by Hamel, B. B.
And I’d have a choice.
I could be a good man, teach my child, be gentle with them, raise them right, or I could be a real piece of shit like her dad.
The answer was obvious.
I wanted to be decent. I wanted to be better than my own parents, better than her parents. It was like we were stuck in a loop, doomed to be as terrible as our parents, but I was determined to get back out of it.
Determined to do better.
Which meant I had to bring her out of that house and make her my wife. Then we could deal with the fallout and the war.
I moved my truck again and sat there planning. I couldn’t hit the house in the middle of the day, so I grabbed something to eat, then as soon as it got dark, I walked over into her neighborhood, keeping my head down, gun tucked into my jeans. I didn’t kick down her door—instead, I went around the back, checking for an alley or some other way into the row home.
Unfortunately, the backyards weren’t accessible, which meant the front was my only option.
So I waited another few hours, killing time by walking through the neighboring streets, getting a sense of the area, getting a feel for the layout. I moved my truck and parked in a good spot, close enough to the house that we could run to it, but not so close that it’d get noticed, killed another then minutes, made sure my gun was loaded and ready, then hit the pavement again.
It was ten minutes past midnight. She’d been in that house for hours. I was sure she was still in there—nobody in and nobody out in all this time.
I stalked to her stoop and walked up to the door. I tried the knob, but it was locked.
So I knocked.
Not loud. Just lightly, enough that if someone were sitting in the living room, they’d hear it. I waited, listened, and all was quiet.
I took out my lockpicks and got to work on the knob.
The thing about doors is they’re not hard to open. Most conventional locks aren’t really that difficult to pick with some practice. Most mafia guys learned the skill, and some were better than others, but we could all do it. I hadn’t neglected my lockpick practice, since going undercover sometimes meant getting into places I shouldn’t, and I made quick work of the bottom lock.
Next came the bolt. That took me a little longer. Sweat rolled down my back, cold and anxious.
But once it was open, I turned the knob and stepped inside.
The house was dead quiet. I halfway expected her dad to be sitting on the other side with a gun aimed at my face, but there was nothing.
The living room was small and cramped. Easy chair, patched leather couch. Carpet was shag and in bad shape. The place smelled like cigar smoke and stale beer. Newspapers were piled up on the table and the kitchen beyond was pitch black.
I snuck up the steps, trying to be as quiet as I could. They creaked underfoot and I grimaced at each sound. At the top, there were three doors, the bathroom and two bedrooms. I listened at the first and heard a soft snoring, so moved on to the next one.
I turned the knob and opened it slowly.
Something flew at me in the darkness. It slammed into my chest and nearly knocked me over. Nails dug into my skin and I barely managed to wrestle Sam back into her room. “It’s me,” I hissed, getting her over to the bed.
She finally stopped trying to rip my face off when I pushed her over onto the pillows. She stared up at me, mouth hanging open.
“Matteo?” she whispered.
I nodded once and held a finger to my lips.
She looked like she wanted to say something, but I shook my head fiercely. I pointed at her dresser, mimed filling a bag, and she seemed to understand. Without a word, she went into her small closet, got out a bag, and started shoving clothes and shoes into it.
I looked around her room. I figured I wouldn’t get another shot.
Light blue walls, pale pink carpet. Pictures of her and Nessa on the nightstand. The desk had a laptop and more pictures, stuff from her senior prom, of her on a ski trip, of her and her dad when she was a little girl, probably at Sesame Place. The walls had old, curling, yellowed posters of boy bands from the early 2000s, and they looked like they’d been there for that long.
I couldn’t imagine living in my childhood room for that long. It was like being a little kid forever.
She finished filling the bag and glared at me, gesturing something with her hands. Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand her sign language.
“Come on,” I said, heading to the door.
But a sound in the hall made me stop.
Sam froze behind me. I glanced back and her eyes were wide as I drew my gun out. She shook her head quickly, but I held up a hand.
Her father appeared, squinting in the dark, gripping a baseball bat. “Sam?” he said.
I moved first. I slammed the butt of the gun into his face. He dropped, groaning, and I kicked him hard in the chest. I ripped the bat away and tossed it aside, the wood clattering down the hallway and tumbling down the steps.
“You motherfucker,” her dad groaned. “What the fuck’s happening?”
I pressed the gun against his face. “I think you know what’s going on here,” I said.
He blinked at me, looked at Sam, then snarled. “You’re the guy that got my daughter pregnant.”
I pulled back, surprised, and looked at her.
“Nessa told,” she said. “That bitch.”
I clenched my jaw and stared back down at him. “And you still hit her?”
Sam took a sharp breath. “You saw that?” she whispered.
“Of course I hit her,” her dad said. He looked like a withered husk of a man, barely a ghost in just boxer shorts and a white t-shirt. He wasn’t worth my time or my rage, but I couldn’t help but heap both of them on him in spades. “You’d hit her too if she betrayed you.”
“She’s your daughter.” I held the gun out, aiming at his head. “I should kill you for touching her, you piece of shit.”
“Matteo, no,” Sam said.
Her dad laughed. “Matteo? Your name’s Matteo? What’s that, Italian?”
“Yeah, it’s Italian,” I said, leaning forward. “Maybe don’t bother thinking about my ethnicity when I have a gun pointed at your face.”
He showed his teeth. “Italian piece of shit, you got my daughter pregnant, you dirty piece of—”
I kicked him again, harder this time. He gasped for breath and doubled over, clutching his side.
“Don’t,” Sam said and put a hand on my arm. “Please, don’t.”
I wanted to kill him. It’d be easy to pull the trigger. Then he’d be gone and he’d never be able to bother Sam again, never be able to hurt her or take things from her or bother her.
But killing him would be almost as bad as hitting her, and I had to be better. I had to learn to be a good man, or at least to fake it.
I shoved the gun away and kicked him one last time. I wasn’t killing him, but at least I could hurt him.
“Touch her again, and I won’t listen to her next time,” I said, took Sam by the wrist, and pulled her along with me.
We hurried down the steps as he father groaned in pain.
“Will he be okay?” she asked as we stepped through the front door.
I left it standing open. “He’ll be fine, but are you?”
“I’m okay. He hit me only that one time.”
“What happened when he brought you home?” We reached my truck and got in, but I wouldn’t feel safe until we were far away. I started the engine and pulled out as fast as I could. There was no doubt that her dad was calling his goons in already.
“Yelled at me,” she said, looking out the window as I drove fast. “Said some nasty things. Threatened to take me to an abortion clinic.”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’d kill him.”
“I know,” she said. “I told him that. He didn’t seem to care, but he didn’t do it, obviously.”
“He didn’t hurt you though?”
“No,” s
he said. “He didn’t hurt me.”
I released a breath and reached out. I took her hand and held it as I drove fast. “I shouldn’t have left,” I said. “It’s my fault this happened.”
“I sent you away, remember?” She smiled tightly. “At least you respect my wishes.”
“That’s the last time I’ll make that mistake.”
She laughed, but it sounded hollow.
“I can’t go back now, you know,” she said, pulling her hand from mine. She looked out the window. “He’ll try to get me back.”
“He can try,” I said.
“I don’t think they’ll ever negotiate,” she said. “Did you know that Colm’s been going around telling everyone that the Valentino family won’t even talk to us?”
I snorted. “That shit’s not true,” I said. “But it doesn’t surprise me.”
“He says you’re all bloodthirsty and you want to murder everyone. He says you’re just a bunch of killers and you don’t take care of your people.”
“We’re not perfect,” I said. “But we don’t do shit like what your father pulled today.”
“I believe that,” she said, staring out the window.
“We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow. For right now, let’s get you back to my place and get some sleep, all right?”
“Yeah, all right.” She leaned her head back against the seat and squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t believe Nessa did that. But at least I have some clothes now.”
I smiled a little, even if I didn’t feel it, and drove through the night.
I wished I pulled that trigger and ended her dad right there, but I made my decision, and now I’d have to deal with the consequences.
8
Sam
I slept restlessly that night, and in the morning I had an ugly bruise on my chin. I tried to cover it with makeup, but that didn’t do much.
Matteo had coffee and breakfast waiting for me. He stared at the bruise and looked like he wanted to break something, but he didn’t say a word as he served me eggs and toast.
“We’re heading to Don Valentino’s soon, so eat up,” Matteo said, though he was the one ignoring his food. He sipped the coffee and watched me.
I had my flaws. I wasn’t a perfect person. But I never suffered from lack of appetite, so I shoveled down what I could then sipped my own coffee.
“Why do you think she did it?” I asked suddenly.
He took a second to answer. “I don’t know your friend.”
“Take a guess then.”
“She might’ve thought she was doing you a favor. She knew you were pregnant and staying with some stranger. She was probably trying to protect you.”
“Crazy way of showing it,” I said, tapping my fingers on the table.
“Does she know about him?” he asked, leaning forward. “Has he ever hit you before?”
“When he’s mad,” I said, staring at my nails. “But no, she didn’t know.”
“Then she probably didn’t think it would go down that way.”
“If you were me, would you forgive her?”
“No,” he said, standing up. “I would kill her and move on.” He walked past me and put a hand on my shoulder. “But you could try to be a better person than me.”
I sipped my coffee as he got ready. When he came back out in jeans and a long-sleeve Henley, we headed out to his truck and drove to the suburbs. I watched the city turn to the spread-out sprawl of small single family homes with their big green lawns and large leafy trees.
He must’ve caught me looking, because he slowed and said, “It’s almost hard to believe people live like this.”
I glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“All spread out.” He shrugged and gestured around. “I know I’m a stupid city kid. I only know pavement, and grass seems like an absurd luxury. But man, I don’t know why anyone would choose this over the city.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, smiling a little. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have so much space?”
“I got plenty of space,” he said, shrugging, and turned down a quiet, shady driveway that snaked through a path of trees.
I sucked in a breath when the house itself came into view. It was massive and gorgeous, with columns and a porch and I’d genuinely never seen something like it before, except on TV. I knew rich people lived better than almost anyone else, but it was absurd, that castle tucked away in the forest.
“Stare as much as you want,” Matteo said, parking and killing the engine. “I think the Don likes it when people stare.”
I laughed stupidly. “This is crazy. Even Colm doesn’t live like this.”
“Welcome to the Valentino family.” He pushed open his door and got out.
I hurried after him. The house was gorgeous and even the shrubs were perfectly manicured. I glimpsed the enormous back yard with its long, rolling grassy fields, and wondered how long it took their landscapers to maintain this pace, and how much money they were dumping into it.
Matteo knocked on the door and an older woman answered. She had a kind smile and reached out to take my hand as we stepped into a gorgeous foyer with a large chandelier glittering near the ceiling.
“My name’s Bea,” the older woman said. “And you must be Sam. It’s very lovely to meet you.”
“Hi,” I said, a little flustered by the wealth and opulence around me. I knew my family had money, but not this kind of money.
“I know it’s all a little much,” Bea said, gesturing around. “But don’t let it distract you.”
“Right, I won’t,” I managed.
“Come on, dear, this way. The Don’s waiting.” We followed Bea down a side passage and in through a set of double doors. The office beyond was spacious with lots of wood paneling and bookshelves, and two chairs sat in front of a massive wooden desk, behind which the Don himself sat, puffing on a cigar.
“Don Valentino,” Matteo said.
I came in behind him. Bea quietly shut the doors behind us and disappeared back the way we came.
The Don leaned forward. He was younger than I would’ve guessed and much more handsome. His eyes narrowed and his head tilted, and he took the cigar from between his lips, gesturing at me with it.
“This is her?” he asked.
“Don Valentino, meet Sam,” Matteo said.
“So you’re the Healy girl Matteo knocked up.”
I felt a sudden stab of panic and I stared at Matteo. We hadn’t talked about keeping my pregnancy a secret from everyone, but I assumed he wouldn’t want to talk about it.
Clearly, I assumed wrong.
“That’s me,” I said, smiling a little. “I’m the pregnant Healy girl causing so much trouble.”
The Don laughed. “Nice to meet you then. Sit down, get comfortable.” He stubbed out his cigar. “I guess I shouldn’t smoke around you.”
I shrugged slightly, surprised that he’d think of that. I didn’t expect a mafia Don to give a damn about smoking in front of a pregnant woman, but he got up and opened a window to help let in fresh air.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I’d offer a drink, but.” He shrugged and sat. “I’m sorry you had to come here under these circumstances.”
“It’s okay.” I looked at Matteo, who nodded at me slightly. “I don’t think this is what anyone wanted.”
“No,” the Don said softly. “Least of all you. Pulled from your family, stuck in your enemy’s house. I can’t say I’d be happy in your position.”
He was surprisingly perceptive and empathetic. I expected him to be more aggressive, to push me to give him all my family’s secrets, and instead I felt like he genuinely seemed to understand what I was going through and felt bad about it. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to tear all those secrets out of me by the roots of my hair, but at least he seemed to care.
“I have to apologize for the delay,” Matteo said. “We ran into some trouble, but things are squared away.”
“What sort of troub
le?” the Don asked.
“My friend betrayed me and sold me out to my dad. Matteo had to rescue me.”
The Don’s eyebrows raised high. “Sounds unfortunate,” he said. “Your best friend? Can’t trust anyone in this business.”
“I didn’t think I was in this business at all. This is my family.”
The Don nodded. “Gets murky, doesn’t it? The lines between business and family, friends and colleagues, sometimes you don’t know where one relationship ends and the other begins. Tragic that way, in a sense.”
“Wasn’t so much tragic as fucked up,” Matteo said darkly, glancing at me. “I would’ve put a bullet in the bastard’s skull if she let me.”
“Good thing she didn’t,” the Don said. “Since I want to use this marriage as a way to start peace talks with Colm.”
I felt a little stab in my chest. I couldn’t tell if it was from the word marriage, or because of the idea of peace. We’d been at war for so long and so many people had died in all the fighting that I never thought it’d be over at all, especially considering Colm always acted like the Valentino family would never make peace until we were all dead and drowned in the Schuylkill. Clearly that was a lie, and I wondered what else Colm lied about to the family just to keep his war going for as long as possible.
“I’ll be honest with you,” I said softly, looking down at my hands folded in my lap. “Colm always talked like the Valentino family would never back down. He acted like he tried to make peace more than once.”
Don Valentino laughed. “That’s not even remotely true,” he said. “We’ve barely spoken to him during all of this. Even though I keep killing his men, including a few guys in leadership, he just keeps going, keeps trying to take turf. I don’t know what he gets out of it all, but it’s time we finished this. It’s time he agreed to stay on his side of the river.”
I tapped at my knee with my fingers and chewed on my cheek. I didn’t know what Colm was thinking, dragging this war out for a long as he had. Don Valentino was right—we were losing, and so many of our guys were dead in the streets. Family and friends, all gone, and never coming back.