"Yes." His response is blunt and monosyllabic.
"And you'll throw away being a free man for me?" I ask, intrigued if this is something he really wants.
"Yes." Again, the same response is given in an exact way.
“Okay,” I breathe and shuffle a little in my seat, feeling myself becoming uncomfortable with what I’m about to query. “What won't you throw away?"
"You." Again, the monosyllabic response is offered, and I become breathless.
Recovering quickly, I ask one final thing. “Do you really want to make a life with me?” As he goes to reply, I put my hand up to stop him dead in his tracks before he can commit to the affirmative answer I know he’s about to say. I can see from the spark in his eyes that his answer is anything but negative. “Because you’ll make a life with someone who comes with so much excess baggage and demons that even she can’t cope most nights. You’ll be stuck with someone who fears having a family just because of the genetics she has. You’ll be stuck with a self-righteous, loud mouth, swearing Italian who acts all too passionately and impulsively when it’s for people she cares about. Are you sure you want to be stuck with me for life?”
“Yes,” he offers the assenting answer in the same manner as the others.
“Then you’re the fucking idiot and I’m the doomed one for loving you.” I kill the moment, slaying with my jest comment. I see his face fucking illuminate with a bright smile and I huff out loud. “It’s no lie, Zane, I might have called it quits this time, but I can’t stop what I feel. I am only human. You’ll just forever be the idiot who chased what will never be his.”
“Who said you’ll never be mine?” he asks, tossing his own question at me.
“I did,” I respond calmly.
“And will you be able to deny what we actually have forever?” Zane asks, and I seriously hate myself for starting a session of Q&A between us. My silence to his question apparently ruffles him a little. “Under all of our stupid moves and idiot comments, we do just love one another, Amelia. We fight, sure we do, but I would only ever want to fight with you like we do. I only ever want a wake-up call when it’s you delivering it.”
“But that’s the thing!” I unleash a frenzy suddenly. My own temper getting the better of me as it always does. “We shouldn’t have to deliver wake-up calls when one of us in the wrong! We should just be able to know. We should be able to just get on with one another without all the pain we cause. What is the point in doing this if we end up hurting one another?”
“Because it further affirms that we love one another,” he tries, unrelentingly. “If you knew otherwise, you wouldn’t still love me. You wouldn’t feel a damn thing after our last argument. Amelia, if you didn’t feel an ounce of anything for me, you wouldn’t still be fighting with me.”
“But I don’t want to be the couple who fights all the time!” I tell him, trying to resist the growl that’s growing in my chest. “I don’t even know why we fight half the time!”
“I fight with you because you infuriate me!” Zane yells, his short temper flaring once more. “And I infuriate you, too, but that’s what I fucking love most about us! You keep me on my toes; you keep me from being a complete asshole all the time. I want someone I can argue with and then make up with two minutes after.”
“Two days isn’t two minutes this time around,” I remark, and I’m more than happy when the traffic begins to suddenly move. “Now, drive.”
Zane doesn’t make a comment in response; he just puts the car into drive and moves onward. He follows the steady stream of traffic until our turn comes up, and he turns left into it. We head toward the outer skirts of Manhattan, and as it becomes more rural, I decide it’s time to conceal a weapon on me. After the incident at Carmello’s, I do not want to feel vulnerable.
As soon as I pull the small revolver from my bag, Zane bristles.
“Whoa!” Zane exclaims in horror, taking his eyes away from the road ahead to look at me. “What the hell are you doing with that, Amelia?”
“Oh, shut up and keep your eyes on the road,” I tell him as I release the barrel to check it’s fully loaded. “It’s a gun, Zane. You’ve shot one many times in your life.”
“No shit, but I thought Sal took you off gun duty. How did you get one?”
I laugh, smacking the barrel back into the slot. “I got my license by showing my boobs to the instructor in Italy.” I shrug and sit forward, pushing the loaded gun into the back of my waistband. I sit back, making sure it doesn’t press uncomfortably into my back. “This is my mother’s; I made sure he didn’t take it from me after what happened. I just wanted to feel a little more protected.”
“What, so me pummeling a guy’s face in with a hammer wasn’t protection enough?” Zane asks, his voice heightening with cynicism.
“What if there are no hammers around?” I ask, deliberately playing sweet to annoy him. “If there’s one thing I know, Zane, it’s to expect the unexpected and if all I have to do to feel prepared is shove a gun into my waistband, so be it!”
“If anyone so much as even gives you a dirty look, they will have me to answer to,” Zane cautions me, finally keeping his eyes forward.
“Okay, caveman, back down. It’s just a pickup of cigars, but I’ll remember that if anyone gets a little touchy feely.” I calm him and watch the road for a moment. “I don’t know about anything, but I’ll be more than happy to get out of this car.”
“You don’t like being cluttered in a small space with me?” Zane asks me deprecatingly, his lips twisted into a sideways grin. “I could take you in the back of this car and you wouldn’t complain because I know how you like it. The closer the better.”
I put my hands over my face, feeling a readiness to scream into my open palms. I resist the urge and drop them into my lap. “Get your head out of the gutter and into the game.” I say this more because I could easily agree with Zane and betray myself, but this life is safer when you’re lonelier than when you tie yourself to someone who can easily get taken. Mine might irritate me to high heavens, but it doesn’t mean the pain of losing him physically is any less. “We aren’t going to have a quick fuck in the back of the car. This is business, which we are already behind on, and we have to be back at the house in an hour.”
“I know,” he mutters as if he’s a child being reprimanded. “Don’t blame me for trying to crack at least a small smile on your face.”
Smiling – sometimes it’s a physical expression I forget about. I barely had anything worth smiling about in Italy and then when I came back I thought the trend would continue, but Zane bolted into my life and consumed me and I allowed him. Now, I feel like I’m right back on my ass in Italy, doing what I must.
“You don’t get to smile often when you are what I am,” I speak and clear my throat as a lump begins to form. “You might well learn that soon.”
“What you are?” Zane scoffs, shaking his head.
“As if you forgot my sadistic display of poor, little Tony.” I finally look over at him and his knuckles are going bright white as he grips the steering wheel again. His face is staring forward while his jaw clenches and releases, telling me that he’s trying not to remember, but I think he needs a reminder of what he’s really in for. “Real mafia are stone-cold killers,” I begin to say, twisting back to face him in my seat. “That’s how I was brought up to believe in us, anyway.” I pause a little, waiting for any form of response from Zane. When I get none, I continue. “I thought I was part of the revolution, but I’m not. I’m trapped in the same life my father was born and bred in. My brothers, they’re different. All of them, but Gio, have the chance to revolutionize the face of the Dio Lavoro.”
“And you think you don’t?” Zane asks; his voice is now dripping with sincerity.
I laugh, looking down a little while an abundance of shame lays itself upon my shoulders. “No,” I state bluntly. “I’m too far gone for any of that now.”
“How so?” he asks, giving me a quick look before loo
king back at the road ahead.
“We’re Italian-American mafia. It’s like the best of both worlds or so I’m told,” I muse, really mulling over that statement. I guess we are, we do indulge in both American and Italian life and enjoy both – for the most part anyway. “We get to cherish the old country and the new one together. We get to see both and bask it in, all ready to inherit it.”
“It sounds pretty fucking idealistic,” Zane considers, reflecting on the basic ideology of my statement.
“That’s because you’re a moron,” I insult him and sit back in my seat. “I seriously don’t know how you managed to get into this position, but you’re still oblivious to it all! You really do hear what you want, don’t you?”
“I heard the part where you were going on about the killers,” he says, waving me off. “But I also heard that part with you wanting to be part of the revolution, Amelia. Could you imagine what you could do between yourself, Enzo, Carlo, and Manuel? You could make Abbiati a name to be admired, not one that drives fear. You could make the best of two worlds, something amazing for your futures.”
“Enzo could make this all a haven for us, but with my father still around, it’s impossible.” I say my statement with conviction. I can’t be sad over the truth because with my father still very much alive and kicking, there’s no glimmer of hope. “And I’m sure that if my father went first, my uncle would come over here to take over. There’s no great escape for an Abbiati.”
“You’ll have yours one day,” Zane observes, giving a slight smile. “I’m still ridiculously positive I’m the one you’re going to be calling daddy for life.”
I laugh, hitting out at him playfully. Even though there were explosive moments between us two days ago, and I killed someone to force Zane to not want me, it seems that in doing so has just made him understand more. He hasn’t used me killing Tony against me. If anything, he’s glazed over it. I’m unsure if that’s a good or bad thing and cannot fathom why he hasn’t asked about it, but I can’t dwell. However, I feel like being stuck in traffic with one another was possibly one of the best things that could have happened for us.
“Amelia,” Zane begins, breaking my small reverie. “Before, I really wanted to bring your father down, but after being in the family for a week, I don’t think your father’s the real issue.”
I roll my eyes and run a hand through my hair. The moment’s gone and I feel lunacy at being laid out again. “Again with the stupidity, Maverick.”
“No, hear me out,” Zane says, looking at me after taking another right and leading us further from downtown Manhattan. “I think the only reason Sal behaves as he does is because of Giovanni.” He speaks forward, but he’s leaning toward me. “I’ve seen him with you, Amelia. He’s trying so hard to be tough and keep you in line, but there’s a part of him that I’ve noticed just wants to forget it all to offer you some sort of support.”
“I missed out on fatherly love a long time ago.” I can’t help the ounces of nonchalant emotion from seeping through. I sometimes am able to cope with a heartless father, but others I do just wish he would love me like he used to, back before I became a killer.
“I know you did,” Zane replies, softly.
He starts to offer me support by reaching over and putting a hand on my knee. I look down and want to cover it with mine and just enjoy the comfort, but once more, my own words and decisions lash at me, reminding me to put the distance between.
“Hands to yourself, Zane,” I tease, removing his hand from my leg. There’s a small break in conversation between us, and I take a deep inhalation before I change the topic. “I’m sure you know all about the illegal distribution of Cuban cigars in America, right?”
“Right,” Zane nods with his answer. “I was wondering why your father wasn’t already in with that part of the business.”
“It’s too highly watched, but he found a way to get a cut and keep a hidden identity.” There’s a moment of silence, waiting to see if Zane offered any more input before I continue. “The payment was my father making sure whoever we’re meeting had a bounty eliminated from his head. In exchange for that, my father owns part of his business in importing and distributing illegal Cuban cigars around America.”
“Racketeering,” Zane muses after I’m done. I can’t help but smile; his years as a detective made him a prime candidate to be linked to mafia. He’s a valuable asset, one who’s just beginning to prove his worth.
“Yes, racketeering,” I say, pleased. “I still can’t believe you gave up years of hard work for this. It’s hard to wrap my head around it.”
“Trust me, if I was to walk into the police station, I’d be a shocking sight for them all.” He chuckles, but I hear there’s a sense of hesitance. He misses it; I know he does. I hate that I’m a reason he had to give up something he loved so much. It’s something I will never forgive myself for. “I miss it, sure, but I didn’t realize how many of my men are linked to your father.”
“Dirty cops are everywhere; you wouldn’t believe how many if I were to really tell you.” I look out of my window and noticed that we’re closing in on the industrial land where my father mentioned the exchange was happening. I notice the unnumbered lot of warehouses and point them out. “It’s those warehouses on the right.”
“Okay, you are going to behave, right?” he asks, as he slows the car and pulls into the vacant lot around the building.
Stone chips start to fly against the metal of the car and I look around to see if the noise of a car slowing down wakens any life. But all I see is a large SUV sitting in front of the large open doors to this grim building.
I nod. “All we’re doing is a pickup and a handshake to seal the deal.”
“Basically, this is the same as Carmello,” Zane comments, musing on how similar this will be.
“Except this time, I’ll be doing the manhandling,” I tease and laugh when he shoots me a serious look. “I am not letting anyone touch me like that fucking brute did the other day.”
“He put a knife to your neck,” Zane dryly states, sardonic tendencies coming with his comment. He doesn’t look at me to shoot me a look of sarcasm. Instead, he draws our car closer to the SUV and parks.
“True, but I’ve had worse than a nasty nick to the neck,” I muse lightly, and I see Zane remembers what Big Al did to me. A small superficial wound to my neck is the least of my worries. “Now, let’s go so we can get these damn things and head home. I need to look good for the party tonight.”
“What’s it for again?” Zane asks as he turns the engine off and prepares to get out of the car.
“Who said there was reason?” I ask as we start to get out. “You need to be ready for impromptu parties like this. They’re basically pissing contests.”
“Sounds like fun,” Zane remarks, his tone anything but excited for the evening’s events.
It’s time Zane got a taste of how Italians party. The last dinner party ended with a man poisoned and another with his jugular severed. The last party I attended ended with the news Zane had been shot. Zane’s less than animated response is very much a reflection of my own. I intend to get merry and stick in a corner.
We both walk together as we approach the building and the moment we enter, I notice two guys in the middle of a heated conversation over something.
“Roscoe?” I call out to the unknown man and his henchman. It was the only name I was given, and I wasn’t aware we’d be meeting little and large. My calling of the name has them turning around to look at me.
“You’re late!” the smallest of the pair says. He looks positively livid with us so I smile sweetly while Zane carries himself like a poised and polite gentleman. “Bobby V said you’d be here by four, it’s almost five.”
“Traffic in downtown Manhattan is a bitch,” Zane states, deliberately sounding sarcastic. “But we were told it was a clean pickup. You hand us over the cigars and we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Nah,” Roscoe says and already he’s irritat
ing me. “It don’t work like that. We were told four, you’re an hour late. We’re only here still because Bobby V said he’s forever in Salvatore’s debt.”
“Well, in that case, give us what we’re here for and we’ll leave,” I reply, unable to keep every ounce of annoyance out of my voice. “Or I could make one phone call to my father and have this sorted another way.”
Apparently, the acknowledgement of who I am has the midget piqued with intrigue. I have his interest, but it doesn’t take me long to realize it’s not for a good reason. The look that twists upon his face is of sudden merciless greed. He sees in me what everyone does – an opportunity.
“Oh, he sent his little princess to do his dirty work. Well, in that case, I think you should both come with us because I was told the great Salvatore would be here for me to meet. If he’s not coming, I want something that will force him to step up to his business deals.”
For fuck’s sake! Seriously, what is it with botched dealings lately? I don’t know about the midget being pissed off, but if he thinks for one second I’m about to let him change the plan and take advantage, he’s got another thing coming. From the way his eyes roam over my body, I already feel an itch to bite.
“Look, I can tell you now that there is no way you’re getting lucky like that,” I state and edge forward. “My father, whom I’m more than sure you’re aware of, won’t tolerate you fucking us around. So we were late, it’s called traffic, maybe Bobby V should have picked a more convenient time and shouldn’t send such narcissistic, petulant children to do his business deals.”
“Are you disrespecting me?” Roscoe asks, taking a few heavy steps toward me, his fists beginning to clench.
“Just as much as you are me,” I say, pointing to Lurch. “You know, it’s not very polite to eye fuck a lady.”
“A lady would never have such a dirty mouth on her,” Roscoe comments, his henchman still not looking away from me.
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