by Taylor Hill
Romeo stared at her. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you know how close we came to blowing our cover this time?”
“Oh come on,” Lana replied, “I’m just some chick you’re dating, so what? After all, it’s at least believable that a handsome guy like you could land an upmarket girl like me. It’d be different if it was one of those other schmucks. Imagine if it had been the Guilianno kid—they’d never have bought it.”
Lana started giggling to herself again and Romeo had to stop himself from saying something. Yes, Lou was his friend, but how could he expect her to understand that. To Lana, Lou was just another criminal rodent, waiting to be crushed beneath the strong boot of the law.
“Speaking of Guiliannos,” Lana continued, “do those two really not know the truth about their father yet? That’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? I almost feel sorry for them.”
Romeo winced. That was something he’d wanted to talk to Sandy about, but he hadn’t had the heart to on Valentine’s Day, not when it seemed like she was opening up to somebody for the first time in years, and he hadn’t had the chance to since. In fact, he didn’t know how he’d even begin to explain to her if he ever did, which was becoming increasingly unlikely now…
“No,” he said, “and for some reason Sal hasn’t ever mentioned it to him either. From what I can gather, he bears some bad blood for the senior Guilianno.”
“No shit,” Lana said, “him and every other Mafia goomba from here to Sicily and back.” She took a long, noisy sip from her soda and then smiled, a mischievous little glint appearing in her eye. “What about Sandra?” she asked, “Does she know about the return of Romeo’s real love yet? The poor girl’s heart must be broken.”
“Give it a rest Lana,” Romeo sighed. He had no desire to play this game with her now.
“All’s fair in love and war,” Lana shrugged, affecting a sagely tilt of her head. “That was Shakespeare, right?”
“No, it wasn’t. Are we done here?”
Lana smiled. “Almost,” she said, “you just have to tell me when you’re going to introduce me to your friends. We’ve already been on a dozen dates or more, don’t you think it’s time we took things to the next level?”
It was a bad idea, no matter which way you looked at it, and totally unnecessary at this late stage of the game. Romeo had already worked so hard gaining the trust and acceptance of Sal’s crew that it was irresponsible to an almost preposterous degree to jeopardize that now by introducing a new undercover into the mix. Especially considering Lana hadn’t worked undercover for years and even then it had been some white-collar, office type shit. Romeo had seen “The Wolf of Wall Street” and it didn’t look much like the life he was leading out here on the streets.
But he did still owe her for persuading Freddy and the other suits downtown to provide him with the cash he needed for Gino and those guys really didn’t think much of him these days, not since he’d refused to ever come back to the HQ for as long as he was still out in the field. There was no real purpose to those meetings downtown, not as far as he could see, and if some crooked lawyer or bondsman happened to recognize him in the lobby then it would mean three bullets to the back of his head and a trip to the bottom of the lake before he’d even seen it coming—but nonetheless Freddy and his boys hadn’t tended to agree. The downside of which was that Lana was now his only lifeline to reality and if she decided to get reckless then that was something he was just going to have to endure.
So now here they were, an unlikely couple on the oddest date he could imagine, in this seedy strip-club, him drinking a ginger ale and gearing up for trouble and Lana throwing back a strawberry daiquiri as if she needed one more excuse to act crazy.
She’d cooked up some story about how “Sara’s” boss at the bank where she worked had boasted about having passwords to the vault and the plan was for Romeo to tell the other guys that she was willing to seduce their mark to gain access. All they had to do was provide her with somewhere to funnel the cash. Immediately the story hadn’t sat right with him. Romeo was a naturally territorial, possessive kind of guy—something that he hadn’t made any effort at all to eliminate from his cover identity—and he didn’t think those guys would buy the idea of him wanting to pimp out his own girl like that. It just didn’t fit.
But Lana was insistent. That was the story and they were sticking to it and if Romeo even considered going over her head and complaining to their superiors about it, well she’d planned for that too. For weeks now Lana had been reporting on how worried she was about Romeo’s mental health out there on the streets, how stressful a job it was for her to look out for him while also keeping him in order and ensuring that the mission ran smoothly, so it was no wonder they were sympathetic to her plight—they had, after all, seen for themselves how he could be. If Romeo complained to anybody now, she promised that she’d report back to their bosses that he’d lost it, that she’d only come up with the plan so that she could keep a closer eye on him without jeopardizing the mission. And the worst thing was, he knew they’d believe it too.
The bargirl, Junie or Janie or something like that, finally approached and told them to go on upstairs—Sal had sent word that he wanted to see them in his office.
“See?” Lana smirked, as they made their way towards the spiral staircase up to the balcony, “he does want to talk business with me, you sexist pig.”
Romeo ignored her. Something didn’t feel right here. Usually Sal would have wanted to entertain a pretty little thing like Sara on the VIP balcony where he could play lord of the manor and show off all his seedy little accomplishments. He only took things to the back office when there was serious business to take care of. Romeo let his awareness drift to the Glock 19 jammed down the back of his jeans and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to use it. It was still possible that the call to the back office was just a sign that Sal was taking the plan seriously. Only time would tell.
At the top of the stairs, standing on either side of the balcony entrance, was Ferret and Eyeball. They both smiled hungrily at Lana, making no effort to mask the fact that they were visibly checking her out. Even worse, it was clear that Lana was enjoying it, returning their gaze with salacious delight.
“Romeo my man,” Ferret said, “you’ve been holding out on us. Who is this angel?”
“Hey,” Romeo said, forcing a smile, “keep your hands to yourself asshole, this one belongs to me.”
“Of course,” Eyeball said, “we wouldn’t want to step on your toes or nothing. Miss, what was your name again?”
“Sara,” Lana smiled coyly, presenting him with her hand as she stepped up onto the landing, allowing Eyeball to guide her like the gentleman he most certainly was not.
“”Sara,” Eyeball repeated, “beautiful name. You can call me Eyeball.”
“That’s a funny nickname,” Lana smiled.
“It’s because I see everything,” Eyeball answered, his eyes directly in hers.
Ferret bobbed forward, eager to win back his share of the attention. “You should hear what they call me,” he said.
Romeo had had enough, he didn’t want to have to drag this farce out any longer than he had to. The longer they spent in the nightclub now, the more chances Lana would have to blow her cover. “Fellas,” he said, “Sara’s got a little plan that might make us all a lot of money. Let’s move on to the office to talk about it.”
They started walking towards the door to the back, Eyeball still holding Lana’s hand, placed daintily within his own. “Oh I know,” he said, “Sal told us all about it. You’re a very brave girl Sara…”
Romeo smiled and glanced back at him, trying to get a quick read on his face. Something wasn’t right here, he was sure of it now. “Well she’d have to be to go with me, wouldn’t she?” he said.
“That’s right babe,” Lana chipped in, sounding phony and awkward and even a little uneasy in her efforts to seem upbeat and girlfriend-like.
Up ahead Ferret held open the hallway door for them, the dingy yellow light spilling through into the darkness of the nightclub.
“We’ve got a lot of history,” Romeo said.
“That’s funny,” Eyeball continued, “because there was me thinking you was pretty head over heels about Lou’s sister, that little Sandy bitch. Seemed like every time I ever saw the two of you together you couldn’t keep your eyes off each other…” His grip now on Lana’s hand was tightening and she winced with pain.
That was it, it was now or never. They knew.
Romeo reached behind his back but Ferret’s hand was already there, the other gripping a knife that had suddenly appeared with almost loving precision against the soft flesh of his throat.
“Forget it,” Ferret said, pulling out Romeo’s pistol and cocking it against the small of his back, nudging him forward into the hallway. “Eyeball, you better frisk her.”
“With pleasure,” Eyeball smiled, shoving Lana forward too, the gun held in his other hand serving as adequate impetus to get her to behave as he began patting her down.
“Guys,” Romeo said, speaking slow and deliberate, “I don’t know what you think is going on here, but—”
“Shut the fuck up, rat,” Eyeball muttered, “your little game is over now.”
Before he had a chance to agree, Romeo felt the butt of his own pistol whip up from his lower back, lightning fast in Ferret’s hand, and bludgeon him on the back of the head. He dropped to the ground, legs like dust but still conscious, and covered his face as Ferret’s boot-heel rained down upon him, crushing into his face, shoulders and crown. He took at least three or four good blows to the skull before the lights went out and each time he cursed Lana for the stupidity that had brought them here.
In reflection, if I could go back in time knowing what I know now, I think I never would have let Romeo leave my apartment that night. I would have done something to make him stay, anything, even if it meant baring my heart and soul to him completely and confessing my love. It would have been worth it to avoid the bloodshed and tragedy that followed. But who am I kidding, even then I don’t think I was genuinely capable of baring my true desires even to myself, let alone anybody else. I guess I still had a lot to learn, so it was fitting perhaps that life had some very powerful lessons in store for me. And for those who survived the turbulent times ahead, I don’t think there was any one of us who remained unchanged.
So I couldn’t have him then—that was what I believed after he left my apartment that night—and even worse, perhaps it was only because I myself had claimed that I hadn’t wanted him in the first place. But that had been a lie, now I was almost ready to admit, and not only had it been a lie that I’d told to Romeo, it was also a lie that I’d been telling repeatedly to myself. I had never wanted to be just friends with him, no matter what I’d said. I had longed for his touch from the first moment I’d laid eyes on him in Gino’s café and if I’d known then that we would share a solitary kiss in that very same place, alone one magical night only a few short weeks later, I would have claimed indifference and I would have been lying then too. The fact was that I had never been so close to a man in all my life and deep down, even on that night, I’d known intuitively that it was one of the best things that had ever happened to me. Sure, there’d been other dates, other kisses (although admittedly not that many of them and not much of anything further than that) but this had been something far superior to anything else. What I could have had with Romeo was something so precious and rare that some people never even have the chance to shoot for it throughout their entire lives. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so inexperienced I would have recognized its true worth for what it was.
But on some level I think I had recognized it and the fact that I’d deliberately repressed my true and innocent desires beneath the force of implacable rationality meant that I had nobody but myself to blame. I had let him slip through my fingers all because of my own rigid ideas and expectations, even when every emotional fiber of my soul was singing to me that this man was good, that this man was pure. And the worst thing was, I’d been right. My intuition had been more correct than even Lou or Lisa or Gino could have guessed about Romeo Mancini. And it was Gino, perhaps surprisingly, who finally helped me see for myself the truth that my heart had known all along. Who would have guessed it?
So there I was, at a true crossroads in my life. On the one hand I could sweep up the pieces yet again, hastily glue them back together and then anxiously wait for the next time the men in my life charged headfirst into some new disaster of their own making, having learned nothing at all from the last time. Or—and perhaps this would be a first for me also—I could decide to do something drastic and for once let them know the truth of the world: that every action, big or small, good or bad, returns a consequence at least comparative in size. Maybe it was time to stop protecting the men I cared about from their own mistakes and instead just let them grow, even if it meant sacrifices for everybody.
But before I came to that conclusion I had to endure two long and painful days of deep introspection. In that time I had no contact with anybody (Rebecca seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth and I would find out later that she had by then already decided to give up her studies and return to Italy for good), save for a text message to Lisa in which I apologized to her and Lou and promised that I would see them both soon. But first I needed some time to think things through. Yes, much of what was happening in my life had been beyond my control, but not all of it and it was time now to accept my responsibilities and wield what choices I did have as wisely as I could.
Gino was family—not by blood but in every other sense of the word—and no matter what happened I was always going to stick by him. But I had to admit that it seemed like he’d spent his entire life making bad choices and letting other people clean up for him. And even after the terrible crimes committed on him by Sal and his gang (the crimes that—no matter how horrific—Gino himself had knowingly invited), I wasn’t sure that he’d truly learned his lesson. That was why I had decided that I would have to quit my job at the café. It wasn’t because I wanted to, but because I had to show him that there were consequences, that if he ever got involved with that crap again, the next time (if there even was a next time) I might quit more than just working for him. I might quit being his friend.
It was tough love—tough for me as well as for him—and it was something someone should have done for him a long time ago.
Still feeling a little depressed but bolstered now by the catharsis of having finally reached some profound and enlightening conclusions about my life, I made my way back to the Orange Grove for what would prove, unbeknownst to me then, to be one of the final few visits of my life. Spring was coming in early, returning with a gusto after a brief and fierce cold snap over the previous weeks, and some of the old timers were wearing their short-sleeved shirts and sun hats as they languidly made their way up and down the streets. The place was a pool of memories, not just for me but for everybody who’d ever lived there. A thousand past lives of love and longing and sometimes even true and lasting fulfillment were written on the old redbrick stones and concrete sidewalks.
A bell rang as I pushed my way through the clear glass door into Gino’s.
“Sandy! Are you feeling better?”
He barely limped these days, though he still used the walking stick (one of the many gifts and kindnesses my brother had shown him and which I had failed, perhaps, to give Lou due credit for) and he moved a little too fast as he came to greet me. Despite myself I couldn’t help but smile. Family had that affect.
“Hey Gino,” I said, “how are you?”
“Better now,” he winked. “Now that you’re here.”
I smiled and I think he must have seen the sadness in it, because his own smile faltered when I did. “I need to talk to you about some stuff,” I said, “wil
l you make us coffee?”
Gino turned the open sign to closed, and we sat down to some rich Italian coffee and pastries. Gino may have been reckless but he was no fool and I could tell that he sensed this was serious.
“Gino,” I said, “you’ve always looked out for me and Lou. After our dad…”
“Luigi,” Gino said, “God bless him, wherever he is.”
“Well, let’s just say: we wouldn’t be who we are without you—and I mean that in a good way.”
“How else could you mean it?” Gino replied, though his smile seemed forced and failed to hide his gloom at the sense of what was coming next.
“But after your accident…” I looked at him levelly, mustering all of my strength to do so, “—and I know now that it wasn’t an accident at all but something you brought on yourself, through your own actions—after what that put us through… do you have any idea how horrible that was for us?”
“Sandy…” Gino said, reaching out to touch my hand.
“And we didn’t mind,” I continued, forcing myself to ignore him, “of course we didn’t. You’re family and we would have done anything to help you, paid anything. But then, after Lou and Romeo took care of your bills, to find out that you still owed money to those animals—to find out that it was them who’d done this to you in the first place…”
I felt like crying, I could even feel the tears at the back of my eyes, but somehow I fought them back, sitting up a little straighter, drawing deeper into my own personal wellspring of strength.
“They would have killed you this time,” I said, finally.
I could tell that it was painful for him too. His lower lip shook and his downturned eyes moved from left to right as he searched for the right words. “I know,” he said eventually, simply, “I know.”