by Tiana Laveen
“Angelo, no. NO!”
Pointing the weapon at Eduardo, he shot him point blank in the head. Execution style.
Eduardo lay lifeless, his mouth agape, his eyes wide open. A costly lesson learned.
“Fuck… fuck!” Pietro fisted his hands as Angelo calmly and gracefully pulled out his wallet and threw a few bills down onto the table. “Awww, man! Fuck! Awww, Angelo! Why’d ya have to do it?! What am I gonna tell his family? Fuck!” He pulled at his hair.
“You think I give a shit what you tell this piece of trash’s family?” He chuckled. “Here’s some bread. That should cover my wine and that fine steak I had. Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need you to buy my lunch. Now Pietro, when I tell you to come alone, next time, maybe you’ll take my advice.” He stepped over Eduardo’s dead body and made to leave. “This one is on the house. I did you a favor. Buona giornata. Now, I’m certain you’ll be in touch. After all, you still have a two story building you want to buy…”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Confessions of the Wicked
Rule 12: Trust no one but your own soul.
“When’s the last time you’ve played Cribbage?” Andrea wiggled her pretty dark red painted toes, one adorned with a gold ring, as they sat on the floor drinking chilled Blue Nun wine out of the bottle.
“I don’t know. A long time.” He stroked his jaw and shifted slightly with his back pressed against her couch. His belly was full from a hearty dinner, and the aroma of the flavorful fried pork chops she’d cooked lingered in the living room. She’d even put a sprig of parsley on the side of the plate, made it real fancy.
He cocked his head to the side and studied her, the beautiful spirit that she was, admiring all that he was not. Leaning across from him against a navy blue and taupe bean bag, she wore a long, sheer yellow dress with tiny pink tulips around the collar, and one white flower in her curly hair, tucked behind her ear. When the light hit her just right, he could see from the outline of her breasts as they moved with her breathing that she was braless. Traveling his gaze down, he noted her white panties wrapped around the curve of her wide, womanly hips.
“All right, so, this is how we do this. I’m the dealer. I’m going to deal you six cards, but you—”
“Only use four.” He winked. “It’s comin’ back to me now.”
Her smile was so pretty, it gave him pause. He leaned forward and caressed her face with his thumb. The scent of strong Tibetan Musk incense floated throughout the apartment along with the sounds of ‘I Just Wanna Stop,’ by Gino Vannelli. He stroked her feet and was met with giggles.
“Ticklish?”
“A little.”
They began to play the game, and he’d pause to sip some wine then take a drag from her cigarette, appreciative of her red lipstick around the filter before placing his own lips around it.
“For someone who hasn’t played in a while, you sure know how to give me a run for my money.” She chortled.
“I don’t like to lose.” He studied the cards he had left. “Especially if it can be avoided. Most errors are due to sloppiness.”
She regarded him with a blank expression, but he knew her various looks now, and what they meant. He’d watched her carefully, since the first moment they’d met. He’d learned her body, the way it moved. He studied her facial expressions when he made love to her, gathering what her pleasure looked like, and what teetered on pain for her. Daily, he dissected her mind, digging deep to find out how she thought, what she held near and dear, and what triggered her. He was one of those triggers. And yet, here the fuck they were. Together. In a damn relationship. Courting. Loving one another a bit more with each moment.
Andrea communicated not just with her mouth, but the hooding of her eyes, a well-placed sigh, a cock of her head, and a mischievous grin. She cherished about her family, friends, her readings, her clients. She cared about being respected, too. Some parts of her remained a mystery, and he was hellbent on unravelling her, ribbon by ribbon.
They kept on playing cards and as time passed, he realized just how incredibly relaxed he was. Breathing normally, enjoying himself. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, or reaching for one of his guns simply to feel the comforting cold metal against his hip. He didn’t have a desire to cut the visit short and run away. In fact, he treasured each second as if it were pure gold.
He wondered a time or two if she’d put him under some spell, because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was always on his mind. He hadn’t felt this way in so long, he’d almost forgotten that such romantic feelings existed. The yearning to know her.
She invited me over here tonight to have dinner and play cards. An offer I couldn’t refuse.
It had been a long while since he’d been in a relationship. Something about Andrea, and her allowing him in her personal space, let him know that he was special to her. He wasn’t a client. He was her man. She was aware of who and what he was, down to his bones. Something he seldom discussed with anyone, especially with a woman he was interested in, and yet, because of her abilities, there was absolutely no way to keep her in the dark about such matters – the essence of all that was Angelo Ferrari. He wasn’t a good person, nor did he pretend to be. But he could be good to her.
She looked at her cards while absently massaging his feet.
“You can tell a lot about a man from his hands and feet. I’ve already looked at your hands. Right now, I’m talkin’ about your feet,” she said after a while.
“Really? Feet tell stories, huh? Like what?” He tilted the wine bottle to his mouth and took a sip.
“It tells me how the guy who has them feels about himself.”
He swallowed. “You read feet like ya read palms?”
They offered each other a smile.
“No, but… it’s just funny, ya know? You take care of your feet. Toenails clipped. They’re moisturized. Clean. You care about your appearance, even the parts of you most don’t see.”
“Why wouldn’t I? If ya feet hurt, ya can’t operate well. If anything, it’s a reason to be even more on top of shit like that. Feet fucked up? Can’t move around right. There aren’t any spare feet lyin’ around. Gotta take care of the ones you have. I don’t shave my toes or nothin’ like that though. What ya see is what ya get. Men have hair. We’re fuckin’ bears. That’s why we like women; you’re smooth like honey.” She chuckled at that. “So you read feet, and I read curved spines that let me know a beautiful lady like yourself stands all day. Then ya come home, clean your crib, cook me a delicious dinner, give me wine, jokes to laugh at, and play card games with me. You know how to make a guy feel good, ya know that? You’re all woman. My kinda woman.” Her eyes narrowed on him and he winked at the lady who captivated his heart. “You just reminded me of something, with this feet talk stuff.”
“What?”
“See, my cousin, Luciano, when we were kids, used to say I had feet like a rabbit’s.”
She laughed.
“Awww! That’s mean.”
He shrugged. “Mean but true. I was the tallest kid in the family. Everything on me seemed exaggerated, stretched out. I used to even trip over ’em sometimes. They’d get in the way.” He took another gulp of wine and waited for her to take her turn, throw a card down or draw.
“That reminds me, Angelo. Let me ask you something.” She drew a card. He did the same.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“What were you like as a kid?”
“Hmmm.” He grinned, memories flooding him. “A smart ass, I guess ya could say. I had a zest for life though, ya know?” She nodded. “But I used to hate how some kids wouldn’t wanna be around me and my brothers and sisters, ’cause their families were afraid of my father, see? I was outgoing as a kid. I wanted to play with everyone, joke around, ride a bike with my friends. Smoke cigarettes I stole from my ol’ man, shit like that.” He shrugged. “Wanted to do everything with everyone, and be everywhere, all the time. I’d talk to anyone. Play with anybody. I never saw
color. Hell, I even played ball with a girl a few times if she could hold ’er own, but I always had to be boss. Had to be in charge. We didn’t live in the best part of town, but we were always dressed nice. Never hungry. My mother was big into appearances, despite the inside being dirty as hell.”
“Your childhood home was dirty?”
“Nah, that’s not what I mean. It was clean. I’m talking about how she treated us. How they both treated us kids.” He placed his cards face down and ran his thumb over his cuticle. “My mother was phony. She smiled to everyone and waved and put on a big fuckin’ show for the outside world, made it seem like she was the cat’s meow, a doting mom and wife, but on the inside, she was ugly. There was a lot of hitting. Beatings.” The pressure of his lips drawing tight as he gathered his thoughts made him sick. But he pulled out of it and kept talking. “All of us got it. It was routine. She drank a lot, too. Later in life she blamed her violent behavior on that, but that’s just who she was. Even sober, she was angry and mean. Call some of us stupid, shit like that. She wasn’t a good mother. Not a good person, either. She slapped my sister so hard one time, she blacked out. All because Jenny couldn’t find her fuckin’ shawl in time for one of our uncle’s funerals. My mother is a fuckin’ monster.”
“Did you get it from her?” Andrea’s face filled with concern.
“Get what from her? Being a monster? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, baby. I meant how you go around hiding things? On the outside you’re always impeccable. No one would know what you do by looking at you. But your inside, well, it’s dirty… like my old apartment where I grew up with my cousins. It smells like rotten roses and sweet shit. That’s where you got it, baby. Your mother taught you how to hide… in plain sight…”
He contemplated her words, then smirked.
“Maybe you’re right, witchy woman. Never really thought about it. Anyway.” He collected his cards again, fanned them, and studied them. “As a kid, I could never stay in just one place, Andrea. Constantly moving. I learned real fast to keep to myself though. Only took one time for a guy I trusted when I was like eleven or twelve to tell a lie on me, stab me in the back and cause me all sorts of trouble with my old man. I made a decision from that day forward. The less people I knew intimately, the better.” They hooked gazes, and she pulled a new card. “Keep my business to myself. Now, if I don’t trust a motherfucker, and that applies to most people, they’d be lucky to get the time of day outta me.”
“You don’t like hurting people you care about, do you, Angelo?”
“What made you ask me that?” He picked up the cigarette and took a smoke. “Nothing I said just now would explain that. Or, at least I don’t think so.” He shrugged.
“I can just feel it. Your soul is talking to me right now, behind the scenes, saying the words you won’t.”
“What’s it saying?”
“It’s tellin’ me you won’t hurt me. At least, not intentionally. Is that naïve of me to believe?”
He looked at her for a spell and scratched his chin.
“No, it’s not naïve of you to believe. I try to protect people I care about. Even from me.” Andrea puffed the cigarette, then handed it to him. “So, if that means not wanting to not hurt ya, then yes. I don’t care about too many people, though.”
“Why? Because of the boy who lied on you?”
“That was my first lesson, but no, it’s more complicated than that. See, ya gotta be careful, Andrea. Caring about people, well, it’s too risky. Caring and loving someone is a choice.”
“We can’t help who we’re attracted to, who we care about, and who we love. I’m proof of that.” Her message was loud and clear.
“Yes we can. Now, attraction, that’s something we can’t do much with. But have deep caring for, and love? Yeah. We control that. Giving something to someone is a choice. We give care. Concern. Love. It can’t be stolen. It may not start out as not being a choice, but we decide if we’re gonna continue down that path. It gets to a point where we make a conscious decision if we’re going to let this happen. If we do decide to do so, then the feelings will grow stronger. Like how I chose to pursue my attraction to you. Normally, I’d shut somethin’ like that down as soon as I recognized what was happening. This time, I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t want to. I saw ya. I watched ya. I wanted ya. I went after ya. Anything else my soul is sayin’ to you?”
“It told me you are telling the truth right now, and when you say, ‘It’s just a job,’ you’re telling the truth about that, too. You derive no pleasure from it.”
“Is this your sneaky way of trying to talk about my uh…” he scratched his chin and smirked, “occupation?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
“It’s not really up for discussion.” He threw down another card.
“Then I’ll talk, you listen.”
He gritted his teeth. Damn could she work his nerves, but he found her so fucking amazing. Most women didn’t talk to him. They didn’t try to fight him with their words, or make him talk about shit. He’d never discussed his mother with a broad before, except his grandmother. That was a given; it had been her damn daughter who’d done the shit. Treated him and his siblings like inconveniences. Mistakes.
“I think you’re too special to do such things,” she started up again. “But you think you’re too special not to. We don’t think the same. We don’t agree on this, and I doubt we ever will. I don’t condone what you do. In fact, it’s sickening. It should be a deal breaker. But I’ve seen your soul. It’s beautiful. It doesn’t match that of a cold blooded killer. Somethin’ is off.”
“This is who I am. It’s who I’ll be. That’s somethin’ you’re gonna have to accept, baby, if we’re going to be together. Just like, I accept that you are a fuckin’ witch. You are. And I don’t care how ya try to pretty it up and say you’re some Empath or Clairvoyant, all those silly ass names you people come up with to be more comfortable in your own skin. You’re a fuckin’ witch. I accept you as is. I have no buyer’s remorse. I dig you. I want you, and have no intentions to try and change you, despite what I think about it.”
She placed her cards down and ran her fingers through her thick curls, exposing her long, elegant neck adorned with a golden yellow ribbon. She looked sly… sneaky… seductive.
“First of all, let me set you straight, boy. I do accept you. Just because someone you love, that being me, finds issue with something you do doesn’t mean they don’t accept you. I have the right to say this shit ain’t right, Angelo. This shit ain’t where it’s at.” She pointed at him, her expression determined. Resolute to say her piece. “You already know that. And it doesn’t matter if you like what I’m saying or not. I accept you from your picturesque packaging to that black, empty, ugly hole inside your heart, to that striking soul you keep hidden from the rest of the world, except me. See, I accept your flowers. And I damn sure accept your roots. I couldn’t truly love you if I didn’t.
“That’s not what love is. If I don’t take all of you, flaws, freckles, moles, scars and all, then I am cherry pickin’, and leaving behind hard truths. Love don’t work that way. So here I am, pulling you up by the root, not snippin’ it. I am well familiar with roots.” She pointed around at her plants. “But your roots, boy, that’s your stock. Your soil. That’s where you come from. It made you who you are! Your roots are strong, Angelo, embedded in you, and I embrace those ugly roots, not just your flowers. They have purpose, and they have beauty, too. If I reject those roots, I won’t be able to accept you when the winter comes, and all your petals fall.” She looked right through him, as if he were glass. “Ain’t nothin’ superficial about me. I never said I was going to try and change you,” she gestured to herself, “but I can’t control what my soul does to you. She don’t listen to me. I’m a vessel to her.”
“Are you being hostile, sweetheart? You know, you’re pretty when you’re worked up and angry, too. I w
ould love to fuck you when you’re angry. I’ll take you on. We can do it right here. Threatening me with a good time?” He winked.
She shrugged. “I would never threaten a man in your position. But uh, I would give a suggestion as I wrap these legs around your waist and tighten my grip.” She winked back. His dick throbbed. Damn her. “Let me say, Angelo, that I have come to realize that people like you have always existed in society.” Her tone was calmer now. “The morality in me is disgusted. My empathic, spiritual side knows you are not all that you seem. Regardless of what I think, or even what you may think, I understand. Just as in nature – the wasps, snakes, tarantulas, scorpions and killer sharks exist for a reason. They too need to be cared for.” Her eyes hooded. “Even though they are so disliked by civilization. The police and judges can’t always save us. In fact, they rarely do. Sometimes, street justice, as they call it, has to take place to make a thang go right. You fill in the gaps. A necessary evil. At least that’s how I like to imagine it.”
Classics IV’s, ‘Stormy’ played on the radio. The pretty woman bobbed her head to the beat and began to sing along.
“So, if I derived pleasure from my occupation, you’d see me differently?”
“…I wouldn’t be seeing you at all.”
He tipped an imaginary hat her way and took a draw from the cigarette they shared.
“And I’m not a fucking witch.”
“You are.”
“Do some of you get pleasure from it?” she asked after a minute or so of silence. “Maybe you can’t answer that, but—”
“Yes. Those are the ones that usually have the shortest lifespan.”
She swallowed, seeming thoughtful as she turned her gaze briefly down to her cards.
“I’m curious. I want to know more. I know you have rules. I know you’re very private, but will you talk to me? Ya say you wanna be with me, sexy man, but if you’re going to be with a woman like me, then I need to know more about what I’m dealin’ with. I’ll fuck a shadow, but I won’t give my heart to it. At least, not completely until I know why he moves the way he does. I’ve already gone too far.” She took a drag of the cigarette, then passed it over to him as smoke curled out of her mouth.