by Xavier Neal
The sadness stirring in her stare tempts me into ending the conversation I can hardly fathom we’re having.
“Come se fossi un uccellino in una gabbia dorata.”
Like I was a baby bird in a golden cage.
“Ma guardando indietro…”
But, looking back…
“It’s not hard to see that he did. Had he not, my life would’ve ended after I had produced you. Had he not, he would’ve never let me bring you here for the summers. Had he not, he would’ve never allowed Antonio to love me or me to love him. Do I believe your father was in love with me? No. Do I believe he had love for me? Senza dubbio.”
Without a doubt.
Mamma has a sip of her beverage while I struggle to drink in her statements.
My eyes shift back to my untouched meal out of a need to simply look elsewhere.
How is what they had love?
How is it what they shared can bear the same branding as what Chantal and I have?
How is theirs not just mutual respect?
“There are many different ways to love, mio figlio.” Mamma’s words collect my perplexed gaze. “Just like there are many different ways to rule.”
There are.
But veering from the route of my predecessors has cost me greatly.
Does the mistake lie within love itself or the control I have allowed it to have in my life?
Should I…somehow…contort Chantal to live and behave as my mother did, theoretically prolonging her existence while simultaneously protecting it from those who wish to use her as nothing more than a pawn to take to get to me?
Perhaps she would be miserable living like Mamma did, but at least she would be alive.
Isn’t that more important than happiness?
“You’re worried,” Mamma casually sighs at the same time she places her glass back on the table.
“No.” I swallow my sadness and fold my hands firmly together in my lap. “We’ll bring her home within the next day or two, Mamma. You know the power of the Syndicate.”
“You’re worried about what loving her is doing to you.”
My entire body tenses in preparation for me to snap.
For me to tow the lie further.
That I am fine.
That everything will be fine.
That this is just a random roach in the butcher shop, not a possible infestation.
I lower my mouth to remind her that worry is a trait of the weak, which I am not.
I couldn’t be fucking stronger.
I couldn’t be more fucking powerful than I am.
I begin to move my lips to feed her the bullshit I’m feeding everyone when her head tilts the slightest fraction to the left.
It’s the most subtle nonverbal command I can recall her giving from my childhood.
It was her way of telling me not to lie.
It was her way of informing me she already knows whether or not the words I speak match.
It was her way of expressing acceptance over whatever it was I had already deemed unacceptable.
The innocent action results in me slinking down into my seat, feeling like I’m that scared adolescent only she could see.
No tears join the conversation.
No sniffles.
Just shameful nods.
“Vorresti sapere cosa pensa questa vecchia saggia?”
Would you like to know what this wise old woman thinks?
“You are far from old, Mamma.”
Her shrug is playful. “Giovane vecchio.”
Young old.
“I think loving her is giving you something to live for outside of traditions and bloodshed.” Mamma’s tone softens alongside her stare. “And, I think having a love you are willing to fight heaven or hell for – sometimes both at once – does not make you weak.” She returns her red wine to her hold. “Just a bit insane.”
It’s impossible not to smile at the statement.
“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of insanity, mio figlio. It simply makes the ride of life a bit more fun.”
“I love you, Mamma.”
“And I you.” A warm nod is delivered in my direction followed by her tipping the glass to her lips.
“Capo,” Miko’s voice suddenly speaks up from where he’s approaching the table, “we need to talk.”
“Business?”
He flops down back into his seat on a grunt, “Sì.”
“How about I go back inside and get you two some dessert?” Mamma offers her dismissal in a familiar way.
She did the same to Father when we were younger.
She’d make an excuse to leave him and Antonio alone, taking me out of the room with her.
She knew she didn’t belong hearing what was going to be said then, just as she knows it is not her place to hear what is going to be said now.
“Per favore dimmi che c'è il gelato,” Miko says in a hopeful tone.
Please tell me there's gelato.
“Ice cream is…,” he verbally fumbles around at the same time he pulls my plate over to him, “like a sad nut sack in comparison to it.”
Mamma rises out of her chair, displaying a crooked smirk. “Choice of words has always been your strong suit, nipote.”
“And, yet Beni fails to realize this.”
The amount of mocking echoing around the back patio does its best to replace the lurking dread in my veins that never seems to want to die.
He not only waits until Mamma has shut the back door, but until he’s finished chewing the bite he shoved into his mouth during her exit. “There’s talk.”
“About?”
“Chantal’s…disappearance.”
“Do we have a location?”
If we somehow manage to get a tip that beats Shay to the punch, that’s one less favor.
That’s one less shackle on my best friend.
“No.” His fork cuts into more of the pasta. “Or, at least not from the joint call I just took.”
“Who was on the call?”
“Kinnaman and Acker, but it’s likely the other three will be calling before the day’s over.”
I silently wait for the information dump he’s dragging out.
After shoveling away another mouthful, he meets my impatient stare. “They’ve been told your original courting competition will be resuming soon.”
My head cocks in confusion.
“That you’ve come to your senses. Gotten rid of your indiscretion.” The fork in his possession is waved my direction. “And-”
“A drop of that sauce on my shirt, and I’ll have you hand wash all of my laundry to pass the time while we’re here.”
He places the utensil down prior to finishing. “And, that you’ve banished it to someplace it’ll no longer be a problem.”
There’s no stopping the twitch in my glare.
“I asked for the source of the statements, which got me grumbles and mumbles and eventually them to say they were just rumors that they had heard over dinners.”
“Dinners with who?”
“Their wives and daughters, who I’m sure heard it from bitches at their spa appointments or some shit.” A small shrug bounces his shoulders. “In other words, it’s nothing. Just…Gossip.”
“If gossip were food, those women would all be obese.”
Miko merely smirks.
“Where are the roots of the rumors they heard is the core question we need answers to.”
My second swiftly nods his agreement.
“The phrasing of…banishment and no longer being a problem…” I slowly shake my head. “That reeks of arrogance. Someone’s confidence climbing to new levels due to an accomplishment. An accomplishment such as stealing and misplacing my fiancée. Sì?”
“Sì.”
“Il tuo gusto preferito,” Mamma announces during her stroll back to the patio.
Your favorite flavor.
White bowls filled with beautiful yellow-colored scoops of lemon gelato are placed down in front of each of
us.
“Oh, sii ancora il mio cuore pulsante,” Miko croons to the dessert. “Siamo veramente a casa.”
Oh, be still my beating heart. We truly are home.
“Stop…serenading your food.”
His head whips my direction at the same time he snatches up his spoon. “Stop neglecting yours.”
Our brotherly snipes are interrupted by the sound of another phone ringing. This time, however, it’s mine. Retrieving it from my pants pocket is done promptly. The ID of the incoming call causes my heart to speed up and my breath to completely stop. Anxiety builds at an accelerated rate until it's left with no choice but to reveal itself in various forms.
A lump in the throat.
An unsteady hand.
Additional nervousness boiling in the pit of my stomach.
I need to hit the answer key, yet worst case scenario thoughts begin to run rampant again.
What if Shay’s phoning to say they’ve found her body?
What if that’s why she’s found the information we want in just over twenty-four hours?
Without having to be told, Mamma wordlessly dismisses herself back into her home while Miko encourages me to accept the call with a mere nod to the device.
I put the pending conversation on speaker and greet politely as possible, “Buonasera signorina.”
Good evening, Miss.
“It’s barely noon here,” Shay swiftly reminds.
“Allora mi scusi. Buon pomeriggio.”
My apologies. Good afternoon.
There’s a soft pleased hum out of her, “Better.”
Your place.
You are to always know it.
Even in the most basic of situations such as this.
I understand, for I rule in a similar nature.
It’s why there’s no hesitation to do what I’m told, when I’m told.
There is an unshakeable pecking order, and where I am perched is near enough to the top to behave like those above me, but at a point where I should never forget that there are still those that are above me.
“I’ve located your Mia Bella.”
The particular choice in phrasing prompts me to croak, “Vivo?”
Alive?
Shay allows for a long stretch of silence to pass between us before answering, “Yes.”
“Thank, fuck,” Miko mutters through a mouthful.
“How?” Sitting up in my chair, I push for more information. For the details. For the reasons we found failure where she so swiftly found success. “How did you find her?”
“You really wanna add five more years to Miko’s sentence?” Her tone is coated in playfulness but the subject unquestionably serious. “An explanation would add another leg to this favor. I wouldn’t mind the extra time together, but my new little mouse might.”
My best friend shoots a threatening glare in my direction.
No.
I can’t forfeit any more of his life for Chantal’s.
I won’t.
All of a sudden, Shay releases a dramatically loud swoon into the phone. “My new lingerie set was delivered earlier than anticipated today. It’s pale pink…And lacey…”
I immediately sneer, yet my cousin leans in closer like she’s going to send a picture for him to see.
“And, the corset I’m going to wear with it pushes my tits so that they’re sitting perfect and perky right in your face…”
Another look of disgust springs into my stare; however, a different type of hunger grows in Miko’s.
“Oh…and the panties…they…well they…”
The trailing off of her voice has him scooting closer to the phone in my hand.
When she doesn’t finish her sentence – something I’m grateful for – he snatches the device out of my hand to lowly growl into it, “Loro cosa?”
They what?
“So, you are listening, little mouse?”
“Fucking obviously.”
She snickers at his desperation, and I don’t hesitate to join her.
His cheeks instantly rubricate, resulting in him tossing the phone back onto the table in frustration.
“The earlier than anticipated arrival of the lingerie set has encouraged me to want to pay the unexpected delight forward by providing someone else with the same.”
Hope floods my expression.
“Because I’m in such a generous mood, I will tell you how we found your Mia Bella in exchange for a dick pic.”
Miko and I frown for what I fear are two very different reasons.
My cousin shoves his spoon into the remaining scoop of dessert. “You mean of mine, sì?”
“Of course.”
His displeasure fizzles away revealing something extremely worrisome.
He was jealous.
He wasn’t irritated that she asked.
He was irritated over the idea it wasn’t him she wanted.
Which means he wants her.
And, wanting a woman like her cannot and will not end well.
I know he’s not always the keenest wolf in the pack, but he has to know that much.
“A picture will help me prepare for the modifications we’ll be facing.”
Appalment appears on Miko’s face. “Modifications?”
“Are you asking me to define the word or for specifics of what those may be?”
“You can’t improve perfect, baby.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Her prompt retort drops his jaw.
“Also…baby is not an approved term that I will allow to be spoken to me. You will be given a list of options at your integration but for now, simply be aware that baby is unacceptable.”
“But I have to be called little mouse?”
“You will be called little pinkie poodle if it suits my fucking mood. Now,” Shay’s tone loses its previous softness, “do we have a dick deal, or should I simply move forward to announcing where she is and the next steps we will be taking?”
I’m not even given a chance to speak.
“Deal,” Miko loudly confirms.
“Stop making fucking deals with her,” I angrily mouth.
He brushes me off with a toss of the hand and resumes eating his treat.
“Locating your Mia Bella-”
“Chantal,” I firmly insert.
That name is…sacred.
And, like her, it’s mine.
Mine to use.
Mine to give.
Mine to fucking protect, especially when I can’t physically do it for her.
Unaffected by the correction, Shay continues, “Locating Chantal was actually quite simple. Your reach, Benicio, is global, but once it’s away from this continent, it struggles a little harder to maintain its snug hold. This dictates the next decisions. Theoretically, if you don’t want to kill Chantal, but want her out of the picture, you need to get her out of the fucking country. You were waterside when she was taken. It’s the easiest point of exit. You’re gonna want mercs to move her. They’re trained. Skilled. And, for a high enough price they don’t give a fuck what the package is or who it once belonged to. Knowing these things had me making one phone call to someone whose business is that business.”
Another member of the Synful Syndicate, I’m certain.
“I gave her a few details of the night and a photo of the package.”
It irks me that my pregnant fiancée is being talked about so emotionlessly.
She deserves better.
More.
She is a human being with new life growing inside her.
If this callousness were spoken by anyone else, I would remove their tongue so that they were unable to speak it further.
“It didn’t take long for her to pinpoint the transport participants, especially considering the hell Chantal raised during the process by killing two men of the hired crew.”
A proud smile instantly pops onto my face.
No surprise she’s not going anywhere easily.
“Although the exact who or whom
is still unclear due to the…anonymous approach they took for payment and contact information not being the same individual through the process, those mouths that had been paid to stay closed…well…they decided to reopen once the right amount of money and pressure were provided.”
There’s no surprise it was mercenaries who handled getting her out of the country.
I know my second investigated what he could in that avenue, but an important part of their job is to keep their mouths shut, especially if you’re not asking direct enough questions or don’t possess the correct leverage to change their contracted behaviors.
“The week of her kidnapping, she was actually up for auction,” Shay resumes informing us.
“Auction? As in-”
“As in sold to the highest interested bidder, Benicio.”
Wrath of a new breed begins to boil.
“As in a group of twelve men got into a price war over who got to have her once she had been taken.”
“Names,” I immediately demand.
“You will have the only one that matters,” Shay slyly informs. “The others are entitled to their…privacy.”
“You make an offer to buy my fiancée, and you lose that fucking right.”
“Not when you are protected by Syndicate membership or when the information you offered was done in good – albeit idiotic – faith that it was just for conversational versus investigative purposes.”
My mouth lowers to continue the argument, yet my voice is stopped by Miko’s hand on my leg. He quickly shakes his head, non-verbally indicating not to poke that hive.
I know better than to swing at a hornet’s nest like it’s a piñata, but knowing they wanted to buy the mother of my future child has me reactionarily considering it.
Mamma was not exaggerating on the notion that love makes you insane.
Trying to take on the Synful Syndicate, seven factions that work together to run the world, simply to have a few names of unimportance is lunacy at its finest.
I won’t push the topic further, but if the other eleven men’s identities are discovered during our own personal probing, I will not hesitate to kill them and ask for a pardon later.