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“I said, my father will kill you if I don’t kill you first.” I spit at the lump of human scum on the floor.
While my adrenaline pumps, I desperately pull myself up a few feet of rope to get myself halfway onto the metal beam above. Thank God it’s rusty as I use it to saw through the fraying rope. I drop to the floor and pick up the knife. I summon another burst of energy to slice this asshole from ear to ear, letting him bleed onto the dirty floor. The pain radiating from my back and shoulders is mind-numbing. I can’t stop moving or I’ll pass out.
I find the door and let myself out of the basement in an abandoned duplex row home, three blocks away from fucking Coney Island. The nearest street sign reads Surf Avenue as I hear voices. Normally, I avoid police like the fucking plague because of who my father is, but I need help. I hear them directing traffic, telling people not to stop and look at the fireworks. My pulse races, and tears finally fall as I step closer and closer.
“Hey! Hey, kid! What the fuck happened to you?” Someone shouts from behind me. “Somebody help that kid!”
“Help me.” They’re the last words I mumble before passing out at the feet of New York’s Finest.
...
“Argh. Fuck!” I hit the bag with such force, it splits where my fist lands and my knuckles are bloody. I come out of my memories with the pain still searing across the scar on my back. Tears stream down my face, and the woman I love doesn’t love me.
It’s fine.
I was fine before this, and I’ll be fine after it. It takes me a minute to pull myself together. Another shower and wrapping my hands in gauze have me ready to go another round. Instead, I go into Evelyn’s room, but she’s not there.
When the aroma of sweet and savory food wafts through the door, I know where she is. The kitchen is buzzing with whatever she’s frying and whatever she’s boiling.
“Turn all this shit off. I’m taking you to your father’s place,” I tell her.
The shock in her eyes is jarring. “Alessandro, talk to me. What happened?”
“You’re in danger with me. Just, just do it, okay? I’m going to take care of this, and I don’t need you here, distracting me from being the man I need to be, the monster, the butcher. Get your shoes on and let’s go.”
“What about my stuff?” She’s flustered with tears welling in her eyes, but I turn my compassion off because it’s deterring me from making the choice I should have made weeks ago. I should have never agreed to this shit.
“Get your shit on and let’s go, Evelyn.” I’m fuming, but she drops everything and rushes upstairs. It sounds too much like my grieving father. I go upstairs after her, but her door is locked.
The bathroom door is easier to break down, so I go through my bedroom with the ring box catching my eye from its inconspicuous spot on my dresser. Evelyn’s so oblivious. I left it out in hopes she’d see it, and she never noticed it, but she was also recovering from that accident. I let it go, but now, after hearing that she still wants me to keep my promise for divorce, why would she look at it?
I slip it into my pocket, knowing I can bring it back to Pop after I take her to her father’s house. I’m ready to charge through the bathroom, but she’s in there, emptying her products into a bag.
“I’ll be ready in two minutes,” she says abruptly. Her eyes refuse to meet mine.
“Mio-”
“Don’t you dare call me that after that shit downstairs. Ain’t nothing sweet about get your shit, Evelyn.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be in the car.”
Evelyn gets in the car. Her gaze and entire body shift toward the door to avoid looking at me. I shoot Lorenzo a text telling him what’s up. The drive to Brooklyn is quiet, silent outside of the noise from cars whizzing by and the repetitive drone of my tires over the expressway.
The car barely comes to a stop before she hops out and heads inside. I reach into the back seat to grab her bag to bring it in to where Don Rossi is standing in the doorway. His wife is behind him as he steps outside and closes the door behind him, closing me out of their home.
“She’s staying here until I get things situated for work. I have a heavy caseload, and La Familia doesn’t seem to be a problem.”
“It’s for the best, you know? She was seeing this guy, Johnny, before I roped her into this thing with you. It’s good that you brought her home. They can get back together, and uh, she can move on with a guy not in the life, you know?”
“You and Oz have a lot of fucking nerve. I told you two this was shit before it happened, and it’s a disaster now. Just know that I love her, and for your sake, nothing had better happen to her?—”
“Don’t come here threatening me, Alessandro. You don’t fucking scare me. You just admitted your weakness. You love her. That means if you hurt me, she’ll never speak to you again. Right now, she’s only mad at you. You touch a hair on my head, and she’ll disappear. And you know what? I welcome it,” he sneers and goes back into the house.
My hands flex under the strain of the gauze as I bite back my anger. Deep breath in and deep breath out. I fumble around my pocket for the keys to the car, the ring box falls, and I kneel to pick it up. The door opens just in time for Zena Rossi to see me putting the box back in my pocket.
“What was that?” she asks in a sing-song voice.
Without any energy to fight another Rossi woman, I pull out the box and show it to her. Her eyes grow wide and the corners of her mouth reach toward them. It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen this woman.
