I lived in one room while the others laid dormant. I used the kitchen but replaced every item to its exact location after each use. There was a large television in the living room, much bigger than the one I watched, but I had never once turned it on.
A large sun room overlooked the backyard and it housed a graveyard of what used to be beautiful plants and flowers. Just beyond that the water in the in-ground pool was black and was home to a variety of slimy wildlife. I truly did live in a tomb. I knew would have to disassemble it one day, but every time I tried – I just couldn’t.
My eyes fell on the tree in the corner as I passed, with its time-worn ornaments and garland that still harbored wrapped gifts. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to take it down, nor could I open the gifts, not even the ones intended for me.
I looked at the pictures on the mantle; a hopeful bride and groom – my parents were so young. A baby picture of myself with chubby cheeks and toothless grin. Then my family, together when I was two. In every picture, I saw that same hollow gaze in my mother’s eyes despite her smile. The woman, never faltering, met the demands of a powerful man and I had tried so hard to be as graceful in my relationship, but I was failing. I had my father’s temper.
I gazed at how perfectly placed the objects were. My mother really did have the magic touch which led me to believe that the end of the shelf had not always been bare. Perhaps a figurine, a vase, another picture had once been showcased. I wished I could remember, but the accident had stolen that.
My stomach complained reminding me that I was late preparing the evening meal. I checked my watch. Not much time.
The Italian-style kitchen was my favorite place in the world. It was my parents’ contribution. I guess that’s why I loved it so much, not to mention that cooking was a more than a chore for me, but a hobby as well.
An hour passed quickly, I gazed at the clock on my kitchen wall, momentarily taking my attention away from the green beans, mushrooms and garlic I sautéed.
“Dinner for one, I guess,” I mused.
I had taken great pains to prepare a meal of braised short ribs and red skinned potatoes. With great precision, I arranged the food on my Mom’s best china, spooned the vegetables to complete the dinner and placed them on the glass table.
I lit the candles of a sterling silver candelabra and a bottle of burgundy wine sat in an ice bucket, setting the mood. All that was missing was – him.
I poured a glass of the wine and drank it down in one gulp thinking I had wasted my time until a beam of light flickered across the taupe living room walls. I let down my hair, took off my apron and refilled my glass.
“Why the hell are my pants still in the hamper?” Josh Tucker called out before he fully entered the house through the back entrance.
It pained me how things had changed. Once, he couldn’t contain his grin when he laid eyes on me after a long day.
Josh came back bitter after his undercover assignment. Finding no happiness with his life or me. I had expected it to fade and I waited loyally, patiently for the man I had fallen for to return to me. Instead of greeting me with a smile, he stormed in and complained, slamming doors and making the floors beneath his feet shake. I tried to ignore it.
“I haven’t had time yet. I’ll wash them after dinner.” I leaned against the counter and took a sip of wine.
“I need them now.”
“You have clean clothes in the closet, Josh.”
“I wanted these.” Josh appeared in the doorway with the carpenter pants he had snatched from the basket and shook them at me.
“Oh, good grief, I can’t believe you are actually going to stand there and complain about one pair of jeans.” I filled another glass and carried it to my husband.
“You know your mouth is really starting to piss me off.” He moved past me and headed to our bedroom. “You know I don’t drink, but go ahead – pour yourself another.”
I closed my eyes and tried not to feel the sting of his words as he again accused me of being an alcoholic based on one night I had drunk too much at a club – with him.
I pouted and blew out the candles. “It’s ready if you want to eat,” I called, not caring if he joined me or not.
“What the hell kind of dinner is this?” He complained, picking at the vegetables with his fork.
“What’s the problem? You said it was your favorite the last time I cooked it.” I glowered at his complaint as I took my seat and covered my lap with my napkin.
“It must have been his favorite because it sure as hell isn’t mine.” He tossed his fork down on the table, splashing remnants of the dish across the clean tablecloth. “Is it too much to ask for a decent meal when I come home?”
“His favorite?” I raised my eyebrow because Josh knew he was the only man I had ever dated. “Maybe it’s you that’s confusing me for one of your ex’s.” He sent me a warning glare and headed toward the door. “I guess you’re just going to walk out. Just like last week and the week before.”
“What do you want me to do, Jessie? Sit around here in this shrine?” He had been supportive of my need to leave my parents’ home as they had left it and he had made no fuss about sleeping in the guest room instead of the master suite. “I figured you would have packed this stuff up by now. You moved in four years ago!”
“I’m trying.”
“Trying? You won’t step foot in your parent’s room, your father’s office, Hell, you won’t even go in your own bedroom! Get over it already!”
“You’re a real ass, you know that?”
“I think I’ve been pretty supportive, but damn it, Jessie, I’m sick of coming home to a twenty-year-old Christmas and a tree that’s full of cobwebs and who knows what else! What do you think keeping all of this means? Do you think that your Mom and Dad are just going to walk through that door? They’re dead, Jessie! Nothing but a heap of bones rotting underground!”
“I know they’re not coming back, but I don’t want to pack up everything that reminds me of them. This was their house, their things and as long as it’s here, part of them is still here,” I begged and pleaded for him to understand, but he just shook his head.
“You should be committed!” He stormed out of the kitchen.
“Maybe if you spent more time at home with me, I wouldn’t feel the need to keep all this stuff around just so I don’t feel like I live alone.” I stood in the archway between the kitchen and living room, folding my arms over my chest.
“I’m not the type who likes to sit home. You knew how I was when you met me.” He kicked one of the gifts under the tree.
“Stop it!”
“Stop?” He snarled. “You couldn’t even afford to keep this place if I hadn’t moved in and bailed you out!” He picked up another and tossed it across the room. Whatever was inside shattered. “It’s my money paying the bills! My money buying your clothes! And I have nothing to show for it!”
“Please!” I begged, watching his rampage. He stormed through the house. Screaming, leaving nothing untouched, not even the plastic that preserved the furniture.
“NO!” I grabbed his arm the minute he went for the large coffee table that held my mother’s pride. The centerpiece she set up each and every holiday season. “Don’t!”
He ignored me and gave it a shove. I grasped his arm and jerked him away.
“This is my house!”
Whap!
Instantly his hand shot out and struck me across the cheekbone. I held a hand to the stinging imprint, completely shocked. We had quarreled many times, but it had never become physical.
“I expect all of this to be gone – by the end of the week,” he seethed.
I couldn’t move. I was still standing there, hand to my face until I heard the front door slam, then I sunk to the floor.
All around me laid broken memories, shattered reminders of what had been. Contents of drawers had been poured onto the floor, dishes had been broken. The tree in the corner had been tipped over, the presents beneath it s
cattered, crushed and ripped.
The table was the only thing saved. It was draped with a white cloth that I had never found the strength to remove. Beneath the cloak laid a scale model holiday village and I had to take a deep breath.
Carefully, I lifted the dusty rag to reveal what had been hidden. The display was as it had always been. Little glass houses and trees. Cars and trains. Each piece carefully arranged around a glittering ice rink replica. As a child I had spent hours watching the display with my chin rested on my hands, the wonder and beauty of the season filling me with joy.
With the same child’s eye full of tears I gazed, the tiny sculpted skaters, children in scarves and mittens, couples holding hands and staring lovingly at each other and a figure skater, my favorite, who twirled as she floated around and around a lighted tree that stood tall in the center of the ice – laid on her side. I picked her up in my hand. She crumbled.
I covered my face with my hands and sucked up my sobs. I let out a tearful growl. Damn him! He neglected my heart with selfish unspoken reasons. Rarely disclosed his whereabouts – changed his disposition as quickly as flipping a light switch – driving me to the edge of sanity. When he needed more, I gave more. When he didn’t like something, I changed. I didn’t even know myself anymore.
“Enough of this shit!” It was over. I’d been through more than my fair share and I didn’t need any more from Josh Tucker.
NINE
(Sean)
“I SWEAR YOU’RE CHEATING, DEVO.” I tossed my cards away and took a sip of my beer. The large man may have been slightly slow, but he was a shark when it came to Poker.
It was one of those lazy afternoons at De’Bris before the crowd arrived. One of those rare kind where I relaxed with the boys and for a moment I was nothing more than a customer at the Gentleman’s club, kicking it with a few close friends. No business. No alibis. We didn’t need a lady on our laps for luck and our weapons remained tucked away. Yes, it was a taste of the good life.
“I just got lucky.” Devo swept the chips from the table with a big grin. I remembered the days when the oversized, shy man sat quietly in his D.J. booth, just watching. I could tell how much he wanted to join, so one day I invited him and it had been a four-way game ever since. “I gotta call Mama. She’ll skip her pill if I don’t remind her.”
“I’ll deal you out, buddy.”
“How’s Mickie these days?” Matt casually asked while I shuffled the deck in my hands.
“I couldn’t tell you. She’s still not talking to me.” Out the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Matt’s disappointment. “You’re awfully interested in my little sister these days. Is there something you want to tell me?”
My question made Matt swallow his beer hard. “If I did, I probably wouldn’t live to finish the next hand.”
“Hmm.” I glared, then nodded, knowing the look of infatuation too well. “You’re a good guy Matt, but you know how I feel about Mickie and this business.”
“We’re just friends. I swear it, Sean,” he pleaded, knowing he was caught.
“Relax. I’m not mad, but I don’t want her to fall for a guy like me and let’s face it Divani, you are just like me.”
I began to pass out the cards one by one to each man until they had all they needed. “Besides, there’s nothing to debate. Mickie’s never coming back.”
A long, high-pitched whistle interrupted.
“I figured I’d find you here. Just like your old man, you can’t stay away from the ladies.” A muscular man with a shaved head and expensive, three piece suit approached and I grasped the weapon I had tucked into the back of my jeans. He stepped into the dim light. “Hello, Sean.”
“I’ll be damned, Carl Bolivar.” I never took my eyes off him as I stood. “I thought you were dead.”
“And make it easy for you? Not a chance,” Carl extended a hand.
I took it and let the man pull me into a quick polite hug.
“I heard your family was lurking about.” I casually conversed, but inside I was holding back a vicious urge to execute the cocky villain.
“We’ve all been curious about how you are still able to make your deliveries with the increased shore patrol. I’ve been hanging around the beach and I haven’t seen any water collected or loaded. How are you doing it?”
“I have my ways.” I continued to play my game without paying my guest much attention.
Carl scanned me up and down. “You’re looking more casual these days.” He took a shot at my tank top and jeans, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“I’m sure you’re not here to give me fashion tips, Carl. What do you want?”
“My grandfather passed last year.”
“I’m sorry, I hadn’t heard.”
“He left peacefully.”
Our grandfathers had once shared the business until a bloody feud over money had caused my family to cut all ties and divide the empire. The following generations still remained bitter rivals.
“My father sent me.”
“Okay?”
“My father thinks it’s time to bury the past with our families.” Bolivar cornered the drug market in the Northern part of Jenithiyah, but since Miasma laced versions of cocaine, heroin, and marijuana were highly sought and all their warehouses had been seized, their sudden desire to make nice came as no surprise.
“I’m all for a truce, but what’s the catch?”
“No catch. Your family is nearly extinct Gianetti. Adrian cut all ties, leaving you wide open. We want to offer our help.”
“A smaller operation is better for business. It’s the only thing the old man and I agreed on.”
“So small that you have taken to supervising exchanges yourself.” I raised an eyebrow. “Word gets around, old friend.”
“My partner has been unavoidably detained.”
“You mean he’s dead.” Carl sneered. “You’re foolish, Gianetti. You have no protection. You bury more men than you hire and my father is worried.”
“Tell him not to.”
“You see, we could do that and there wouldn’t be a problem – if it did not affect our business.”
“You get your shipments. There has not been one problem since our fathers made this arrangement.”
“The heat is on your back, Gianetti. They hide right across the street where ever you hand out, eavesdropping on your every move.”
“The heat? Have we traveled back in time, Carl?” I snarled as I mocked the man who was ten years younger than me. “I see you’re still into watching those old mob relics.”
Almost all of Jenithiyah’s entertainment came from what the lost brought with them or what people remembered. Carl was obsessed with anything he could find about the first crime families and he took the fictional, as well as the truth, too seriously.
“My father believes it would be in your best interest if you handed over the day to day operations. I wonder if you really know just how close they follow you.”
“I know I’m watched and I don’t mind.”
“That makes you a liability and we don’t need that right now with the sweat shops out of operation.”
“Out of operation? What happened? Did the junkie’s sign up for rehab?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass Gianetti. You’ll find I don’t have a sense of humor and neither does my old man.”
I took a step closer and savored the smell of anxiety. “Apparently a sense of humor isn’t the only thing you and your old man are missing. Do you want to know why your business is if falling apart? Just look in the mirror. You’re both stupid. I let the swine follow me because it blinds them. They are so consumed with catching me red handed that they have no clue that my employees are sneaking it out while their backs are turned.”
Carl pierced faded pink lips together. His facial expression tightened and he ran a jittery hand over his bald, tattooed head. “My father insists on a meeting. If I had my way I’d just take it from you.”
I stared him down with narrowed, in
furiated eyes. “Your father only wants a bigger profit. You can tell him I don’t do business the way he does and I am not interested.”
“I see Adrian was right to worry. He had no faith in you either.”
“Is that supposed to be news to me?”
“We’re a faceless organization,” Carl smirked. “It could only improve what is already here.”
“I am not faceless. So how is that going to work for you?”
“You are running what your family built into the ground.”
“Then good riddance. I’m done talking to you.” My eyes met with the Divani’s and each took a stance on each side of the now unwanted guest.
“Do I have to remind you that there is a witness who knows every detail of your operation – Who knows too much about our business – running loose somewhere?” Carl jutted out his chest and clenched his fists, standing rigidly to hide he was intimidated, but his eyes betrayed like wide open windows.
“If you’re referring to Stephen McClure – let me make this clear. I will find him – I will find him before The Bureau and he won’t be a problem for your family or mine and you can tell your father the same.”
“You might want to think about our offer.” Carl turned abruptly, stared the large henchman in the eye and challenged him for a moment before making his hasty exit.
“I guess he’s going to be around for a while,” Matt stated the obvious.
I scowled. Life had just become more complicated. I knew I had started a war with the Bolivar family simply by refusing.
“I need a beer.” I was sober and I hated to be in that state.
Grato tapped the table loudly, gaining both our attention, then wagged his finger. He dipped his hand into his pocket and produced a little plastic bag. He flicked his eyebrows.
“Oh, yeah. You definitely got something better, Grato.” I chuckled.
He slipped it into my hand. I gave it a shake. “I don’t suppose you got any papers to go along with this?”
Son of a Mobster (Criminal Desires) Page 6