. You’re a little girl. Go run home to your dolls, and forget me.”
I bend down to pick up my clothes, article by article and place them back on my humiliated body. “Oh, I’m gonna forget you alright, you asshole! You cruel son of a bitch to lead me on, and-” sobs threaten to break through my words, leaking into them and revealing the hurt, “Telling me the things you told me. You said you loved me.” I snap up, fully dressed now, and look him dead set in the eyes before storming off. “That’s the cruelest thing to do to somebody.”
CHAPTER NINE
PRESENT
VINCENZA
I exhale deep and long, groaning at the sight of the rising sun through the windows. I held out hope that I would eventually fall asleep, get some rest, but it never happened. It’s not like I’ve never slept alone before.
Up until the wedding, Dom and I lived separately. I had my little apartment with Stephanie and we never really spent overnights together unless it was on vacation, away from the nosy family members that would no doubt judge our premarital sleepovers. So why was last night so hard? It’s a given that Dom will have business trips where I’ll be left alone, I wonder if I’ll still find it hard to sleep alone then? When I’ll have no choice?
I wanted to climb downstairs so many times last night and invite him back up to our bed, where he belongs, but held strong. I won’t be treated like a child. I won’t have him holding back information from me, whether or not he thinks it’s for a good reason.
I hope he gets a stiff neck from sleeping on the couch in his office. I know that’s where he ended up. He’s spent many nights on that couch after working into the early hours of the morning over the years, too exhausted to make the trip upstairs. I also know he always complains of a neck-ache the next morning.
Serves him right for lying to me.
Too bad I’m too angry with myself for missing his sleeping body next to mine, to gloat.
~*~
“Miss Theresa, ma’am,” Juanita walks Theresa in to the family room where I’ve spread out the stationary, writing the thank-you’s for our wedding gifts.
My sister-in-law enters cautiously, less than twenty four hours after our argument. Juanita leaves us to return to what she was interrupted from. I straighten myself and drop my pen.
“How’s your hand?” she asks, sweetly.
I shrug my shoulders and hold up the bandage, the object of her concern. “Kind of hard to write with a giant wad of cotton.”
She nods, her eyes setting on the medical wrapping. “I’m so sorry, V. I hate that you got hurt from my freak out session.”
Wow. Theresa isn’t the most stubborn person I know, but, let’s just say apologies don’t always come easy for her. I rise from my seat and move to her, close enough to reach out and hug her tight.
“I’m sorry too. I know you’re going through a lot right now. I should have been more sensitive, Theresa. I mean… I should have used better judgment. I remember how badly he hurt you. But, I also remember how happy you were with him before he broke your heart. I just-” I take her hand in mine. “I was holding out hope that maybe I could warm you up to the idea of him being here. You know, maybe things could somehow rekindle themselves now that you guys are older.”
I see a mixture of emotions flash across her face. “I know you thought you were doing a good thing, V. And I just want to forget yesterday. All of yesterday.”
Sounds good to me! I pull her in again and hold her, thankful to have her back. “You got it, Theresa.” She laughs at my enthusiasm.
“The least I can do is help you write out these cards, since you cut your hand because of me,” she suggests.
I hand her the pen. “Damn right,” I joke. “It’s too early for wine, but how about some iced tea?”
She clicks the pen, getting ready to go to work. “Make mine a double.”
~*~
“There,” she hands me the finished card. Her neat, cursive handwriting spread over the thick cardstock.
I take it from her and add it to the pile of completed notes. I then hand her a blank cone and read to her the name of the next recipient from the list. I take a nice healthy sized sip of my drink as I watch her fill it out.
“Don’t get sloppy, now.” I crack the proverbial whip, and then watch smugly as she rolls her eyes.
She growls low, “This is like the two hundredth one, V. My hand is numb.”
I laugh, waving my finger for her to continue her task. “So. I know the topic is a loaded one, but- how did it feel to see Carmine again? Did you get the butterflies?”
She pinches her lips, her disgust showing. “Hardly. Unless you want to talk about killer ninja butterflies carrying malaria that I can sick on his ass.”
I suck in loudly. That sounds brutal. You know that saying about time healing all wounds. Yeah, not so much in this case apparently. “OK then,” I concede. Point taken.
“Well, not to press the subject or anything, but, do you have any idea why he would be carrying a gun?” I ask her.
The pen stops. “I-I have a few theories.”
I swirl the iced tea in my mouth, playing with it before I swallow. “Care to share? I mean, he’s living in my guest house. Should I be worried?”
Her fingers spring to life, continuing the swirled lettering. “He’s not going to use it unless he has to, V. At least I’m pretty sure he won’t. A guy like him, he has to carry a gun.”
I eye her suspiciously. “What do you mean a guy like him?”
I can hear her breathing, patiently planning her words. “V, he’s protection. Guys like him… soldiers.”
“No, he’s not in the army, Theresa. He wants to go into business,” the words are barely out of my mouth as she groans painfully, listening to my explanation. Her eyes are full of pity.
And then, like a lightning bolt, it all comes together.
“He’s not in the army…” I whisper. “He’s not going into business.”
Theresa nods, but offers no elaboration to her answer from before. It’s clear by the look on my face that I’ve figured it out, anyway.
“Your brother is soooo dead.”
~*~
DOM
The
screen of my phone lights up with V’s latest text. I’m relieved to see it. At least she’s not mad enough to cut off all communication. She barely said goodbye to me as I left the house this morning.
WE NEED TO TALK. JUST THE TWO OF US. TELL MY NEW
BODYGUARD TO MAKE HIMSELF SCARCE.
Fantastic. As if she wasn’t angry enough with me already. I silence the phone, turning off my text alerts. I don’t need this today. I have to stay focused on the larger picture. We’re on our way to a meeting on neutral territory with E.J. Rizzo, and Anthony Moretti, Carmine’s boss and the person responsible for setting up the talk.
E.J. was eager to attend the meeting, probably hoping to get back in the good graces of the commission. Rumors had run rampant that he had supplied information to the feds to lessen his sentence. He finally served eight months on a racketeering charge. That’s unheard of. The only reasonable assumption was that he turned rat.
Everyone, including me, was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for federal agencies to hit hard on information supplied by E.J. But, it never happened. That doesn’t mean everyone was convinced. Most people were still wary of him and he’s suffered for it. Not unnecessarily, believe me, he deserves it.
Carmine is tracking down the men from the image search, trying to find the photographer responsible for spying on V. It’s been quiet for the last two days, but I’m not taking it for granted. This sit down should help figure out whether E.J. is behind things as I suspect he is.
I’m not stupid enough to go into this alone, but have few options of who to bring. My security team isn’t fully aware of the darker side of our business and family history. They wouldn’t be much help if this were to turn sour.
The logical choice for companions are John and Mike. Not only are they just as aware of the intricacies involved and the sensitivity needed when dealing with other families, but they have just as much on the line as I do when it comes to any threat on V’s safety. She may be my wife, but she’s their baby sister.
“We all set?” Mikey asks John and I.
John nods. I follow. “It’s time,” I announce.
Our arrival has been expected. We set the meeting time for noon, but the trip to Staten Island took some time, especially with the construction along the way. We’re about twenty minutes late, but I plan to use it to our advantage.
The pizza shop chosen as the meeting place is neutral to Rizzo as well as me. Moretti is the owner, although not on paper. We leave the car behind, heading around to the back entrance. A large muscular man clad in a black suit stands near the door.
“Hello gentlemen. You’ve been expected. Mr. Moretti personally assures that the premises are clean and safe for your discussions. Now this is purely a formality, but we’ll need to check for any weapons.” The guard explains before he pats each of us until he’s satisfied we’re unarmed.
He steps aside, opening the door for us to gain entry into the protection the inner rooms will provide for our clandestine activities.
Now although this place looks unassuming and unremarkable in everything from the old tattered chairs to the wood paneled walls, I know it’s just an illusion. Some of the biggest names in organized crime have sat at that table at one point or another, hashing out deals, ordering a hit or two… sometimes even trying to discuss differences between families on the brink of war.
I’ve only been here twice in my life. The first time, when I was eight. It was the day V’s dad died. It was sudden. It was life-changing. Dad and I had been out picking up Momma’s birthday present from an old jeweler that my family has known for years. Those were the days before cellphones.
While in the store, word had spread enough to have reached the store we were in, and us inside. Dad left the necklace abruptly on the counter and grabbed my teen-aged hand, pulling me back to the car and was frantically talking options and strategy with his bodyguard, Peter. I was too young to understand most of it, but I remember dad was scared. I’ve never seen him scared before that day, and never did again after. But in that second he was no longer the powerful Mr. D, business man, connected man, a man to be feared. He was a man backed into a corner and trying to decide who to fight first.
The biggest probability was that V’s dad was murdered, and no one was sure how that would spell out for the family or our organization. We hid in a nearby home of a supporter of our family, someone who had sworn allegiance to my dad years before, and I remember dad frantically making calls and trying to figure things out.
My first instinct was to beg him to bring us home, take me to my Mom and the Lombardi’s as they grieved. I should be there with them during something like this. Dad was quick to point out to me that without knowing what had happened, we may very well bring more heartache to their feet, and put them in danger if this is just the beginning of somebody moving against us.
Hours later, after Dad had made phone contact with Mr. Moretti from our little safe house, all the while soldiers of our family arming themselves and readying to seek retribution for V’s Dad, we left the safe confines of the small safe house under heavy security to pay a visit to one of dad’s oldest friends. Mr. Moretti.
Frank Moretti had always been a smart business man. That’s what dad always said. He’d gained power but always stayed in the background. He was a neutral player in almost everything, never favoring sides or allying himself. He was like our own little version of Switzerland. He’d offered to set up a meeting where Dad could formally state the intentions of our family and make it known what our intentions are, in light of this most recent disaster.
Mom had begged him to leave me behind. I could hear her through the phone as Dad spoke with her. He reasoned that I was safest with him. We were heavily protected now and he wasn’t willing to risk splitting us up.
I was terrified. The danger that was part of our way of life had never touched home before today. I knew it could get worse, could cause an all-out war, and I knew my family could very well suffer more. But, I looked at my Dad, taking charge of the men that accompanied us. He looked strong, he looked mighty. What boy doesn’t want to be like his dad?
I look around now, in these rooms that terrified me back on that day. I remember my Dad and the air of authority he exuded that day and try my best to emulate it. I’m very much in the same position as he was then. I’m here to protect my family and what’s ours. I can show no weakness.
John and Mike flank me, no doubt harboring their own memories of this place. They were brought here, along with Tony, a few years after that. That was the final part of the deal of peace and compromise, to swear an oath that they would not seek revenge when they were older for their father. They would voluntarily give up any rights to a vendetta. They would not seek answers for what may have been more than just an accident. They also were giving up any claim to lead the family in the future.
John was a little older than me, and so the full ramifications of the promises they made that day must have weighed more heavily on him. But he was now the man of the house, the head of his family that had found itself fatherless. He acted in the best way to keep his family safe and to possibly keep his momma from having to bury sons next to her husband.
It was difficult in more ways than one to accept the deal on faith alone. We wouldn’t know the nameless, faceless, anonymous person behind the other side of the deal that Moretti had stuck. He was the middle man, helping to secure peace, and to put an end to what could very well have been a spark that ignited an explosion. If we knew who the culprit was who masterminded the attack on us, responsible for taking V’s Dad away from her, away from his family, away from us… there is no way we could have kept our promises.
It would have been too much to ask. So, the secret was sealed. It was buried. We may have had our suspicions, I’m sure my father’s own theories haunted him. But, we moved on. For the sake of the family and our way of life, we moved on.
I look to John and see him riddled with tension. His sharp jaw clenching and tensing itself
. His already dark eyes have narrowed, hardened themselves on the man sitting at the table waiting for us.
“Dom, John…” he greets us by name before moving to raise his aging body painfully from his seat to welcome us. Mike is the baby of his family and may not even remember this place, having blocked out those memories of his childhood, but I can see from his stance that he’s on guard just as much as his brother. “And the little one, Michael. You boys have grown. It warms an old man’s heart to see that you have turned into men.”
He struggles to bring herself in closer to embrace each of us, while trying to mask his frailness.
“Come, sit.”
The table is round. Decades old wood, worn and dull, but safe. Everyone has an equal advantage over the other, but nonetheless leery. One empty seat remains on the far side from my brother-in-laws and I. It’s reserved.
“Thank you for your assistance in this… situation, Mr. Moretti. I hope this meeting has an outcome we can be satisfied with.” I formally thank him, showing my respect.
He’s old at this game. His face gives nothing away. “Ah, my boy. It’s the least I can do. And please, you called me Mr. Moretti when you were a boy. You are a man now. Call me Frank.”
We nod, agreeing to the new level of familiarity between us.
“Are we going to be kept waiting?” my eyes dart to the empty chair.
Moretti shakes his head. “He is here. I thought it best that we speak first beforehand. You are new to this. I know the instinct of a husband to protect his wife. I have been married fifty three years, myself. I want to make sure those instincts aren’t going to be a hindrance to our negotiations.”
I swallow my anger at the mere reference to V within these walls. “Let’s get on with this.”
His feeble hands shake with age as they move to rest on the table. “He admits nothing. No proof can be found for his culpability in anything and although he is the most obvious responsible party, I can personally assure you that he has been made aware that any further move against you, especially by involving your loved ones will be viewed as a direct show of disrespect. No retaliation shall be made on either side.”
