Renzo + Lucia: The Complete Trilogy

by Bethany-Kris

  “Don’t worry, Grandmama.”

  “He’s been tired a lot lately,” Cecelia explained quietly. “I can’t help but worry.”

  Lucia frowned, saddened over her grandmother’s concerns for her husband’s health. Antony Marcello always seemed to be the strongest, most formidable person in their family, but truth be told, he wasn’t getting any younger. A sharp tongue and a strong soul did not make for a healthy body.

  “Just go do your stuff,” Lucia said. “He’ll be okay with me. I’ll put on his music, and he’ll be happy.”

  Cecelia smiled. “Okay. Thank you for coming today.”

  “I’ll always come, Grandmama.”

  Her grandmother’s hand patted her cheek gently. The leathery feel of Cecelia’s palm reminded Lucia that her grandmother wasn’t a young woman, either.

  “Our good girl, huh?”

  Lucia batted her grandmother’s hand away lightly. “Go. You’re wasting time.”

  “Going, going.”

  Lucia closed the front door to the large Marcello mansion the moment her grandmother stepped out into the marble entrance. Making her way back through the house, she found her grandfather sitting in the living room in his leather recliner with his feet up, a glass of water beside him, and a remote in his hand as he flicked through the television channels.

  “Did she pester you about me again?” Antony asked, his voice raspy with age.

  Lucia laughed. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

  “I only look old, Lucia. I may feel it at times, too, but my mind is the same as it was when I was twenty-five. Sharp, quick, and too smart for everyone else.”

  “That’s all that matters, Grandpapa.”

  Antony waved a weathered hand high. “They all worry too much.”

  “I know what you mean.” Lucia eyed the water her grandfather sipped from. “You didn’t spike that with something when Grandmama wasn’t looking, right?”

  Antony smiled slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “No drinking, Grandpapa.”

  “Oh, it’s just water. Stop it. She doesn’t even give me wine anymore.”

  Lucia fake pouted. “Poor you.”

  “She worries too much,” Antony repeated with a sigh. Flicking his wrist at the couch beside his chair, he added, “Sit, or your legs will get tired. Then I’ll have to listen to your father go on about how I don’t take care of you while you babysit me.”

  “I’m not babysitting you.”

  “Same thing.”

  Lucia shook her head, knowing better than to argue with her grandfather. Antony, no matter his age, was too stubborn for his own good. The man would choke on his words before he would ever spit out that he might be wrong about something.

  Taking a seat on the couch, Lucia asked, “What do you want to do today?”

  Antony smiled, reached over, and took his youngest grandchild’s hand in his. “Sit here and enjoy the day with you, Lucia.”

  “Okay, Grandpapa. We can do that.”

  “Good.” Antony nodded at the television. “They have a true crime marathon on today for the mob and the New York families.”

  Lucia couldn’t have stopped her laughter even if she tried. “Really?”

  “Yes. They made a show about my rise to power in the eighties and nineties, too.”

  “I know, I watched it when I was fifteen,” she admitted.

  It was how she learned most of her family’s history and legacy in Cosa Nostra. The conversation that had followed with her father had been interesting, especially since Lucian didn’t hide a thing when Lucia asked about it all. It was the only time they did talk about it.

  “The whole show is lies,” Antony said.

  Lucia wondered about that. “Is it?”

  Antony’s old eyes twinkled with mischief. “No.”

  • • •

  After saying goodbye to her grandmother, Lucia opened the front door to leave the Marcello mansion and begin her drive home. She froze on the stoop, finding a familiar figure waiting for her in the driveway. Her older brother leaned against the hood of what looked to be a brand-new Mercedes.

  “I heard you were looking for me,” John said, grinning.

  Lucia took the front steps two at a time until she was close enough to run her hands over the shiny black paint job the Mercedes sported. It was a beautiful, two-door coupe with sharp lines and a hell of a lot of chrome.

  She loved cars.

  “When did you get this?” Lucia asked.

  “Picked it up yesterday. You like?”

  “A lot.”

  “I should have known what with you being the little car whore and everything.”

  Lucia flipped her brother the middle finger. “Don’t call me a whore.”

  “I said a car whore, Lucia. It’s a compliment.” John chuckled. “Get in. We’ll go for a drive, and then I’ll bring you back to pick up your car.”

  “Okay.”

  Lucia didn’t need to be told again. She jumped into the passenger seat, flinging her bag to the floor of the car. John climbed in his side and started the beauty, revving the engine until Lucia was grinning like crazy.

  “I sincerely hope whatever man you find realizes that you have expensive taste,” John told her.

  “Yeah, I know. I blame it on Dad.”

  John smirked. “I blame it on Dad, too.”

  Lucia fiddled with the stereo system the car sported while her brother drove them straight back into the heart of the city. She barely noticed time flying them by at all. Despite the fact that there was a thirteen-year age gap between her and Johnathan, she always felt closer to her brother than she had her older sisters.

  “So,” John drawled, bringing Lucia out of her thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  “Andino was pretty insistent you wanted to see me. What’s up, kiddo?”

  “Well, that, for one.”

  John’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

  “I’m turning eighteen next month. Can we cut out the kid nonsense?”

  Chuckling, John said, “Sure. My bad.”

  Lucia settled back into the passenger seat, watching the buildings pass them by. “I haven’t had any time with you since you got out. You’re avoiding Mom and Dad, so apparently, that means staying away from me, too.”

  “Yeah,” John said, cringing, “I hadn’t thought that one out very well.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Sorry I missed your graduation.”

  Lucia shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t. I heard you graduated with high honors.”

  “I did,” she said.

  “And got an acceptance to every college you applied to.”

  “Yep.”

  John smiled. “Smartest one of us all, Lucy.”

  Lucia scowled. “I hate that nickname.”

  “I know, but you’re not tough enough or old enough yet to stop me from using it. I dropped the kid one, but I am not dropping Lucy.”

  She whacked her brother hard on the arm. John grinned back.

  “They do care about you, John,” Lucia said.

  “They do,” he agreed. “Right now, I just want to focus on staying sane and good.”

  “Okay.”

  “But I’ll be around for you, too.”

  “Good,” she whispered, smiling.

  “Also, I’ll let Dad know you’re loving hard on my car.”

  “Why?”

  John made a dismissive noise. “Maybe he’s looking to upgrade your car for your eighteenth.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Maybe,” her brother echoed with a wicked smile.

  Lucia did a little dance in the passenger seat. “Yes!”

  “Spoiled.”

  “Don’t judge me.”

  “You make it hard,” John teased.

  Sighing, Lucia watched her brother from the side. “Does it feel weird to be out and everything?”

  “No, but everyone keeps trying to make it that way.”
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  “I don’t get it.”

  “I feel like a bug being watched as it climbs up a wall. Someone is probably waiting with a shoe to swat me when I get too close. It makes me feel like I’m living in a bubble or something, like I’m going to blink and suddenly go insane.”

  Lucia hated that for John. “You’re not crazy.”

  John blew out a harsh breath. “Thanks.”

  Before Lucia knew it, they were driving through a dirtier part of the city. The shady part of Brooklyn that her father had always made it clear to Lucia that she was not allowed to go. Like the smart girl she was, Lucia always followed those rules because she didn’t want to find out what would happen if she didn’t.

  “What are we doing here?” Lucia asked.

  “Just keep quiet,” John replied. “I’ve got some business to handle. I knew that you were wanting to chat and see me, or whatever, but I still have work to do all the same. Turn cheek like Dad always told you to do, and we’ll be fine.”

  Lucia chose not to respond to her brother on that front. “Working, working?”

  “I don’t have any other job, Lucy. I’m a Capo, and nothing more.”

  Great.

  John parked the Mercedes in front of a shoddy apartment building. He repeated to her to stay put and leave the car locked until he came back. Then, he climbed out of the car, and Lucia watched him disappear into the building. Less than ten minutes later, her brother emerged from the building with a black duffle bag in hand. John unlocked the car and tossed the bag to the back.

  Once he was settled back into the driver’s seat, he said, “Just ask.”

  Lucia peered into the back seat. “What is in that bag?”

  “A couple of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Money and substance.”

  “Um …”

  “Coke,” her brother clarified. “I need to pick up some stuff and hand it off to the people who run with it. Do you understand?”

  “Not really.”

  John shook his head. “Then stop asking.”

  Lucia could do that.

  “I have a couple of more pickups to do before I can take you back. Is that okay?”

  “Perfect, John.”

  Her brother pulled out of the parking space. “Good.”

  For the next hour, Lucia sat quietly in the car while her brother did whatever it was he did. He often disappeared in and out of buildings with his black bag in hand, and no one ever passed him a second look. Apparently three years in prison really wasn’t affecting her brother’s ability to do his job.

  Sticking a spoonful of a hot fudge sundae in her mouth as John drove through what looked to be a park of some sort, Lucia noticed a group of older kids hanging around a convenience store. Well, she didn’t think they were kids, but they were probably around her age or a little older.

  John parked his car and beeped the horn once. He flashed his lights twice. Confused, Lucia watched as an older boy broke away from the group and approached John’s car. Since the sky was starting to darken, she really couldn’t see the guy’s face all that well. But the closer he came to John’s window, Lucia had a far better view of him.

  Sharp, strong lines shaped the man’s face. Wild black hair, like he’d been tugging on the ends, hung down to his eyes. Dark russet eyes peered into John’s opened window, finding Lucia instantly, while the guy’s lips pulled into a cocky smirk.

  Lucia glanced away.

  “Hey, Ren,” John greeted.

  Ren.

  Lucia took the guy’s name in, and chanced another look at him. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but instead, focusing on John.

  “Skip,” Ren said.

  “You got anything for me today?”

  “Always, boss.”

  Ren’s hand disappeared inside his coat before he pulled out a white envelope. It passed into John’s hand like nothing was amiss. John opened it up, counted the cash that was inside quickly, and then handed over a stack to the man. Then, Lucia’s brother tossed the envelope onto the backseat.

  “Go see, Tucker,” John said. “He’ll get you set up for next week for whatever you need.”

  “Will do, Skip.”

  Ren’s hand hit the top of the car, but before he turned away, he shot Lucia another look. Lucia fidgeted in her seat as her brother took notice of the stare that was passing between the two.

  “Ren,” John snapped.

  Clearly, her brother was not playing around today. He’d never been one for boys being around Lucia, anyway.

  “Sorry, Skip,” Ren said. “I’m going. Next week?”

  “Yeah. Get gone, kid.”

  John was backing up before Ren had even moved away.

  Once they were back on the road, Lucia’s curiosity ate away at her.

  “John?”

  “What?” her brother asked.

  “Who was that?”

  “Renzo?”

  Lucia would recognize an Italian name anywhere.

  “Yeah, him,” she said.

  “A street kid,” John informed like it was nothing. “A solider who probably isn’t going anywhere but right where he is. It sucks, but that’s how it goes.”

  Lucia picked at her manicured nails, still curious. “Why?”

  “Because that’s what his father did for our father, and his grandfather for our grandfather. It’s a circle, Lucia. It’s vicious. It’s the kind of life they can’t get out of even though they try damned hard. What does it matter?”

  She didn’t really know.

  “Just wondering,” Lucia settled on saying.

  John’s gaze cut in her direction before he said, “Keep wondering. Nothing more.”

  “Huh?”

  “Stay away from guys like Renzo, Lucia.”

  “I didn’t even say—”

  “Take it as future advice,” John interrupted. “Remember it.”

  She would try.

  But …

  Marcellos didn’t follow the rules all that well. They were far too filthy for that.

  John reached over and turned the radio on. Lucia took in the sight of her brother seemingly happy and carefree. She couldn’t remember a time when John looked like he did right at that moment.

  “What is going on with you?” Lucia asked.

  John flashed a smile. “Huh?”

  “You’re happy.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Lucia shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  John laughed. “My happiness is that confusing for you, huh?”

  “No, but usually you’re not as … open about it,” she settled on saying.

  “I’ll give you that.”

  “So what is up?”

  John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel with the beat of the music. “Nothing, Lucy. I just think it’s going to be an interesting few months in this family. Something feels different. Things are beginning to happen. I’m looking forward to the changes.”

  She had no idea what her brother was talking about, but he was happy. Lucia took that for what it was, and chose to leave the rest alone.

  “Whatever you say, John.”

  TWO

  Everyone likes to say you can choose your own path. But that would be a lie. No one chooses to be born poor, disenfranchised and struggling before they even know their own name. No one wakes up one day and decides to be born to an addict mother who can’t seem to control her ability to produce children she can’t care for, or love. No one chooses to be a child on the streets, or a child neglected.

  No one chooses those things.

  So, what did Renzo Zulla choose?

  Renzo chose to step up where his mother didn’t. For every bad choice she made, Renzo worked twice as hard to correct it. Not for him necessarily. He had two younger siblings that needed a hell of a lot more than he did.

  Everything he did was for them.

  It always would be.

  “Ren!”

  Renzo sucked the last drag from a cigarett
e, and tossed it to the ground. Glancing up, he found his usual guys waiting at the corner store. Calling them friends might be a little too much. And calling them coworkers would be illegal. Or that’s what Vito always liked to say.

  “Are you heading over to do the drop off today?” Noah asked.

  Perry and Diesel, the youngest two of the group, continue their conversation like Renzo hadn’t even arrived. Not that he minded. As long as they did what they were told, he didn’t give a shit what they did on their spare time. And since work hadn’t started today, he still considered this their spare time.

  Besides, they did behave.

  They fucking listened.

  Vito let Renzo run the guys whenever he wasn’t on the streets doing business, and these fools knew how this worked. Noah, Perry, and Diesel … well, they came from the same trash Renzo did, in a way. Their home lives weren’t any better than his had been growing up. There was a reason each of them met up at this corner store every single day to take their cut of product, and get it on the streets. They needed cash in their hands.

  They all had a reason to be here. They all had reasons for why they did this.

  Nobody just decided one day that they wanted to be a drug dealer peddling dope to people who were already too far gone to save. It wasn’t like the money was good enough to justify the whys of it all, either. Sure, Renzo made a ten percent cut on everything he sold, and another five percent cut for handling this small crew of guys who worked under Vito Abati. And for every pickup or drop off he made, he got another handful slapped into his palm for his troubles.

  Again, that’s how Vito liked to put it.

  As if calling the risks Renzo took to move dope from one end of the city to another troubles was adequate or accurate. He didn’t think it was, but this was his life. And these were the choices he made considering no one was looking at the almost twenty-year-old white boy from the Bronx for fucking anything.

  He came from trash.

  All he was going to be was trash.

  He’d heard it enough times in his life to know it was true, or rather, that it was exactly how everyone else looked at him. All he had to do was slap his address on a job application, and that was enough to make someone look at him like he was the lesser between them. Once they figured out he hadn’t made it far enough in the twelfth grade to get his diploma, as he had to drop out to make sure his brother and sister got fed three times a fucking day, he was already screwed.