Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

  It all sounded so…true…and doable.

  It didn’t take a lot of money to give it a try. All I needed was a journal. So, after work, I ventured to a part of town known for sidewalk vendors, looking for something I could afford. It would put a dent in my stash, but one day it would be worth it. I’d look back on that journal and have proof. I’d changed the course of destiny. I had earned an ocean to put out that fire consuming me.

  I found two things that day: a purple journal and an aloe vera plant.

  The plant had been sitting on top of the journal, real artsy looking, and the vendor sold me two for one. Five bucks for both. I named the plant Vera and the journal Journey. From that day forward, Vera Journey was born. When I needed a confidante, I talked to Vera. When I needed to feel not so broken, I wrote in Journey. Needless to say, Vera was doing pretty well with all of our chats, and Journey was almost full of notes.

  Both of them were right beyond my reach. My hands tingled, like I hung on to the highest mountain and my fingers and palms were just too slippery. I was falling.

  “Just my luck,” I mumbled.

  The panic attack passed and suddenly I felt so tired. Like I could sit on that shitty floor and sleep for eons. I lifted my head, turned my eyes to the ceiling, and then closed them. Wishing. Hoping. Wanting something so different.

  I needed. I needed a safe place to land for once in my life.

  I didn’t even have the energy to open my eyes when the tip of a boot touched my leg. “I changed the locks,” Merv said. “You didn’t pay your rent. I’m not running a charity here.”

  “Get lost, Merv,” I said. “I wasn’t that late.”

  “Over a month, and not for the first time. I forgot about the late fees, didn’t I?”

  “You ever heard of cutting someone some slack? It’s not like this is the royal palace. You let the rats live here rent-free. A huge-ass family lived with me the entire time. Bastards stole my food, when I had it, and then shit all over the place!”

  He was quiet long enough that I forced my eyes open. He hadn’t left, I knew, because his cheap-ass cologne kept assaulting my nose. I never got a good feeling about him, so I usually kept my distance, and the feeling was as strong as ever. There was something about his eyes that reminded me of a diseased rat. I always assumed he was their leader.

  I used my knees to push up the wall, keeping the straps of my bag clutched in my palms, sliding down a little bit, but he bulldozed over the space between us and came close to my face. “I could forget this month.” He shrugged. “If you’d do something for me.”

  Before he even told me what that something was, I’d started shaking my head. I knew what that something was, and there was no way in fucking hell. This wasn’t the first time he’d insinuated sex for payment, but this time, something had changed. He felt more like a predator.

  Get. Out. A voice screamed in my head. It came from my gut.

  “Go fuck yourself, Merv,” I said, and I meant it literally. “I need two minutes to get my things and then I’m gone.”

  He shook his head. “You owe me. You want your things? You have to do something for me first.”

  “When hell freezes over,” I whispered, hoping the low tone of my voice would hide the hint of fear. “You’d have to kill me first.”

  I might have jumped from house to house, place to place, throughout my life, but I hadn’t gotten to the point where my hunger and fear were worth more than my body, my strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other on my own terms.

  Tiredness might have made it to my bones, but the thought of him made me cringe to the point where acid burned the back of my throat. I’d rather pick up a seedy stranger in a dark alley than to see him in the light of day. He had ass crack for days, and it didn’t always look like dark hair back there.

  “You’ll be back!” he yelled toward me, leaning one beefy shoulder against the wall while I hauled ass to get out of there. A door across from mine opened and two people spilled out. “And the cost will go up when you do!”

  * * *

  Since I lived on the third floor, I sometimes left the window cracked. Call me foolishly hopeful or truly insane, but I always wished for a stray cat to slip through so he could take care of my rat problem. I couldn’t afford anything else, and getting anyone to listen in this city (a complaint against the landlord) was harder than talking a brick wall into moving by itself.

  What was even more insane than hoping for a cat hero was plotting to get my journal and plant back from Merv the creepy landlord. I refused to let him have my hopes and my dreams—and my plant. I might have hit rock bottom, but I’d be damned if the last memories of me went to him.

  I slapped my palm to my forehead. Again, the guy in the suit from this morning seemed to scramble my thoughts, and all common sense seemed to slip through the cracks. I had left the window open in case of this exact scenario. Not being able to make rent and getting put out.

  On a normal day, I would’ve had Journey with me, but Vera always stayed home. I mean, who carries a plant around? In case things got shady, I purposely left the window open so I could snatch her from the ledge.

  With nothing but time on my side, I waited in the extreme heat, too far away to be seen, until night fell and I was sure Merv was probably watching porn for the rest of the night.

  After securing my backpack, I climbed the fire escape as quietly as possible.

  It was old, and with each step, rust fell to the street from my weight. My toes had a pulse and my stomach felt like it had an acid sandwich for lunch. No matter what people say, no matter how little you eat, you never get used to feeling hunger. There was a big difference between a growl and a roar. Or maybe there was a big difference between choosing not to eat and not being able to.

  I had to stop halfway up to the second floor. My head became dizzy, and everything seemed to swim out before it righted itself again. I looked up, remembering why I had to do this.

  Journey. Vera. My things. Mine. All that will be left of me.

  Once I reached the third floor, my apartment, I peeked inside, not seeing anyone. Vera was on the ledge and Journey was underneath. That was right. I was trying to be artsy today.

  Maybe I can sneak in and get my two shirts and one pair of shorts. My only pair of flip-flops. I even had a bottle of water in the fridge. It didn’t really keep things cold but cool. That will do me some good when I’m ratting the hot streets tonight. Maybe Merv won’t even know that I spent the night. That’ll give me an extra day to try and make some other kind of arrangement. It’s too late to get into a shelter for the night. I didn’t like staying there, either. I always felt trapped.

  My eyes narrowed when one of the rats took his time walking across the floor. Yeah, they weren’t afraid. Most of them could take on a small cat, but dealing with rats was better than dealing with humanity.

  Taking a deep breath, I fully lifted the window and climbed inside, feeling somewhat ahead. I never felt settled, not since I was ten, but “somewhat ahead” had become my normal.

  A searing pain ran from my scalp to my neck. My hair was caught in a tight-fisted grip, and my head pulled back at an awkward angle. “I knew you’d be back,” Merv sneered in my ear. “And what did I tell you? The cost is going to be so much higher. You’re going to meet Big Merv tonight. Mari and Big Merv, sitting on that bed, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” He sang the last part childishly.

  My heart raced, my palms tingled, and my mind worked overtime. The son of a bitch had been waiting for me! I had nothing in this nasty-ass place to even defend myself with.

  He pulled my head back further, and I looked at him from the side of my eye. “You’re not all that pretty—that nose—but there’s something about you…” He licked a wet trail from my chin to my ear, and I had to stifle the urge to vomit. His spit stunk. “Your body, though. I’ll have some fun breaking it in.”

  Words. They kept soaring through my thoughts. I wanted to threaten him, to tell him that if he touched me, I
would kill him. But in the moment, they were meaningless, flying because they held no weight.

  He was right about one thing, though.

  My body.

  It was going to fight, even if this was the last fight we’d ever know. I started fighting him then, not caring what I did, but doing it anyway. We seemed to hit one wall, the stove, and then he rammed my head into another wall, this one closest to the window.

  He let go for a second, breathing heavy (the lazy prick probably couldn’t even climb a flight of stairs without wheezing), and we did a sort of bob and weave dance around each other. I was hell bent on making it to the door. Screaming wouldn’t help, but it was a chance to outrun him. I had him there, but he had me here. Caged like an animal.

  He came at me again, and I tried to go around, but tripped over my flip-flops. As soon as I went down, he grabbed me by the legs and pulled me further away from the door. He wheezed from the struggle, and I made some smartass remark about him not having to usually fight for his food. The girls down the hall paid him in sex all of the time, but they were more like corpses after they had hits of drugs.

  Snot dripped out of his nose. His cheeks were bright red. His palms were hot, burning through my jeans, and his white tank was full of stinky, unhealthy sweat. I was able to get one leg loose and kicked out at him. I hit his knee and he groaned. My toes came completely through one shoe from the impact, but I was able to rise and make it to the door. Just as my hand went to turn the knob, he grabbed me by my hair again, yanking me back.

  He swung me around, wild with anger, and put my head through the wall. Before I could even recover, he spun me around again and then slapped the shit out of me. He made direct contact with my nose before he went in for my eye. I barely registered the pain, only that I needed to get out.

  I knew death was coming for me soon, but not like this. Not with this asshole taking me apart before he decided to kill me for the rats to have. That was probably how he fed them. I clawed and kicked and made noises that sounded inhuman, trying to muster the energy to continue to fight. I knew from the outside it probably sounded like we were having wild sex, because he was making nasty noises, too.

  Somehow we made it to the window, and I had a feeling he was going to put my head through it. Maybe he decided fighting with me was not worth it. He’d just end my life and be done with it.

  “All right!” I shouted, hardly recognizing the sound of my own voice. It was full of grit, but sounded so worn down. “All right! I’ll do it.” He stopped the motion, but his hold didn’t lessen. “I’ll…I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

  The apartment was scalding—no air conditioning—and the only awareness I had of my injuries were the stings from sweat slipping into them. His hot breath flowed over me, like the heat of a million fires blistering my skin.

  Slowly, without any struggle, I let him turn me to face him. He let my arms go, and as his mouth came against mine, the sweat from his hair splashing across my face, I reached behind me and grabbed Vera from the windowsill.

  I hit him with as much strength as I could, smashing her small pot against his head. The pottery held together against his temple until I moved my hand and pieces of it crumbled to the floor. I was dimly aware of the stunned look on his face before snatching Journey, a piece of the terra-cotta pottery, and my flip-flops, and running as fast I could to the anonymity of the overcrowded streets.

  4

  Mariposa

  As the sun came up, I gave the waitress a slim tip at the all-night diner I sat at. She was nice enough to let me stay the night, continually filling my cup, so I didn’t have to sleep on the street. She even brought me a piece of apple pie that tasted like it was over two weeks old, but since I hadn’t had anything for a while, it was the best thing in the world.

  Maybe she felt sorry for me because I was all busted up. Bloody nose, puffy eye and lip, pieces of wall stuck in my hair. A bruise would soon come up on my forehead. It was sore to the touch and swollen. Even though it would only draw more attention, I set my hair back with the butterfly clip in my bag to get it off of my face.

  Vera. She had saved my life. The thought made my eyes water, but I sniffed up the emotions, refusing to let a tear fall. Crying got you nowhere. It helped nothing.

  After stepping outside, I stuck my tennis shoes in my bag and slipped on my dollar pair of flip-flops. The size of these were perfect, but I didn’t wear them often because, one, I didn’t want to ruin them, and two, they caused severe blisters between my big and second toe. But they protected my feet and I was glad to have them.

  I was glad to have Journey back, too. I spent most of the night writing things down between the pages. I even drew a picture of Vera and her pot to remember her by. The rest of the time I colored in my children’s coloring book. There was something really relaxing about coloring all of those princesses and bringing them to life.

  A guy walking down the street bumped me and pushed me back a step. He had earphones in and wasn’t paying attention, but the hit made me feel the fight from last night.

  It was going to be a long day.

  Not having anywhere to go, or anyone to see, I let my feet take me in whatever direction they wanted to go. I took the ferry to Staten Island, and after walking around for a bit, I made my way back. A few markets/a stroll by Broadway/getting lost in the crowds at Time Square-later, I was back at the five-star restaurant, Macchiavello’s.

  Dinner rush. There must’ve been a dress code, because not one person was dressed in jeans. Rich perfumes and fine colognes lingered from down the street. It sort of masked the fact that New York was scalding and the dumpsters were baking. Sweat coated my skin, and I felt crusted in it. Hopefully, the rich scents would mask my scent, too.

  This time I didn’t stare in the window but kept my distance. I leaned against the wall, watching as people came and went. I was bored out of my mind, so I toyed with the idea of going to the library. Sometimes I hung out there and read all day. But my feet were hurting (all of me was, actually), and the thought of sitting down for a bit and coloring seemed more appealing. Then I’d go to the shelter before they ran out of beds.

  After taking out my supplies, I started to color a picture of a young girl with a cloak on talking to a mean wolf. Some time passed by, because the weather started to feel a little cooler. Setting my blue color down to dab at an itchy spot on my injured nose, I happened to look up.

  My eyes narrowed on the same scenario from the day before. Smart Mouth hustled to open the door to the restaurant for the guy in the suit, but instead of going in, he watched me. I lifted one eye, not able to open the other the entire way.

  It was hard to look away. When he looked at me, I felt trapped, cornered, not able to move an inch. But in an odd way, it didn’t bother me as much as it should. I realized then that I didn’t feel judged by him because he was judging me, but because I was judging myself in his presence, wondering how I measured up.

  Merv was right. I wasn’t the prettiest thing to grace the earth. My hair was a dull brown, my eyes hazel—my DNA couldn’t decide between gold, green, and brown—and my nose…well, I was told by a kid in the old neighborhood that I had what his mother called a “whopper schnozzola.”

  Jocelyn had told me not to worry about what the kid had said. He didn’t know shit, just like his mom didn’t know if his dad was the barman or her husband.

  Jocelyn had said that I had an aquiline nose, or sometimes people called it a “Roman nose.” It was beautiful and it fit my face, she had said. She went as far as calling my profile “regal.” She even brought me to the library to look at pictures. I had to admit that, compared to some, I had a good Roman nose, one that seemed right for my face, but it was still different.

  At least my skin was clear. Well, when it wasn’t bruised.

  What does the guy in the suit think about my nose? After a second, I blinked, bringing myself back to the moment. Unconsciously, I had been stroking the bridge of it, calling attention to my thoughts
.

  What in the hell was going on with me? Why would I even think about it, or much less care?

  I still didn’t look away, though, and neither did he. Not until something made him turn to look. An unmarked car cruised down the street. It seemed like it was heading toward the restaurant. A second later, the man in the suit disappeared behind the door with Smart Mouth on his heels. I got the strangest feeling then that maybe the man in the suit hadn’t wanted to leave, but had to.

  Was he going to talk to me? I couldn’t even explain why I thought that.

  Then I started to laugh. I laughed while I packed up my things, preparing to go to the shelter. It was so ridiculous, him coming to talk to me. He was probably assessing me, trying to figure out if I was going to become a problem. If he even remembered me. Maybe he was trying to place me.

  My fingers stilled when I noticed the piece of pottery at the bottom of my bag. I turned it over in my hand for a second, admiring the butterfly I’d drawn. I had wanted to up Vera’s living space and had drawn a few things on her pot. The butterfly was my favorite. I always admired things that had to struggle to find beauty in life.

  If only we all could be so lucky to find our beauty, our peace, our purpose before we left this earth.

  The piece landed at the bottom of my bag again, and after zipping up, I stood, brushing some dirt from my hands on my jeans.

  A tall man in another pricey-looking suit came out of the restaurant’s door, going straight for the unmarked car. Two detectives got out, and the man met them before they made it to the door.

  I could hear snippets of the conversation, but not much. The tall man had a strong Italian accent. It sounded like he was explaining to the detectives that the man they’d asked to see wasn’t there, and if they had any more questions, they should contact his lawyer first.