by Hamel, B. B.
13
Ewan
Tara’s quiet on the drive out to the Don’s suburban mansion and I’m not sure why, but I don’t press her too hard.
At least she looks perfect. Hair down and thick, slightly curly, brushing against her shoulders and back. She wore a black dress that hugged her curves and was cut low enough in the front to show a hint of her breasts. Her high heels made her legs ten feet long and her lips were colored a light red that made her look delicious and inviting.
I had on my best suit. Armani, cut to fit like a glove, and cost more than a car. Tara complimented it when I came out of my room, and blushed a little when I returned the praise, but didn’t talk much after that.
Which was fine. She was probably nervous. The last time we came out to the Don’s, she was told that she’d have to marry me, whether she liked it or not, as some test of my fucking loyalty.
Tonight was different though. The Don was turning seventy, and he’d invited every important member of the Valentino family out to celebrate, along with other rich and powerful people from the city. I barely made the cut, and Tara had only been invited along as my guest. This was the sort of gathering where great deals were made, where the players in Philadelphia’s politics got together to make new rules, to carve up the kingdom into pieces, and to fight each other for the best bits.
The Don loved this sort of thing. He was a master of politics, and though he’d gotten slower over the years, his mind remained sharp. He could play a police chief like the man was a rookie, or manipulate a mayor into doing his bidding at the snap of his gnarled, arthritic fingers. The Don was my mentor, and I still felt like I only understood half of what he knew at best.
There was a reason the Valentino family ran the city.
Other mob families came and went over the years. The Leone family was in charge for a while until their older members moved to Chicago, and their younger leaders decided to carve up what was left of the empire. The Valentino family stepped into the vacuum they left, and took charge of the drug trade, turning a massive profit each year.
Now, the Don was thinking about his future, and the future of the family.
I parked at the end of a long row of expensive-looking cars. I helped Tara out and we walked together, her arm through mine. The house was done up and perfect, and a couple guys in black shirts and black slacks stood out in front of the doors with visible guns holstered at their sides. I nodded to them and they let us in through the front, into a crowd of well-dressed men and women packed throughout the house.
Tara followed me without talking much. I snagged glasses of champagne and we did a quick circuit. I said hello to some of the mafia guys I knew, saw the underboss Roy Paganini, who was a longtime friend of the Don’s and second-in-command. Hector Beryl, the consigliere and head lawyer, stood holding court at the base of the stairs, telling some story about how he won an absurd case and got a few Capos off of drug trafficking charges, even though they were all guilty as fuck. Dean stood in a group of other Capos, and gave me a salute as we passed, and the Don’s housekeeper, Bea, winked at me from where she stood near the kitchen, managing the staff.
“Who are all these people?” Tara asked as we stepped into the Don’s large living room with its high ceilings and exposed wooden beams. Massive windows overlooked an expansive back yard with a pool and some relatively absurdly sculpted bushes and hedges.
“Now you’re talking to me?” I asked, grinning a little as she leaned closer to me.
“Don’t be a dick.” She sipped her drink. “Come on. Tell me.”
I nodded at a group of men sitting near the fireplace. “Guy at the end is a state senator. Guy next to him owns seven restaurants. The woman across from them is some high-powered lawyer, I forget her name. We passed some Capos, a couple important soldiers, the underboss, Roy, and some other random guys that work around the Valentino family orbit.”
She chewed on her lip. “So it’s basically a who’s who of organized crime,” she said.
“Exactly. And politicians, which I guess isn’t so different.”
She smiled a bit at my admittedly dumb joke. “How open is it?” she asked. “The crime part, I mean. Does everyone know?”
“They know,” I said, and steered her toward the back door. “Maybe not in detail. Maybe some of them don’t want to know it all. There are doctors back there, doctors we pay to help take bullets from our guys, and they don’t ask questions. We’ve got union guys that employ some of our soldiers, and guys that work in the police department—”
“Cops?” she asked, frowning.
“Sure, and sergeants, and captains.” I opened the sliding door and helped her step out onto the porch, then closed it behind me. “You don’t really realize how embedded the whole underworld is into the levels of power, do you?”
“I never thought about it,” she said. “I’m a waitress. Or I guess I was a waitress.”
“Money runs this place,” I said as we drifted over toward the pool. It was quiet and there weren’t many people outside. The water rippled in the wind and lights from the bottom made it glow a strange, eerie blue. She finished her drink and left it on a high table as we wandered deeper into the garden. “Where there’s money, power follows.”
“So politicians, doctors, unions, they all want money, and the Valentino family has it,” she said.
“Exactly.” I put my hand on her lower back, and she didn’t pull away, but she did stop and face me.
“Is this really your world?” she asked, staring into my eyes, and I felt like she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen before. In that garden, surrounded by manicured bushes and blooms of flowers, she was gorgeous and luscious, and all I wanted to do was stay close her.
“Not exactly,” I said softly. “I do the dirty work. I’m only a part of all this because the Don wants me to be. I grew up with him, more or less.”
“I don’t understand that,” she said, shaking her head. “He adopted you?”
“Basically,” I said, and hesitated. “My mother died. Then my father took off. And I had nowhere else to go. That’s when I met Dean, and the Don, and they put me up for a while. The Don mentored me, gave me a room to stay in. Worked me like a fucking dog around here, but it was a better life than I had before.”
“What happened to her?” she asked. “Your mom, I mean.”
I looked away, back toward the pool. I could see people inside, gathering in groups, wearing their black fancy clothing and laughing, all that power concentrated in one single room, and I thought of breaking through that barrier, of joining that world, but knew it would never happen.
They all knew what I was, and knew I’d never be more.
“Cancer,” I said. “Took her fast. Doctors found it too late. One day she was here, and the next she was gone.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Things weren’t easy for her before that, and sometimes I wonder if it was better, the way it happened.” I stopped and felt the old anger bubble beneath the surface.
“She was better off dead?” Tara asked.
“I don’t talk about this,” I said, and closed my eyes for a second. I pictured my mother, the last time I saw her, wasted away in a hospital bed, her red hair gone stringy and white, her cheeks sunken, her light blue eyes sparkling in the overhead light of the hospital as she squeezed my hands and told me that she loved me more than anything in the world, that she’d miss me and wanted me to get away from my father, get away from that old life. She wanted more for me, and maybe I found some of that, but not quite.
“It’s okay,” Tara said. “You don’t have to.”
“No.” I faced her and took her hands in mine. “You need to know. You deserve to understand.”
“Understand what?” She shook her head, staring into my eyes, and I touched her cheek gently.
“My mother was a whore,” I said softly.
She recoiled back. “What?”
“
She was a sex worker,” I said. “She was a prostitute.”
Tara put her hands to her mouth, and I saw her make all the necessary connections.
I rarely talked about my mother, because I was ashamed of the man I’d become, not because I was ashamed of what she did for a living. I didn’t blame her for that—I blamed my father, that piece of shit. He was her pimp and owned her from the day I was born until the day she died.
“That’s why you hate them,” Tara said. “That’s why you hate sex traffickers. Because of your mother.”
“Because I grew up in that house,” I correctly gently, but she was right, it was for my mother as well. “I saw what it did to women, how it broke them, how my father took advantage of them. He was the pimp, and he ran his little stable of girls with an iron fist. There was violence, and sex, and drugs, and I passed through my childhood thinking all that was normal. It still fucks me up most days, and I’m pretty sure that’s why I’m so broken.”
“Oh, god,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “This is why I rarely talk about it. I loved my mother and she was good to me, or at least she did the best she could. She was an addict, and she was stuck with my father, since he had the drugs, and he threatened to hurt me if she ever left. My father used her to the bone and then some, he worked her dry, he destroyed her, and I’m still sure that he caused the cancer that ate her from the inside.”
I stopped taking, unable to go on more. Tara came closer and touched my face then took my hands, then pushed herself against me and hugged me tight. I wrapped my arms around her and felt her warmth against my chest, her slow breaths, her beating heart.
I hated talking about my parents. I hated my past, and hated what it did to me, but Tara needed to know.
I killed her father for a reason. I killed him because I knew firsthand what men like him did to women, and if I could stop him, I would.
All those people in that party, they knew who I was, and knew where I came from. Son of a whore. Killer for a crime syndicate. I was a monster to them.
Except for Dean and his father. That was why I remained so loyal. They took me in, despite what I was, and didn’t treat me like trash.
“We should go back inside,” I whispered.
She pulled away from me, but before she could turn, I took her wrist and gently tugged her near. I kissed her then, and she returned it with a shocking passion. I held her in the dim light of the pool, hidden back in the garden, and considered stripping her dress from her body then and there, but managed to control myself.
“We’ll make an appearance inside,” she said. “Then we can get out of here, if you want.”
“I need you to understand something,” I said roughly, and she chewed on her cheek.
“What?” she asked, like she didn’t want to hear it.
“I’d kill your father again in a heartbeat,” I said. “I know that hurts to hear, but he deserved it. I’m sorry, Tara. I really am. I know something about having awful parents.”
“That’s the thing.” She smiled sadly. “He wasn’t awful to me. That’s why I’m struggling with it so much.”
I kissed her cheek, but she turned and began back to the party.
I followed after a moment. Now she knew the truth about me, the past that I wanted so badly to hide, and yet she hadn’t looked at me like I was a freak or a monster, and her taste still lingered on my tongue.
14
Tara
When we got back from the party at the Don’s mansion, I decided that I was going to marry Ewan.
It didn’t happen in a flash. It happened gradually, over the course of the night. After he told me about his mother, everything clicked into place: his anger, his hatred, his gentle touch. I suddenly understood why he killed my father, and why he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
He watched his mother get trafficked. He grew up in that world, and he despised it.
That was the start. Then I went back inside, and he made jokes with groups of rich men, was charming and outgoing. Ewan made the Don laugh, and introduced him with some pride to a group of businessmen that were thinking about doing business with the Valentino family.
I watched Ewan take his place amidst all those powerful people, and though he likely didn’t see it, he was a shining light among them. The other Capos paled compared to him, and I couldn’t stop staring at him for one second. He seemed to glow, and the laughter that followed him like baby ducklings was music and raindrops on pondwater.
I decided I’d marry him, not because it would be easy. It would definitely not be easy, but it was the right thing to do. It’d get me away from the Healy family, and Ewan could protect me. It would make the Don happy, and prove Ewan’s loyalty, and so much would fall into place.
What happened after that, I couldn’t say. Maybe we’d divorce. Maybe we’d make it real.
It didn’t matter. I made up my mind, and all that night I lay in bed tossing and turning, thinking about Ewan’s face as he told me about his mother out by the pool, his skin glowing in the moon, his eyes flickering in the light of the pool. I dreamed he undressed me in the garden and kissed every inch of my body.
In the morning, I emerged from my room, ready to propose. I found him standing in the kitchen, his face pale and drawn, his phone hanging limply from his fingers.
“Ewan?” I said.
The phone slipped to the floor and clattered away. It jolted him back into the moment and he blinked at me, surprised. “The Don’s in the hospital,” he said.
“What?” I took a step toward him. I knew the Don was a powerful force in his life, half father and half teacher. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know,” Ewan said. “Dean called. Something happened.”
“We’ll go right now,” I said. “Let’s grab our things and go.”
He nodded a little and picked up his phone. I saw the light come back to him, like he was returning to the moment, his brain starting to work again.
We both got dressed hurriedly and were out the door in five minutes. He drove wildly to Jefferson Hospital and parked nearby. We practically ran inside, rode the elevators up, and were promptly shown to a visitor’s waiting room.
Ewan paced around like a caged animal and I didn’t know what to do to help. I had no clue how bad the Don was, or what even happened. The Don just turned seventy, but he didn’t look like a healthy man. It could’ve been natural, or it could’ve been something else, considering his job. I didn’t know what I could say that would bring Ewan out of his anxiety.
Dean showed up after a while. He looked exhausted, and still wore the suit he had on the night before. “Ewan,” Dean said.
Ewan walked over and they hugged. I was surprised, and sat forward on the edge of my seat.
“How is he?” Ewan asked. “What happened? Who the fuck did this? Dean, what the fuck happened.”
Dean steered Ewan to a chair and sat him down. Dean sat next to him, and I leaned toward him, my body vibrating with anxiety.
“It was the end of the party,” Dean said, his face screwed up into a mask of anger. “Mostly everyone was gone. Dad was in his den drinking with a couple senators and some lawyer guy. Bea was getting the place cleaned up, and I was with Giancarlo. I was—” He stopped himself and looked down, suddenly ashamed.
“It’s fine,” Ewan said. “What happened?”
“I heard a shout,” Dean said. “I ran to the den. The state senator was on his knees, holding dad, pressing a hand against a wound in his gut. The back door was open, and the lawyer guy was gone. I didn’t even know his name. He must’ve been—” Dean stopped and shut his eyes.
“Dean,” Ewan prompted. “Is he alive?”
“Yes,” Dean said. “Stab wound to the gut. Doctor says he’s insanely lucky. He was in surgery all night and just came out earlier. That’s when I called you.”
Ewan looked relieved, though the tension didn’t lower. “Who did it?” he asked. “The lawyer?”
&
nbsp; “I don’t think he was a lawyer,” Dean said, eyes hard. “I think he was with the Healy family. I think he was a plant.”
Ewan let out a strange growl and stood. He paced again, and Dean watched.
“How do you know?” Ewan asked, spreading his hands. “They could’ve gotten someone inside. We were careful. Everyone there was invited, and security knew all the faces.”
“It’s not that hard to slip someone onto the guest list. You drop the right name in the right place, plant some fake details. There were over two hundred people there last night.”
Ewan’s jaw clamped down. “We got sloppy,” he said.
Dean stood up and checked his phone. “He’s awake,” he said. “And he’s asking for you.”
The blood drained from Ewan’s face and he glanced at me. I nodded at him, trying to be encouraging, but I could only guess at how he felt.
“Tara’s coming too,” Ewan said, looking back at Dean.
Dean only grunted like he didn’t care and hurried to the door. Ewan took my hand and we followed him, down a series of halls, and into a side room across from a nurse’s station. It was large and well appointed, with a big window and a decent view. Curtains were pulled around the single bed, and Dean ripped them back.
The Don looked frail and half alive. His hair was frizzy and wild, and his eyes were sallow and jaundiced. He grunted something and coughed as Dean ran to his side.
“Dad,” Dean said, taking the old man’s hand.
I lingered back near the door as Ewan went closer. This wasn’t my place. I should’ve left, but Ewan wanted me there for moral support, and I wouldn’t abandon him.
“Where is he?” the Don rasped.
“Ewan’s here.” Dean shifted aside and let Ewan kneel down next to him.
“I’m here, Don,” Ewan said.
The Don’s eyes fell on Ewan, and the old man tried to sit up. Dean stopped him, soothing him softly, and got him settled back on the pillows again. “Easy, Dad,” Dean said, “save your strength.”