by Hamel, B. B.
I went upstairs and slammed my bedroom door shut. I collapsed into bed, the buzz of the whiskey sliding into my skull, and buried my head under my pillows. I don’t know how today happened, but suddenly my uncle and my husband both wanted me to get pregnant, and I didn’t know which was worse.
No, I knew. My husband wanting it was much, much worse.
Kids were a bad idea. A very bad idea. It would bind me to him forever, and I’d never get away. But the fact that he was interested in it, that he didn’t dismiss it outright—
That sent a very strange thrill through my chest.
Not that I’d do it, because no way, that was literally insane. But I liked that he wanted to, or at least that he was considering it.
I liked that he wanted me.
Which only freaked me out more, of course, and made me realize that while I was definitely living in the midst of some very crazy people—
Maybe I was the craziest of all them.
9
Dean
The church on Washington Avenue rose up like a spire above the industrial cityscape. This part of Philadelphia used to be a bustling metropolis of work in small-time factories building cars, instruments, anything that needed shaping and heating and molding from the great furnaces that fired in their bellies. Those factories were long gone, but the church remained.
Sunday Mass was a tradition in my family. I hated it, especially when I was younger, and back then my father let me bring novels to read in the pew so long as I kept them hidden and I stayed quiet. In retrospect, I figured I could’ve stripped naked and screamed my head off and nobody would have made a sound about it, considering how much money my father donated to the parish and how important he was to all the families that attended the church.
“Is this something I should get used to?” Mags asked as I parked and killed the engine. She wore a conservative designer dress, skirt to her knees, top form-fitted but up to her throat.
“Probably,” I said, watching the line of people in their good clothes march up the church steps. “Lots of the parishioners are related to the family. They’ve got made sons or uncles or fathers, or maybe they do business with us. It’s good for me to show my face around here though.”
“Since you’re the new Don,” she said, and tilted her head a bit. “Have you gotten used to it yet?”
“Not yet,” I admitted.
“So it hasn’t gone to your head.”
I gave her a look but smiled despite myself. She had a way about her when she wanted to tease me. She could say things no other person in this world could get away with, and it wasn’t just because she was my wife. There was a tone she used, like she knew she was being a little scamp and breaking some rules, but she didn’t care.
I liked that about her. I wanted her to be wild and free.
“Not yet,” I said, grinning. “Now come on. Let’s get in there before Mass starts.”
She followed me inside. I shook hands as I went, smiled and said hello to men and women I only half recognized. My father once knew them all, names and relations, knew their birthdays and anniversaries, knew their fathers and mothers and their loved ones that passed on. One day, I’d know them too.
I introduced Mags and she didn’t disappoint. She was gracious and kind, listening to inane stories, laughing at bad jokes. We reached the pew and she sat next to me, her back straight and her hands in her lap, and I felt a stab of pride.
I leaned over and whispered, “You know, for a girl that works at a strip club, you’ve got a lot of class.”
Her grin didn’t falter as she leaned back to me and said, “For a guy that kills people and sells drugs for a living, you’re not so bad yourself.”
I put my hand on her thigh and let my fingers linger there until she brushed them aside.
Father Giovanni started Mass then. The ceremony was fine—I spent most of it watching Mags. She was Catholic, so she knew how it went, knew when to kneel and stand, knew the words and the gestures, but I didn’t care about that.
I liked the way she listened. I liked how she leaned forward when the music started. I liked her voice when she sang, very soft and sweet. I liked how she brushed hair from her forehead, only to have it fall down again when she knelt. I liked the shape of her calves and the curve of her lips and the slight white lump of her teeth when her mouth fell open whenever she glanced up and caught me staring at her.
After the service, we did everything in reverse: more smiling, more boring stories, more men and women I barely recalled. Father Giovanni joined the fray, and after a while I managed to pull him aside. Mags followed as we ducked into a side room where he kept his vestments and a small desk toward the back.
“Glad you could make it today, Dean,” he said, smiling a little. “Or I suppose I should call you Don Valentino.”
“Call me whatever you like,” I said. “I think I’ll be coming most Sundays now.”
“Your father always made time for the church.” He sat behind his desk with a sigh. “He was a good man, your father.”
I glanced at Mags and smiled a bit as I took the chair on the left. She sat to my right, legs crossed primly.
“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say he was good, but he certainly did what he could for the family,” I said. “Just as I plan on doing.”
“That’s good, Dean, that’s very good,” Father Giovanni said, nodding his head. He had a slight paunch and a double chin, and I guessed the man didn’t want for more. His office was well lit from a large window, and another, smaller stained-glass window depicting a dove cast colors all across the slick wood of his desk. The room was cramped and old, but his things spoke of comfort and wealth.
The church certainly wasn’t hurting.
“I wanted to talk to you about your arrangements with my father,” I said, switching into business mode. I leaned forward and stared at Father Giovanni, who smiled back benignly.
“Oh, do you?” he ask. “Well, I suppose so.”
“The shipments that came through here. I want to start those again. I’ve got guys waiting, and we can distribute—”
Father Giovanni held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Dean, this is awkward,” he said quickly, interrupting me, which made my hands clench. Mags sat stiffly and glanced at me, like she could tell I was annoyed.
“What’s wrong, Father?” I asked.
“I already spoke to Roy about all this,” he said, smiling apologetically. “He said that the shipments wouldn’t need to come through my church anymore.”
“Did he now?” I asked, leaning back, surprised. Roy did have control over most of the drug trade, since he was second-in-command of the family, but he shouldn’t have made any major decisions without consulting me first.
“He stopped in a few days ago. Said other arrangements were made and that you knew already.” He laughed a little and shook his head. “I’m sorry if there was a miscommunication. He also mentioned that the family would still provide the church with its usual donation?”
I grimaced slightly. The donation was a nice way of saying a percentage cut of sales in exchange for acting as a front for our drug smuggling and sales operation. Product came up from the south and was dropped off here at the church then moved out discreetly across the city. Cops didn’t bother checking a church for kilos of heroin and cocaine, so it worked out for everyone involved. Father Giovanni got rich, and we had an easy base from which to distribute everything.
“I’ll need to settle that with Roy,” I said. “I don’t know what promises he made you, Father, but I can’t guarantee them.”
Father Giovanni’s face fell. “Don Valentino, if you please,” he said, and I noticed that suddenly he wanted to speak to me with more respect. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed any informality. He needed to know who was in the position of power in this relationship. “I thought this was all settled.”
“And it’s not.” I pushed my chair back and stood. “I will speak with Roy. For now, sit tight. I still might need your he
lp in the future.”
“Of course,” he said, nodding quickly. “Whatever you need, Don Valentino.”
I nodded sharply, touched Mags’s shoulder, and headed to the door. She murmured a goodbye and followed me out into the quiet of the rectory then down a hallway. I stopped in the shadows of a large wooden door that led to the side of the building and turned to her, anger overflowing like water from a flooded pond.
“That motherfucker,” I hissed through my teeth. “He’s cutting deals behind my back.”
“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Mags said. “I’m not a part of any of that.”
“I know you aren’t,” I said, pacing back and forth. “What the hell’s your uncle thinking though? He knows he can’t make that kind of call without informing me first.”
“Maybe it happened before you were voted in,” she said. “Father Giovanni might be misremembering. He is kind of old.”
“Even if that’s true, he still should’ve talked to me first.” I pounded a fist against the wall. This could be bad, if this became a pattern. Roy was supposedly on my side, and supposedly I was the Don, but he’d been in power for longer than me, and his contacts would likely defer to him. He could undermine me if he wanted, cut me out of the business, and neuter me at every turn.
It would be a problem if he didn’t start treating me like I was the one who held the noose wrapped around his throat.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Straighten it out,” I said. “Motherfucking Roy.” I hesitated and looked at her in the gloom, standing there with one arm under her breasts, the other elbow resting on her hand, the fingers of her left hand pulling her lips nervously. Goddamn, she was beautiful. I loved when there was a hint of anxiety in her face, a little bit of worry—it made me want to save her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just like the way you look.”
She blushed slightly. “Don’t start,” she said. “We’re in God’s house.”
“We’re married,” I said. “You should read the Bible sometime. God’s got some pretty wild ideas about what a man and a woman can do when they’re married.”
She laughed lightly. “I suppose I should listen to your husbandly orders, right?”
“If you wanted to be a good, obedient wife, damn right.”
Her grin was wicked. “Good thing I don’t.”
“Good thing,” I echoed, tilting my head, and held her gaze there. I was tempted to step forward, touch her hips, run my fingers along her sides to her breasts—but I had other problems to worry about. “Come on,” I said, and pushed the door open.
She followed me into the bright Sunday morning. It was a lovely day, and a few parishioners still lingered on the front steps of the church. I took Mags’s hand and walked toward them, and she didn’t pull away like I expected—maybe because there were people nearby and it would look bad, or maybe because she liked it when I touched her. I didn’t question it, only pulled her closer as we walked toward the parking lot, a chain-link fence to our left, the church building to the right.
A car pulled up suddenly, brakes screaming. Several older women looked over, annoyed. I reacted only a second before the windows rolled down and the gun barrels appeared.
I shoved Mags to the side and grabbed her as we slammed up against the church wall and the gunfire started. The people screamed and scattered, and I pulled Mags down onto the ground with my body covering her. Bullets splattered all over the wall, the fence, and the sidewalk, ricocheting wildly and embedding into the concrete. I cursed and kept my head down and, fuck, for once in my life I actually prayed, I asked God to keep Mags safe.
More guns returned fire. I didn’t know who, but I knew it was from the parking lot. The shooters in the car stopped and it pulled away, driving fast.
Ronnie appeared in the group of parishioners that were down on the ground, some of them groaning and bleeding from gunshot wounds. He was one of my bodyguards, one of the two guys that I left in the parking lot. Curt came over and dragged me to my feet, making sure that I wasn’t hit.
“I’m fine,” I barked at him and pushed him back to the group of victims. “Go help them. Call a fucking ambulance. God damn it.” I turned back to Mags and knelt down. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said, blinking rapidly. “What the hell happened?”
“Drive-by,” I said, jaw clenched. “After fucking church. Lowlife pieces of shit.”
“How?” she asked. “Why?”
I helped her to her feet. “We have to go,” I said. “They might be back.”
“What about them?” She pointed at the people on the sidewalk. An old woman bled from her ankle. A young man had several holes in his chest. He was no older than twenty at most. I didn’t know him, which meant he wasn’t in the family.
“Curt and Ronnie will help,” I said. “We have to go.”
She wanted to argue, but I dragged her away. My pulse rocketed in my chest and my hands shook, half from the adrenaline of survival, and half from the utter, uncontrollable rage that rolled down my spine.
Attacked me on a Sunday as I came out of church, and shot bystanders to do it. That was as bad as it got, and I knew who was responsible. The fucking Healy family didn’t give a damn about the church or about truces, all they cared about was winning this war and killing me.
No matter how many people got hurt in the process.
I put the car in drive and got away from there, cursing the whole time as we went.
10
Mags
“Somebody’s got to die for this,” Dean said, slamming his fist against the wall.
His living room was packed with mafia guys. My uncle sat in the far corner with Hector. Bea busied herself bringing snacks and drinks. Gian paced back and forth behind the couch, while several other Capos lounged around, sipping whiskey and looking pissed.
“We can’t jump into anything right away, boss,” one of the Capos said, a big guy with a broken nose and a wide gut named Alfie. “I think it was the Healy scum too but you don’t know.”
“A boy died,” Dean said through clenched teeth. “He was twenty. Wanted to become a dentist. Fucking twenty years old.”
Alfie shook his head. “Tragedy, boss. And that old lady? Might lose her leg? Tragedy.”
“I agree that someone has to die,” Matteo said, glaring at Alfie. “This family’s been too slow to get retribution in recent years. I have a feeling it’s because some of us are more interested in eating and drinking and fucking than they are in fighting.”
“You want to come say that to me right now, you little fuck?” Alfie said, struggling to his feet.
“Sit down before you have a heart attack, Alfie,” Dean snapped. He ruffled his hair and glanced in my direction. I felt out of place and awkward in the room packed with mafia men, but Dean kept looking at me like he wanted me to give him my opinion. I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
I kept glancing over toward my uncle though. He didn’t seem angry about any of this, and I kept thinking about that conversation with Father Giovanni. I knew my uncle well, and he didn’t do anything without some ulterior motive. If he told the Father that they wouldn’t use the church anymore, then he had some other plan in mind.
“We don’t know who did it yet,” Gian said. “I agree it was probably the Healys, but we don’t know that.”
“Who the fuck else would it be?” Matteo asked.
“We’re the Valentino family,” Gian said, shaking his head. “We have enemies all over this city. You think the Healys are the only ones that want to hit us while we’re going through a leadership change?”
“Enough,” Dean said, holding up his hands “Gian, Lorenzo, find out who did it. I want names and addresses. Alfie, you go to Father Giovanni and find out what he needs to make things right with the families of the victims.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Alfie said.
“Matteo, you get together a crew. When t
he time’s right, you’ll get your fight.” Dean paced again, hands behind his back. “I understand this is a precarious position, but we need to hit back and hit back hard. We have to show that the new Don cannot be fucked with, that the Valentino family is still strong.”
“We’re with you,” Gian said.
“Good,” Dean said, nodding at him. “Go now and get started. I wanted answers in a day.”
Gian nodded and left with Lorenzo in his tail. Matteo got up and followed, and Alfie went last, looking strangely smug like he’d won some battle. Dean dismissed the other Capos one at a time, giving them minor orders, until there was only Hector, Uncle Roy, Dean, and myself left.
Bea appeared and sat down with a sigh, picked up one of the half-finished whiskey glasses and polished it off.
Dean rubbed his face with both hands. “The fucking church,” he said.
Bea shook her head. “I know, dear,” she said.
“You’re right to hit them back,” Hector said. “But be cautious. You don’t want to spark something bigger.”
“What’s bigger than a crew trying for the head of the biggest family in the city?” I asked.
“I told you to bring more bodyguards,” Uncle Roy rumbled. “Next time, maybe you’ll listen.”
Dean glared at him with a clenched jaw but said nothing. I cleared my throat before he could explode and do something stupid.
“How are you going to help the people that got hurt?” I asked Dean to distract him.
He glanced at me and softened a touch. “Pay their medical bills,” he said. “Make sure they have good doctors. Hire people to take care of the old lady if she’s hurt long-term. That sort of thing. Can’t bring back the dead but we’ll take care of the living the best we can.”
I nodded slightly and chewed on my thumbnail, an old habit from when I was a girl that was back apparently.
“We should hire more guys for the house,” I said, even though it was the last thing I wanted.