by Naomi West
# # #
Arriving at the stadium, I waved to a few classmates who waved back. It was displacement activity, really, I was starting to feel uncharacteristically nervous.
"Do you want to head on in?" Cassidy asked. "I've got to go find our seats."
"Hello there!" Before I could answer, Ben Dupont strode up, with Riley beside him. He kissed Cassidy, ruffled AJ's hair and saluted me. I returned it as best I could. It was still not a gesture that came naturally to me. I've been told that my salutes always come across as sarcastic. I'm not even sure how that's possible.
"How's my little nephew?" Riley.
AJ reached out for his Aunt Riley, for whom he seemed to reserve a special adoration.
"Turning into a big strong man," Ben enthused. At first, Ben had shown the natural antipathy of a middle-aged man becoming a Grandpa, but once AJ was with us, he had taken to the role like a duck to water and was, somewhat ironically I felt, relishing the opportunity to be a bad influence.
"I'd better..." I indicated the stadium.
"Run inside, son," Ben said. "You don't want to be late."
Minutes later, I was standing side-stage with a line of other police academy graduates in front of me (it's nothing like the film, you know). A year-long intensive course, and the patronage of Ben Dupont, had got me to this point that I could hardly believe I had reached.
"You all right, Archer?" My friend, Lee, asked.
"No, I'm good."
"You look nervous."
"Aren't you nervous?"
"No. Final exams, I was nervous. This is just walking across a stage in front of a few people."
"More than a few," I muttered.
"Don't like crowds, huh?" asked Lee with a grin.
"Or stages," I admitted. "Anything that suggests public performance, basically."
"You'll be fine."
"People always say that."
Lee shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"
I really wished he hadn't said that. I had quite a good imagination when it came to what the worst that could happen might be. It was strange. I had been through stuff in my life that anybody would have called scary, and, right now, I would have been much happier in any of those situations than I was walking across a stage. I'd had some serious doubts about this career path at various points along the way, but this was the first time that it genuinely scared me.
It had been Ben's idea, of course, and I think my first reaction to it was pretty predictable.
"Are you high?" I asked.
Ben had frowned at me sternly. "I don't get high, son. Real men don't get high. Family is our high."
"I don't think I'm cut out to be a cop," I explained. "And I reckon that if you were to take a quick poll of people who know me, then you'd find that to be a popular point of view."
"Then you're all wrong," Ben said simply. "I've been in the force all my life, and I know what makes a man a good cop. Bravery - we both know you have that. Loyalty - I might not have liked them much, but you stuck to your Battle Pride crew like glue and wouldn’t rat them out to the feds. Honesty..."
"You can't possibly think I'm honest! I'm an ex con."
But Ben had waved off this objection. "There never was a time when you lied to me about Cassidy, and God knows you could have. Maybe should have. And you never pretended to be anything you're not. You're straight down the line. The desire to stick up for the little guy - damn it, you've been doing that for years. Maybe I haven't always liked the way you went about it, but you saw folk who needed protecting, and you did the necessary. You took a bunch of criminals and turned them into vigilantes. Who are also criminals, but their heart is in the right place."
"Doesn't respect for the law count for something?" I asked.
"I reckon you respect the law."
"I've spent my adult life breaking it!"
Ben nodded. "Have to respect something to break it. You think a karate master doesn't respect that brick he banging his head into? You have to respect it, or you end up with brain damage. Obviously, you would need to stop breaking the law, but I figure you were going to do that anyway."
"Well, yeah, but..."
Ben held up a hand. "Look, son, I'm not trying to force you to do something you don't want to do, but we both know you have the skills necessary to become a great cop. So, the only question you have to ask is: is serving the community something you want to do? Is it something you want Cassidy to see you doing? Is it something you want that kid of yours, when it's born, to see you doing? Everything else is horseshit."
And the answer to all those questions was… yes. Of course I wanted Cassidy, and the bump that turned out to be AJ, to be proud of me, but the important thing was that, the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was what I wanted. With Battle Pride gone, the community had no one to turn to, and I wanted them to able to turn to me. I wanted to be a cop who anyone could come up to on the street, or on whose doorbell anyone could ring. I wanted to be there for the kid whose parents mistreat him, but who is too scared to tell anyone.
"Archer Cyprian."
I took a deep breath and marched across the stage to be confirmed as an officer of justice. The crowd clapped. There, in the front row, was Polo Carter, next to Riley, who was taking a picture. Sitting beside her was Ben, and beside him, my beautiful wife, with my son perched on her knees. AJ waved at me and Cassidy joined in. I probably wasn't supposed to wave back, but what the hell. I might be on the side of law and order now, but I'm still Archer Cyprian, and life doesn't get any better than this.
THE END
~~~
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[EXTRA BONUS] DARE ME: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance
Dare me, and I’ll break you.
She thought she could defy me and get away with it.
But I don’t give a damn if she’s a mafia princess or not – she’s under my watch, and that means following my rules.
I could care less how much she likes it.
As long as she’s my responsibility, I’ll teach her what to like.
I’ll tell her what to do.
I’ll make her see how pleasure lies on the other side of pain.
Welcome to my world, darling.
It’s dark.
It’s hot.
And as long as you’re here, you are utterly mine.
Chapter One
Alessia
Good luck, girl.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I smile when I see the text from my brother’s girlfriend, Clara. She knows how much I’m dreading seeing my dad right now. My phone buzzes again and again in quick succession and I laugh at the flurry of texts she’s sending my way.
Knock ‘em dead.
Not literally.
Although I wouldn’t blame you if you did.
But no jail time for you.
So I guess I’ll just say break a leg.
His leg.
If anyone knows how awful my father can be, it’s Clara and my brother Dante. Two years ago, my father tried to murder Clara in retaliation for Dante attempting to leave the fold.
Oh, the life of a mob family.
Dante hasn’t spoken with our dad since. I haven’t been so lucky. My father’s developed a whole array of illicit ways to keep himself inserted into my life, whether it’s the tracking device I found in my car, the surprise visits at college, or the healthy dose of guilt he likes to slather on to any given occasion.
I came back to Chicago for the summer to spend time with Dante and our middle brother, Fabi, and I almost made it the entire summer without having to see our common patriarch. But then last night he sent me a text. If I didn’t come see him he was going to send one of his henchmen to drag me over to the house. He’d done it before.
My first year of college, when I apparently wasn’t calling home frequently enough, my dad’s main lackey, Dare Guinne, had marched into my freshman comp class, threw me over his shoulder, and dragged me to a hotel where my father w
as waiting for me.
This time I decide to come quietly.
I bounce on my heels as I wait for whatever car my father has sent for me. My phone buzzes again but I slide it into my pocket with a sigh as a black SUV pulls up to the curb.
“Of course,” I mutter to myself as I realize that it’s Dare in the driver’s seat. As head of my father’s security detail, Dare hardly ever leaves his side, but I’m sure he was sent on this particular mission in order to remind me just how far my father is willing to go to keep me in line.
“Alessia,” Dare nods his head to me as he comes around the car to open the door for me. His deep voice rumbles through me, so low it’s almost hard to hear. But I push the feeling aside easily. He’s always had an annoyingly attractive voice. I’ve been ignoring it for a decade.
I walk right past the backseat door he’s pulled open for me and go up to the passenger side door instead. He raises his eyebrows at me but says nothing as I hop up into the car.
“Your father would want you to ride in the back with the bulletproof glass,” he says, pulling smoothly away from the curb.
“Far fewer sins to deal with up here,” I say, knowing that the back seat is often where a lot of my father’s bloodier business takes place.
I can feel Dare’s black eyes bore into the side of my face but I don't turn to look at him. I can already imagine his expression. I’ve seen it a million times, the penetrating cut of his dark stare. He has one of those faces that gives away absolutely nothing.
He has short dark hair and a very shadowed face. His whole countenance reminds of me a black hole. One that I’m constantly in danger of getting sucked into. It used to make me nervous enough that I would babble about anything to fill the suffocating vacuum his stare creates. But that's when I was younger, I remind myself firmly.
I’m a 22 year old woman now. So instead of blabbing out of nervousness, I opt for complete silence. I try to channel something stoic.
I’m an iceberg.
I’m a redwood.
I’m the motherfucking ocean.
I cross my arms over my chest in frustration when it doesn't work. I’m still hyper aware of him beside me in the car. It doesn't help that he's taking up more than his fair share of the front seat.
His humongous paw rests casually on the stick shift. His seat is pushed back almost into the backseat to accommodate for the length of his legs. His shoulders are broad enough that they seem to stretch toward me.
I turn in my seat so that I’m looking all the way out my window, attempting to ignore him completely.
Iceberg, iceberg, iceberg, I chant.
The ride carries on without another word to one another, but that suits me fine. When we pull up to my father’s house - or ‘lair’ as Fabi calls it - Dare comes around the car and holds open the passenger side door open for me again. Dread fills my stomach at the idea of going inside. When I keep hesitating, Dare leans across me and unbuckles my seat belt. The smell of soap and sweat washes over me. He smelled exactly the same way when he dragged me from the classroom. I’m immediately reminded of how willing he is to drag me around.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I mutter, smacking his hand away.
He follows closely behind me as I walk into my childhood home. I may have grown up here but there is nothing homey about it at all. Scars pepper the deep brown wood of the grand entryway. I know they’re bullet holes. As a Patrizzio, I’ve seen my fair share.. The carpet is blood red, a choice of furnishing that isn’t accidental. Shaking my head, I jog up the huge spiral staircase in the entryway to get to my father’s office. I ignore Dare ascending the stairs behind me. I take a deep breath as I stand in front of the huge red oak doors of my father’s office. I do what I’ve been doing since I was a little girl whenever I have to see my father: I arrange my face into a blank expression and prepare to act like I barely understand what’s going on. It’s just easier if he thinks I’m an idiot. You could have knocked him over with a feather when I got into the University of Michigan. I had to convince him I got in based on an Italian heritage scholarship. As if that even exists. But he bought it.
I push open the door and step in, attempting to close it behind me, but a gigantic hand slaps it open and Dare steps in behind me. I inwardly shrug. I can barely remember the last time I was alone with my father. Dare has been there, silent and hulking, through almost every moment of my life for the last decade.
“Ciao, bella,” my father says and gives me a brisk kiss on each cheek before embracing me tightly. He smells exactly like he used to when I was a little girl, like licorice. I’m unprepared for the wave of nostalgia that washes over me and I stiffly lower myself into the chair across from his desk.
He sits in his high, leather backed chair behind his desk and surveys me. I stare back at him and am truly shocked at what I see. My father has aged ten years since I saw him six months ago. His hair has more of that salt than pepper tone to it and his olive skin is deeply lined. He looks just like my grandfather, before he died.
“School is fine?”
“Yes, Papa,” I nod.
“And your summer vacation, how did you spend it?”
“With Dante and Fabi.”
The lines on his face deepen and I almost feel sympathy for the man whose sons won’t see or speak to him. Almost. Then I remember why. Aside from attempting to murder Clara, he also accidentally shot Dante in the leg. I cross my arms over my chest, all wisps of nostalgia effectively squelched.
Sensing the shift of energy in the room, my father leans back and crosses his arms as well. “The Greco family is causing problems again.”
I raise my eyebrows. He’s talking to me about a situation with a rival mafia family? He never shares this kind of information with me. He studies his fingers for a second before continuing on. “You’re no longer safe on your own anymore. For the time being, anyway. You can take your pick. Stay here under the protection of my security detail, or return to school with Dare as your personal bodyguard.”
My body goes as hot as a bonfire as his words pierce me. Back to college, my safe haven, with the domineering giant currently looming over the room in the corner?
Iceberg, iceberg, iceberg.
I press my hands together. “What? Papa, that’s ridiculous.” He stares at me without speaking so I continue. “The Grecos won’t leave Chicago. They probably don’t even know I go to Michigan. I’ll be fine.” I’m proud when my voice doesn’t shake even though my insides feel like an earthquake.
My father, deceptively calm, leans back in his chair and studies me for a second. “You really think you’ll be fine out there all by yourself?”
I can already tell from his deprecating tone what he thinks on the matter so I choose to say nothing. I school my face into a neutral expression and stare back at him. Revealing nothing. Like father like daughter. He shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe you will be just fine. Maybe you’re tough enough. Hopefully you’re tougher than Aurelia Kostak.”
With that, he reaches into a drawer on the side of his desk and pulls out a photo. He tosses it on the desk in front of me. It’s a photo of a girl, eyes wide and unseeing, her arms flung wide in the pool of blood she died in. I suck my lips into my mouth and look away. I used to know Aurelia. She was the daughter of a Polish businessman. Our fathers sent us to the same private grade school. I knew she had died, but I hadn’t known she’d been-
“Murdered. By the Greco family,” my father interrupts, “her father got into it with them. Thought money could protect him. And perhaps it did. But it didn’t protect his daughter.”
I don’t need to look back at him or the photo. He’s made his point.
“I say again, you can stay here in the house until things cool down with the Grecos. Or if finishing college is so important to you,” he waves his hands in the air like he can’t imagine why, “then you go back with Guinne.”
I can feel Dare’s gigantic presence behind me. Standing as still as a mountain. It’s like he sucks th
e air out of every room he’s in. I can’t imagine being stuck with him for two more semesters until I graduate. But then I think of every time I’ve fallen asleep in the library, studying until all hours. I think of every paper I’ve written, the reams of notes I’ve taken. Not graduate? Inconceivable at this point. All the reasons I’ve been working my way through law school come back to me. I think of becoming a lawyer. Of having the power to put someone like Greco, or my father for that matter, behind bars. I can feel him and Guinne watching me, waiting. I stand, and not looking at either of them, walk to the door.