by Hamel, B. B.
“Up for a fight?” Aldrik snorted. “I live for a damn fight. It’s in my blood.”
“Only thing in your blood is cocaine and STDs,” Enrico said.
“Asshole.” Aldrik glared at him. “The fuck you talking about?”
“Now, now,” Reid said like this was a regular occurrence. “We don’t need you two bitching at each other the whole ride.”
Aldrik fell into a sullen silence—while Enrico seemed strangely happier than he had been before.
Reid pulled out front of a nondescript house in the middle of Locust. It was a main street with lots of traffic, and the car was pulled over to the side, the hazards on, double parking by some poor Mini Cooper. Reid craned his neck, squinting up at a house with a black door, then looked at Enrico. “Get up there and knock.”
“What, you’re not doing it?”
“I brought you along to take care of this shit.”
Enrico rolled his eyes but got out and jogged up the stoop. I watched as he knocked, waited, and stepped back when the door opened. A man with short hair and a scruffy beard poked his head out, disappeared inside, then returned with a large duffel bag. It looked heavy and Enrico staggered as he took it from the guy and carried it back over to Reid’s car. He shoved the bag into the trunk then hopped into the back seat again.
I gaped at the men for a moment as Reid lazily pulled back out into traffic. Enrico carried a bag full of what I assumed were drugs, probably meth, or maybe crack or heroin or something very, very illegal, right in the middle of the day, with old women walking their dogs, men in their suits and ties hurrying along with their briefcases swinging in their hands, guys with tattoos on their legs riding their bikes—and cops on pretty much every corner. They did it in broad daylight without a care in the world.
“That’s it?” I asked as Reid swung the car south.
“That’s it,” he said. “Just like last time. It’s supposed to be pretty damn easy when things go right.”
“When things go wrong, they go really wrong,” Aldrik said. “Catastrophically wrong. Lots of gunshots. I guess you know that already.”
I frowned back at him but I felt Reid’s anger. “Would you shut up, asshole?” he snapped.
“Whatever, boss,” Aldrik grunted and looked out the window.
Enrico grinned huge and looked delighted. I got the sense that the only thing that made the tall man happy was to see his bald counterpart get yelled at or insulted. That probably didn’t make for a great working relationship.
Reid rubbed his face as he slowed at a stop sign then kept going. “I told you last time, I like to get out and make these runs, let the guys see my face. It’s hard to work for someone you never know or see, that’s just a name whispered in back alleys. I want them to know who I am—and know that I’m a real man that carries a real gun.”
Aldrik grunted his agreement and even Enrico nodded along. I chewed on my lip and crossed my ankles as I studied him. “Don’t all the crew guys work like you?”
“Not all of them,” he said. “Each boss has his own—I guess you could call it management style. I like to be a little more hands-on.”
“Very hands-on,” Enrico said, “especially for the fun stuff.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Fun stuff?”
“Oh, you know. Kicking in doors, beating the shit out of snitches, making sure witnesses don’t talk—that sort of thing.” Enrico grinned at me as I stared at him. “What, does that surprise you?”
“Not really,” I said, turning back to face forward again. “I’ve known men like you guys all my life.”
“Don’t forget she’s a mafia princess,” Aldrik said. “Her uncle’s got his own little kingdom.”
I clenched my jaw. “I’m far from a princess.”
“Oh, no? Your daddy didn’t buy you a pony?” Aldrik laughed and I saw Reid give him a sharp look in the rearview mirror.
“Shut the fuck up,” Reid said. “Both of you.”
“Aw, we’re just teasing her, boss.” Aldrik looked like a slapped puppy. “Besides, it’s true, ain’t it? She grew up in the damn Leone family.”
I felt something snap. I don’t know what it was—maybe the last vestiges of shame that kept holding me back from speaking my mind—but the anger rolled out of me in waves and I couldn’t hold it back.
“Just because I grew up with a bunch of macho douchebags like you two doesn’t mean I was taken care of.” I stared at him, seething. They didn’t know me, didn’t know a damn thing about me. “You think it’s easy being a woman surrounded by dickheads like you? I was treated like a piece of shit my whole life, and I’m not about to take it from some dickless two-bit wannabe thugs.”
The car fell silent. Aldrik looked surprised, Reid was grinning huge, and Enrico squinted at me.
“Why bring me into this?” Enrico asked. “I didn’t say a word.”
“You were thinking it,” I said. “Got a fucking problem with that?”
He shrugged and looked out the window again. “Guess not.”
Reid cracked up, his laughter spilling out in rough waves. I clenched my jaw and glared at him—then felt my anger break a little bit. I smiled and shook my head as even Aldrik joined in on the laughter.
“Damn right, girl,” Reid said. “Don’t you take shit from these two morons.”
“Whatever, boss. I’m just speaking my mind.” Aldrik beamed at me. “You got a mouth on you.”
“I guess that’s the one thing I did learn from my family.” I smiled at him and shook my head. “You’re still a dickless thug.”
“And you’re still a princess.”
Reid chuckled and pulled over on a relatively empty block, only a few cars parked against the curb. The house had a big blue door with a black iron gate in front of it and bars on the lower windows. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, and none of the surrounding houses had any sort of home protection like that, and it felt sort of obvious to me—but wasn’t my place to criticize.
“Okay, Cora.” Reid nodded to me. “You’re up.”
“Excuse me?”
Aldrik snorted. “Make her work. Smart man.”
“You’re up. Carry that bag to the front door, knock, and then come back.”
I gaped at him. “No fucking way.”
“Come on. You’re going to come all the way out here and do nothing?”
“That wasn’t part of the deal. I’m not going to be your drug mule.”
Enrico barked a laugh. “Drug mule. You wish, girl. I doubt you could fit a baggie up that tight ass of yours.”
I gave him a look and wished I could slap his smug face but shook it off and looked back to Reid. He was smiling at me, head tilted, and I knew that look in his eye. He wanted to challenge me, wanted to test me, just to see what I’d do. It annoyed the hell out of me and he expected me to chicken out—in fact, I was willing to bet that he counted on it. He wanted me to back down and let him do all the work while I sat around in the car and watched it all go down. The two idiots in the back would keep on thinking I was some stupid, spoiled mafia princess, and I’d keep getting angrier and angrier.
So I pushed open the door and got out.
For a moment, Reid looked surprised. I savored that look and smiled at him sweetly as I slammed my door shut. “Pop the trunk,” I said, and walked around to the back.
The duffel bag sat in the center of the trunk like a dead seal. I took a deep breath then grabbed it. I felt bundles inside—square bricks of something I couldn’t identify, but could guess at. The bag was heavy, maybe a quarter of what I weighed, and it took all my strength to heft it up onto my shoulder. I carried it across the sidewalk, up the door, and dumped it down onto the top of the stoop. A doorbell glowed faint orange and I jabbed my finger into it three times. Inside, it buzzed loudly.
I heard someone grumble, footsteps, and the door swung open. A fat man with light brown skin and short hair squinted at me. He was sweating through his white tank top and his jeans were skintight.
; “Who the fuck are you?” he asked, then looked past me—and his expression changed. “Oh, shit. That’s Reid.”
“Christmas present,” I said. “Call me Santa.”
He grinned at me, his teeth white and crooked. “Well, all right, Santa. Never seen you looking so trim before.”
“Been running laps with the elves. Merry Christmas.” I hopped down the stoop and started back toward the car and the black metal outer door opened and the fat guy grabbed the bag.
I made it halfway to the door when a truck turned down the block and started toward me.
I felt my heart begin to race. It was strange—one second, I felt good, felt strong and proud of myself for stepping up and doing something uncomfortable, and the next my palms were sweating, my mouth was dry, and my vision looked as though I were staring down a pair of binoculars the wrong way. Everything went black and tunneled, and my heart hammered staccato rhythms, and I couldn’t move a muscle as I stared at the truck coming toward me.
It was happening again. They were back to finish the job, back to kill us all—and I was caught out on the sidewalk.
“Fuck,” I whispered. “Reid. Please.” I knew he couldn’t hear me, and I didn’t know what he could do. He was stuck in the driver’s side, too far to do much more than get himself killed trying to run to me. I stood there frozen with fear and felt sweat pour out of me in gallons, and I did the only thing I could do, as the truck came closer, and my death barreled toward me.
I dropped down to my knees, breath hitching in my chest.
I could barely breathe. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs, and maybe it didn’t matter, maybe nothing mattered, maybe that damn truck was going to blow my brains out any second, the world would go black, I’d cease to exist, I’d be nothing, nothing, nothing. I remembered the gunshots, Reid screaming at me, pulling me along, Reid killing those men—Reid, my monster, my husband.
“It’s okay. Hey, Cora. Hey, look at me.” The truck rolled past, reached the other end of the street, stopped at the stop sign, and turned left. “Cora. Cora?”
I blinked twice and looked up. Reid was kneeling next to me and I was in his arms, his strong arms wrapped around me. I realized from some distant, dim part of my otherwise overwhelmed brain that I was having a panic attack or something like it—but I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
He pulled me tight against his chest and held me as I tried to suck enough air into my lungs.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, voice soft and gentle. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“The hell is wrong with her?” The guy from the door spoke and sounded a million miles away.
“Fuck off, Leonard. Get inside.”
I heard a gate shut, a door close.
“It’s okay, Cora. I’ve got you now. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He whispered to me over and over again, arms hugging me against his chest, and slowly—god, too slowly—I started to come back to myself.
I looked up at him and finally took deep breaths. The fresh air sent a rush of oxygen to my brain and the world snapped back into focus. I realized I was on my knees on the sidewalk, sweating my brains out, half-sobbing, and Reid was there with me, arms wrapped around my body hugging me tight against his muscular frame while his two guys stared at us like I was some kind of crazy person. Fuck them, fuck me, and fuck everything.
At first, I felt relieved. Reid came for me and I felt safe in his arms. The truck hadn’t been sent here to kill us, and I was overreacting. My body went into fight or flight and chose to shut down and freeze instead. Reid came to me, he held me, he calmed me down—he protected me.
And then embarrassment hit me like a tidal wave.
I buried my face in his chest. He hugged me tighter, and slowly we stood up together. I leaned against him, my cheeks burning, and I felt like such a moron. How could I do that in front of these men? How could I lose it and show weakness like that? They’ll never forget it, and from now on, I’ll be the weak mafia princess that couldn’t even deliver a bag of drugs without having a mental breakdown. Reid would never look at me the same, and forget about trying to fight for any shred of respect from his men.
I was finished. It was over.
Reid helped me into the car. Enrico and Aldrik stared at me, and neither of them spoke. Reid got behind the wheel and took my hand in his, squeezing it tight. We sat there in silence for a moment.
“I had a panic attack in a movie theater once,” Aldrik said. “I ever tell you about that?”
“Tell me?” Enrico snorted. “I was there. You nearly puked on me.”
“Freaked me the hell out.” Aldrik sighed and looked out the window. “That shit just happens, girl.”
“He’s right.” Reid spoke softly. “We’ve all been there. It’s hard to get acclimated to it when you get so close to the edge like we did.”
“Speak for yourself,” Enrico mumbled.
“Shut the fuck up.” Aldrik punched him in the arm.
Enrico grunted and rubbed his shoulder, but didn’t retaliate.
Reid glared at him then squeezed my hand. “You’ll be fine.”
“Sorry. I just…” I trailed off, not sure what to say. But then it came out in a rush. “I saw that truck and remembered the gunshots, and the screaming, and how scared I was—and it was like being out there all over again.”
Reid nodded. “I know, and I wish I could say that it’ll never happen again, but it might. Now you’ll recognize it though, and when it happens, you can try to calm yourself down.”
“Deep breaths,” Aldrik said. “And self-talk.”
I looked away, unable to take any more of this. “We should go.”
Reid nodded, released my hand, and started the engine. He pulled out, dropped the guys off at another house, told Enrico to go clean a toilet, then dropped me back off at the house. He lingered in the doorway and watched as I collapsed onto the couch, suddenly more tired than I ever had been in my life.
His eyes stared into mine and I hated him for the pity and the worry I saw in his expression. I wanted to tell him I was fine—it would pass, it would go away, and it wouldn’t matter in the long run since none of this was real. Instead, I turned my face away, unable to handle that silent stare, and tried to pretend like everything was okay, like I hadn’t just embarrassed myself
He left and shut the door quietly. I got up and slammed the locks shut, cursing myself, hating myself, sick to death of being myself.
11
Reid
Cora was sullen and upset for the rest of the night and I knew better than to push her. I took my anger out on Enrico the next day and had him clean the bathrooms in four of my safehouses, which made Aldrik beyond happy—until I made him help out.
The next night, I came home with a pizza from a fancy joint one of the crew bosses owned. Cora was curled up on the couch in yoga pants and a tank top watching one of the housewives reality shows that I never really understood—didn’t make sense that people wanted to watch a bunch of overly made-up old ladies throw drinks at each other and complain about their lives, but whatever. I put the pizza down in the kitchen and she drifted over like a moth to a flame.
I poured myself some whiskey. “Have a slice.”
She hesitated then flipped open the box. I saw her eyes light up. “You got my favorite.”
“You mentioned it once. Figured you’d like it.”
“Sausage and peppers. The only decent toppings.” She grabbed two pieces and dropped them down on a plate before digging in.
I watch her eat for a second and sipped my drink. She looked miserable and I really hated it but couldn’t understand why—it wasn’t like our marriage was real or we were in love or any of that shit, but the idea of her being miserable in my house, unhappy with me, it drove me nuts.
“You said something in the car yesterday.”
She looked up at me and I saw the moment of anger in her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“I don’t mean the panic attack, be
fore that. When you were talking to Aldrik and Enrico.”
A moment of confusion. Then she tilted her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You talked about life being hard with your dad.”
She snorted, took a bite, and chewed. “Yeah, so what? You don’t believe me?”
“I definitely believe you,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “I’m curious, honestly. What was it like, being the daughter of a mafioso?”
She stared at me and I could tell she was trying to decide if I was fucking with her or not. Truth was though, I didn’t have much experience with having a solid family, and I was curious what it felt like to have a stable home, a stable father and mother, and still hate it like she did.
“I’ll tell you,” she said, “only if you go first.”
I smiled. “Go first?”
“Sure, you want to do the whole woe is me, here’s my sad backstory thing. And fine, I’ll play along, but you go first.”
I laughed, unable to help myself. “You’re tough, aren’t you?”
“Always had to be.”
“All right, I’ll tell you my story, but it’s not so bad. Not compared to some of the other guys.”
She tilted her head and bit her pizza. “Go ahead then.”
I took a breath and looked at the bottom of my whiskey glass. I swirled it, sipped it, and for a second had the intense memory of my mother drinking whiskey from a pint glass, cheap stuff that smelled like mouthwash, her eyes glassy and staring far away, standing in the kitchen in her nightdress looking frail and broken and inhuman.
“Mom was a drunk. Dad died when I was a baby, and mom tried to replace him with a rotating cast of heroin addicts, alcoholics, and straight-up abusive motherfuckers. I learned how to take care of myself at a young age.”
She tilted her chin up. “Must’ve been hard.”
“It was until she died. I was thirteen when I found her. Choked on her puke in the bathtub.” I looked away, sipped my drink, and accepted the irony of telling this story while pouring whiskey down my throat. “I convinced one of her lowlife exes to claim me as his own to keep me out of the foster care system, and I kept living in the house. He bought the place and took rent from me, and in retrospect, I think he felt sorry for me—because he only charged enough to cover the mortgage and add a little on top. I worked three jobs, went to school, and started selling weed out of my living room.”