by B. B. Hamel
“Motherfucker,” I said. “Motherfucking fucker.”
I paced around the living room as the Don got back into his car and drove off. I waited until they were well and truly gone before turning toward the stairs, my heart beating fast, a lump of anger and dread in the pit of my stomach.
I didn’t want to take the girl’s phone away. I was willing to bet that phone was one of the main things keeping her here. If I take that away, she’s going to feel like she’s trapped, and it’s basically guaranteeing she’d try and run.
But if I let her keep it, she could make more calls and make my life even harder.
Besides, the Don ordered it. Even though I think it’s the wrong move, he ordered it, and I follow orders.
“Good little soldier,” I said to myself, stomping up the stairs. “Good fucking babysitter.”
I reached her door, listened for a second, didn’t hear snoring.
I knocked hard, waited, knocked again. I heard someone moving around inside, heard the lock on the handle click. The door opened just a crack.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Good morning,” I said.
“It’s early,” she said. “I’ll come down later.”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m not in the mood for—”
I pushed the door open. She gasped in surprise as I forced her back. She stumbled, tried to push it closed, but I had momentum. I threw it all the way forward and forced my way inside. She screamed at me as I pushed her back toward the bed. She flailed, trying to hit me, trying to scratch me, but I held her arms, keeping her as far from me as possible, and threw her down onto the bed.
“Stop,” I said as she sat there, hair a mess, breathing hard.
She wore a tight black tank top, no bra underneath, showing off her gorgeous breasts. She had on just a pair of small gray shorts, barely long enough to cover her thick ass. Her fingers clenched the sheets and I knew she wanted to throw herself at me, but she held back.
“Get out,” she said. “Get out, you asshole.”
“You called your mother,” I said.
That stopped her. She looked at me, a hint of surprise in her eyes, before she narrowed her gaze gain.
“So what?” she asked.
“So, she went to the Don’s house last night,” I said. “Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was?”
More surprise hit her. She relaxed her hands and sat forward, staring up at me.
“Is she okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” I said. “The Don didn’t hurt her, just made sure she got home. But goddamn it, Clair. What were you thinking?”
“She needed to know,” she said. “If I didn’t tell her, she would’ve gotten worried.”
“You didn’t need to tell her you were here.”
“I’m not going to lie to my mother.”
“We could’ve come up with something,” I said. “We could’ve—”
“There is no ‘we’,” she said, her lips curled into a sneer. “You’re not in this with me. You’re just some hired thug my uncle left here to keep me in line.”
I threw up my hands. “I’m trying to help you.”
“No, you’re not. If you were trying to help, you’d find a way to let me go.”
“You know I can’t do that. You know—”
“You’re just the messenger,” she said, shaking her head. “Whatever, that’s such weak bullshit, and you know it.”
I stood there, my temper fraying. I stared at her and tried to keep myself calm, but she gave me this horrible look, this angry, pissed-off stare, like I was something cheap, something beneath her.
And it pushed me over the edge.
“Fine then,” I said. “You want me to be some stupid brute? You want me to be some asshole piece of shit, mafia scumbag? I’ll do that for you, my pretty little mafia princess.”
She stared at me as I walked to her bed. She flinched back, which only pissed me off more, like I was going to fucking hurt her. I grabbed her sheets, threw them aside, rifled through the covers.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Get off my bed.”
I threw her pillows on the floor, ripped the sheets off.
“Real mature,” she said. “Real grown up.”
I went to the one nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and grunted in victory. I snatched her phone out before she could stop me.
“What are you doing?” she asked, standing up as I walked to the door.
I powered her phone down. “You don’t get this anymore.”
“Fuck you,” she said. “Give that back.”
“Don’s orders,” I said. “I was thinking about disobeying. But goddamn, you really made me do this.”
“I didn’t make you do anything,” she said, walking toward me. “Give me the phone back, Luca.”
“Sit back on the bed, Clair, before you do something stupid.”
She came at me hard. She flailed her fists and arms at me, trying to hurt me. I’d never seen a girl attack someone like that before, and her fists almost hurt. I caught her wrist and spun her, turning her around. She gasped as I forced her arm up behind her back and pinned her against the wall.
I pressed myself against her body, my crotch against her firm ass.
“You done?” I asked.
“You’re hurting me, asshole.”
I let up the pressure a little. “I’m going to let you go,” I said. “And you’re not going to do that again.”
“Or what? You’ll hit me, big man?”
“I’m not going to hit you,” I said. “But I will pin you down on that bed and hold you there until you stop.”
She turned her head and stared at me out of the corner of her eye. I pressed closer, let her feel my body. I was tempted to kiss her cheek or neck or maybe her pretty little ear.
But then she turned back toward the wall, chin tilted up. “Let me go,” she said.
I released her and stepped back. She stood there for a second, rubbing her elbow, then turned. I thought she might attack again, but there were tears in her eyes.
“You’re such an asshole,” she said.
“Like I said, it didn’t have to be like this.”
“I think it did. I think you like hurting girls. Pushing them up against walls. Is that what you’re into?”
I cocked my head. “Only when they ask real nicely.”
“Asshole,” she said and stormed off to her bathroom. She stomped inside and slammed the door shut.
I stood there and stared at the door.
That wasn’t how I wanted that to go. In my mind, I was going to talk to her, explain why what happened was messed up, explain that the Don wanted to punish her, explain that she’d get the phone back sooner or later.
Instead, I made things worse.
“Fuck,” I said and left the room.
I closed the door gently behind me before going downstairs
I wasn’t good with people. I wasn’t good at sweet talking them, or understanding them, or making them think I cared about them.
I was good at killing them. That was all I was good at.
So I really don’t know why the Don would put me in charge of this girl. It made no goddamn sense to me, and I knew I was only going to fuck things up sooner or later, if I hadn’t already.
But orders were orders, and I had to follow through, even if I didn’t love it.
6
Clair
I spent most of the day in my room. My wrist, elbow, and shoulder hurt from where Luca put me in that restraining move. I kept closing my eyes and thinking about the feeling of him behind me, the pure power and muscle of him, and it scared me half to death.
And it scared me even more that part of me liked it. Some crazy, weird, sick part of me deep down inside actually liked having that monster push me up against a wall.
I stayed away from him for the rest of the day. I snuck down to grab some coffee and make some eggs, and he pretended like he di
dn’t see me, which worked just fine. Otherwise, I sat in bed, stared out the window, paced around, and ended up reading this old, beat-up paperback book about a group of scientists that get stuck on an alien planet.
But my mind wandered. I kept thinking about getting the hell out of that house. I couldn’t stay there, not without a phone at least. There was nothing for me to do but read that stupid book or stare at the floor or go downstairs and have to deal with that asshole Luca.
I couldn’t stay anymore. Not without my phone, not without my one form of entertainment, the one thing that was distracting me from all this horrible stuff. And even with the stupid thing, I thought I was going to leave anyway.
This just sealed the deal.
So I leaned back, closed my eyes and started to plan.
Around noon, I heard some noises downstairs, like someone was stomping around in heavy boots. I lingered near my bedroom door then snuck out. The pounding got louder, so I crept down the stairs, trying not to make any sound as I stared down under the railing and into the living room.
And found Luca, shirtless, wearing a pair of shorts, sweat rolling down his body. There was some workout program on TV with a lot of jumping up and down and he was following along, grunting and sweating as he dropped down, did pushups, popped back up, did squats, and basically ran around the living room.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
He looked back at me but didn’t seem surprised to see me there. “Working out.”
“I can see that,” I said. “You’re being loud.”
“Come join me,” he said, a little out of breath. “This is a good one.”
“You do, like, TV workouts?”
“I’m streaming it from your phone.”
“That’s my data, asshole.”
“I’m kidding, I’m using my laptop.” He did a complicated move where he dropped to the floor, pushed up, clapped, popped back up to his feet. “This house has fucking Wi-Fi.”
“I didn’t know that.” I lingered and watched him as he finished up the video. He ended with a series of squats into more pushups, sweat rolling down his muscular chest and arms. When he finished, he stood and grunted and breathed hard, walking around the room with his hands on his hips. I stared at his abs, at the black tattoos on his skin, and felt my lips part just slightly. He turned and met my gaze, and a little smile slipped across his lips.
“Normally, I wouldn’t do a video like this,” he said. “But I’ve got to be here all the time, so it’s the best I can do.”
“Sure,” I said. “Makes, uh, makes sense.”
“Come down and do one with me,” he said. “I’ve got more in me. I’ve got a lot of stamina.”
“No, no thanks,” I said and looked away.
I had to tear my gaze from him. If I didn’t, I’d keep staring at his muscular chest and lose my nerve entirely.
“Suit yourself.” He walked over to the couch and picked up an old white towel and wiped himself off.
“So, uh, I came down for a reason,” I said.
“Oh, I thought you were just here to stare at my body.”
“No,” I said, and realized I said it too quickly. I had to clear my throat and start again. “No, I came down to ask a favor.”
He went still and stared up at me. I finally forced myself to meet his gaze, even though I didn’t want to see the sweat rolling down his finely sculpted chest, over his perfectly shredded abs.
“What can I do for you?” he asked and it nearly killed me.
“I’m hungry,” I said. “And there’s no food in the house.”
“I can go to the store,” he said. “Is that what you want? Or do you want me to order in?”
“Store,” I said. “I don’t want junk.”
“Fine.” He shrugged a little, wiped off his arms. “Make a list. I’ll go after I shower off.”
“Okay, great.” I hesitated. “Make a list with what?”
“Pen and paper in the kitchen,” he said. “Notepad’s hanging on the refrigerator, pens are in the drawer. If you came down a little bit and looked around, you’d know this stuff.”
I walked down the steps and breezed past him. “Sorry, I’m busy hiding away from the weird hulking asshole that’s doing lunges in the living room.”
He laughed as I went into the kitchen, found the paper, found the pen, and made a quick list. I put a little thought into it because I didn’t want to be too obvious, and when I was done, I ripped it off and left it on the table.
“You all set?” he asked as I came back through.
“All set,” I said, going to the stairs.
“So you’re just sending me out like an errand boy, not even going to hang around down here and make small talk?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I’ve had my fill of that already.”
I headed upstairs and closed my door, locking it with a click.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart racing.
Maybe this really was a bad idea. As I stared at the window and waited, my entire body vibrating with every second that passed, I wondered if I should just forget about the whole plan. I could make lunch when he got home, maybe even take him up on an exercise video.
It could be fun. And he didn’t seem so bad, aside from manhandling me like a dickhead.
I took a sharp breath, shook my head.
No, that was just fear talking. Fear was going to keep me stuck in this place. The mafia banked on fear, needed me afraid to keep me complacent.
I wasn’t going to stick around and let them have their way.
After ten minutes, I heard the door open and shut. I heard his footsteps on the stoop and ran to the window. I saw him head down the sidewalk and disappear from view.
I stood there and I knew I had a choice. I could stay, find out what my uncle had in store for me. I could see this through.
Or I could take my chance and figure this out on my own.
“Come on,” I whispered to myself. “Be better.”
I walked to my duffel bag, rooted through my clothes, found an old pair of jeans. I shoved my hands in the back pocket and plucked out a twenty-dollar bill. I found it last night when I went through my clothes, and kept it tucked in there just in case I’d need it.
I put the twenty in my pocket, changed into a new black shirt and jean shorts, then headed downstairs. He really was gone, and the room felt empty and strange without him.
I pushed open the door, lingered on the stoop. I didn’t have to do this.
But no, I had to, and I knew it.
I walked out, down the steps, and left the front door open.
Screw them. Damn them to hell. I hoped someone came in and robbed them, just like they stole me away.
I hurried down the sidewalk, away from where Luca had gone. I turned left at the first corner and kept my head up, looking for a cab. I had to march fast to a main street with lots of cars before I found one, but I managed to flag it down and hop in the back.
I gave the guy the address and did my best to ignore the stupid, annoying little TV screen that played ads the whole time. The guy talked on his phone as he drove, a Bluetooth headset shoved in his ear, and I wondered who was spending all day on the phone with him.
Probably some other cabbie. I pictured two old cabbies in love with each other, their cabs parking nose to nose at the end of a long day. They’d get out, run to each other, embrace, kiss, and take off their Bluetooth headsets in unison.
Beautiful love story.
He dropped me off in front of the house. I gave him the twenty, let him keep three, and got ten back. An expensive trip, but I lived on the other side of the city, and besides, I didn’t care about the cash at the moment.
I got out, feet on the familiar sidewalk, and breathed the familiar neighborhood air.
It smelled just like it always smells in the city, moldy and grungy and perfect.
I walked to my stoop, hopped up, entered the code to buzz in through the front door. I pulled my house
key from my back pocket, unlocked the inner door, and walked to the staircase.
My apartment was on the second floor, straight ahead. I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and stared at the space.
My things were thrown all over.
The couch was torn apart like someone took a knife to it. Plates, dishes, and glasses were all smashed in the kitchen, the cabinets left open, the refrigerator door hanging by a single hinge, the light burned out, the smell of rotten food wafting in through the air. The carpets looked like someone dragged their muddy boots all over, and my heart began to race as I stepped inside.
My TV was smashed. The coffee table was split and there were cigarette burns on the top of it. The windows were open and a little breeze came through as I turned from the mess and walked to my bedroom.
Clothes were thrown everywhere. The mattress was torn off the frame. My nightstands were toppled, my bureau ransacked, the clock smashed. All the paintings I had on the walls, all my family pictures of me and my mother, they were all broken and twisted and left on the floor.
I stood there, heart racing, body quivering, wondering what the fuck happened in here.
I couldn’t imagine my uncle did this. I mean, it made no sense. He knew that I didn’t have any cash and hadn’t actually been paid by Fazio yet. Uncle Luciano probably knew more about the money than I did, and I couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d bother breaking the place into pieces.
I kicked through the things on the floor, walked over to my nightstand. My junk drawer was tipped over, spilling pens and pencils, old erasers and paperclips, two dead iPhones and a Blackberry from when I was in college. I took one of the iPhones, the one I thought might work even though it had a cracked screen, and slipped it into my pocket. I stood back up, stepped over a cigarette butt, kicked through some glass.
My clothes were ripped to shreds, like someone was trying to destroy it all on purpose.
“What the fuck happened here?” I said, and as I stepped back toward the hallway, my mind racing, trying to figure out what I should do, I realized that I had made an enormous mistake.
I walked back toward the kitchen, but before I could formulate a plan for where to go next, I heard a noise downstairs.