by Vice, Demi
“Did you start another riot?” Lorenzo asked.
With boldness, I rolled my head and flashed my pearly whites at his scowl. “Almost.”
His whole face tensed.
“Did you…”
“I did.”
Unterwelt was also the place I snorted an avalanche of coke at my prime. It’s why I spent the end of my junior year in rehab before I dropped out of high school.
“You’re back on cocaína?”
I went back to staring at the plain white ceiling. “It’s a reminder, nothing more. Still in the car.”
Lorenzo sighed in relief. “What happened today?”
“Went straight to a strip club, got some lap dances, went to the sex club on Fifth, got no pussy, then went back to the strip club—”
“Because she was there?”
Lorenzo knew me too well, but unlike Bianca, I wanted him the fuck out of my head.
We both didn’t know The Stripper’s name, but I assumed it was something French going off her thick accent and broken English. When she was hired a few months ago, I never cared to ask, and she wasn’t Lorenzo’s type which was enough reason for him not to get involved.
“I got kicked out,” I explained.
The fucked-up part of all of this was that it was Jonah’s strip club. All of the men who work for Di Vaio went there, and no one was disrespectful enough to get kicked out. Until tonight.
Lorenzo firmly slapped my stomach. I coughed up a little bit of blood.
“What did you do to her?”
I wiped the blood at the corner of my mouth with the back of my forearm then rested it over my eyes, avoiding Lorenzo’s parental glare at all costs.
“Beijou ela.”
“You ki-kissed... her? The-the-the lips? On the lips?” He tripped over his words. “You hate kissing. You wouldn’t even let Ella kiss you…”
“It’s weird to kiss your child on the lips,” I argued, unsure if I believed that anymore.
“It was love, Toni. Your mother’s love.” Lorenzo sighed.
I half-shrugged.
“Why The Stripper?” he pressed.
“I just wanted to...”
Compare.
There was no comparison. Worst of all, there was no intimacy. I convinced myself that I hated kissing for that reason, but there was fucking nothing. I might as well have kissed the back of my hand.
He gasped.
“You-you fucked her? Again?”
I had many rules, but two were set in stone. No kissing, and no fucking the same girl more than once. I broke both with The Stripper. And something told me that tonight wasn’t going to be the last time she’d scream my name before I muffled her with my grasp.
“It’s why I got kicked out.”
“Antonio!” he whisper-yelled.
I sucked on my bloody lip as I pressed my forearm harder against my eyes.
“Antonio,” Lorenzo demanded, trying to pull more answers out of me.
And it worked.
“I tried to…” I gritted through clenched teeth, ashamed and disgusted, “get her pregnant.”
Lorenzo went silent.
“You did what?” His voice shattered the empty room.
I went bare without her knowing, but then pulled out just before I made a massive mistake devised by emotions ignited on pure pain and guilt.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said with no energy.
“Antonio Gabriel Castillo.”
“I pulled out, okay!” I threw my arm to the side, witnessing his unapproving eyes. “I pulled out. Everything is fine, okay? She’s even on birth control.”
Lorenzo looked at my bloody knuckles; my hand clearly missing an essential part of my attire.
“What did you do to her?”
We were no longer talking about The Stripper, but I played dumb.
“I just told you.” I hid my fist under the blanket.
“I’m talking about the real reason you fucked The Stripper.”
“Nothing. I did nothing.”
I rolled to my side, the pain in my shoulder unbearable, but it was far better than to see Lorenzo’s twisted, judgmental face.
“I went in your room today, Toni.” A chill went down my spine, and it took all of me not to react. “It was clean, and your mask was on the floor. But more importantly, your sheets? They smelled.”
“I haven't washed them in a month.”
He already knew that.
“No, they smelled like what you claim she smells like.” He paused. “Your busted lip, your bruised cheek, your earlobe… a hickey?”
When I made it to the funeral, I texted Lorenzo to meet me at my car. I thought I could get into a fight with him before he noticed all my marks, but Lorenzo was smart. That’s why when we fought, he aimed for my mysterious marks, attempting to hide my secrets with a dose of affection before Jonah came and ripped us apart. Fortunate for us, Lorenzo and I always got physical with each other, so it didn't look suspicious.
“You gave her your ring?”
“I lost it.”
“You gave her your ring,” he firmly stated.
I rubbed my thumb on my left ring finger where it had been for years. I felt off balance without it, but I didn't miss it.
“Like you lost your lighter? Like you lost your switchblade? Your mind? Your heart?” His tone became tenser with each question.
I pulled one single laugh from my weary lungs. “Can't lose what I never had, Lori.”
Silence masked the room.
“I really hope nothing happened, Toni,” he grunted as he stood up.
“Stay,” I found myself saying.
Lorenzo froze.
“You heard me,” I reassured him.
He sat back on the bed, stiff as a board. After a few minutes, he crawled under the blanket; our backs against each other with a few feet of much-needed space.
“You remember The Gods of Death? Lano and Veto?” I asked.
Lorenzo rolled over. I felt his eyes on the back of my head.
“We don’t forget The Castillo Myths.”
“Then tell it like Mamãe used to.”
The Gods of Death were brothers. Lano, the God of Peaceful Death, and Veto, the God of Violent Death. Amongst the two were countless stories. From a young age, I loved the story about Veto e Sua Rosa, Veto and His Rose. Yet, a small side of me always hated the myths and tales; full of pure fantasy and make-believe. Veto and His Rose dated back to the first Ceifador who married his wife, his soul, his Rosa. To this day, he was the only Castillo fortunate enough to find his soul.
My grandfather was a single father. Lorenzo was a single father. Mamãe was a single mother. And I was ready to be a single father, twice.
After Lorenzo ended the story with the classic O Fim, my body felt more in pain than what I had put it through today. I turned over on my back, letting out painful moans, looking at the ceiling for comfort.
Lorenzo spoke, “The last time you asked for that story was when we saved that boy in Chicago. Why today?”
“I forgot it...”
I never could. Not around Bianca.
“You think Bianca—” He cut himself off. It pained Lorenzo to ask, just as it pained me to say, “No, I don’t think she’s my Rosa.”
I faced Lorenzo and allowed my anger to have a solid punch in his shoulder.
“I could’ve had a few more months. I could’ve had her until I couldn't.” My voice broke.
He rubbed his shoulder. “I’m saving you from the worst feeling in the world. Trust me, Toni.”
Lorenzo and I always had a complicated relationship, but I trusted him. So, maybe it was easier this way. Leaving Bianca before I gave her more. Before I fucked up. Before she left me.
It was already five in the morning which meant I only had an hour before Jonah woke up. I pulled my car keys out of my pocket and dropped them on Lorenzo’s chest.
“There are two books in my glove compartment, hide them, burn them, throw them in th
e fucking ocean. I don’t care. Just get rid of them,” I paused, hating what was next to come. I took a deep breath. “The same goes for all the things I’ve stolen. But if you touch my bed or sheets, I’ll kill you.”
Lorenzo deadpanned, but I saw the small touch of shock in his eyes from what I was asking him to do. Make Bianca disappear. I couldn’t trust myself, and Lorenzo sure as hell knew that.
“When you come back, I need you to sedate me and stitch me up.”
Lorenzo flexed his jaw, hesitated, but then left, jiggling my keys.
I passed out before Lorenzo sedated me. Two days later, I woke up in the afternoon, pulled out the IV tube in my arm then went straight to the bathroom to work on my hygiene. Walking my bare ass to the kitchen, the island counter was full of my favorite salty and sweet snacks. One of which was imported from Brazil.
Loud gunshots came from the TV in the living room, but Lorenzo kept his eyes on me, never saying a word. I grabbed my favorite sandwich cookie snack, Passatempo, that had a printed monkey giving a thumbs-up, and strolled into my bedroom. Like I asked, it remained untouched. But when I pulled the drawer that once kept my orange iPod, Bianca officially didn't exist in my room.
My eyes darted to the hole in the wall.
Bianca almost didn't exist.
It took me a while to sleep in my own bed, about a month, and when I did, all I smelled were peaches. Sweet innocent peaches. I refused to change my sheets until, one day, Lorenzo did it for me. We fought, I didn't hold back, and I won for the first time in a long time.
Another month passed, then another. It was mid-June and every day, every minute, every single second, was cruel. That was, until the day it wasn’t.
In a snap of a finger, all my cherished memories of Bianca Di Vaio turned to a pile of ashes and nothing more.
Because the last feeling I ever had for the girl I never met. For the girl who placed a bloody smile on my drunken face. For the girl I brought midnight peaches to. For the girl I dreamt about every waking second and every sleepless night. And for the girl who looked at me like I was an immortal god, was hate.
Pure hatred.
It didn’t compare to the hate I loved to falsely assume I had for Bianca before.
No, this time it was rational.
It was vicious.
It was violent.
Because that same girl I dared to think was my soul was the same girl who scarred my body and sent me to prison.
That’s the worst that can happen.
O Fim
Acknowledgments
To all my readers, thank you to the moon and back. I can't do what I do without your support, and I genuinely appreciate each and every one of you. Love you all!
Ceifador X says a lot about me. Particular, dark, sweet, innocent. It showcases purity in a way that is gloomy and exposes the question, is it wrong? Inspired greatly by the princesses we grew up with, I wanted to emphasize their sad truth and add what lurks deep inside my mind, which not even I knew existed. However now I know, I'm split in two.
Light and dark.
I wanted to go on and thank my sister, M.C., for being the only one who believes in my uncharacteristic dream. I don't say this, if at all, I love you more than you know. And hopefully, one day, you'll read this book. But please, for the love of God, don't be too critical. I'm not Neil Gaiman. Ha.
To my handpicked ARC readers, I thank you all for sticking by me for almost a year before you caught a glimpse of Neo and Bianca. I'm a tease, I know, but I hope you loved them as much as I enjoyed writing them.
To my editor, Ellie. Thank. You. Times. Infinity. You fix my editing anxiety, and you don't even know it. And to that, I am beyond delighted to have found you.
To my proofreader Micki, you make my last-minute changes look like they were all part of my plan. Thank you so much for making me foolproof.
To all the bloggers; grateful isn't enough. Thank you for helping small authors like me in your free time, reading, reviewing, and promoting, and all for free. I hope our journey is everlasting, fun-crazy, and full of surprises because without you, in plain terms, live would be a pain in the ass.
To all the present and future authors in this world, never give up. No matter how many hours you've worked in your long day or how many creative/writing dead ends you've reached or how many times you doubt yourself. Never give up. Your voice and mind should never be stopped. Let it run wild.
About the Author
Demi Vice lives in the windy city of Chicago and is a graphic designer by day and a romance writer by night. She’s hopelessly consumed by news ideas involving flawed characters who border between good or bad, heroes or villains, saints or sinners, and deserve happily-ever-after endings.
She enjoys reading Edgar Allan Poe, cooking medium-rare steaks, and trying to relax by doing yoga and drinking green tea.
Stay in touch
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Website: authordemivice.com
