His face winces, he reaches to grab his ear. The next second, McGregor forces both his hands out to press against my chest. My gun falls. We’re now both disarmed.
I step to the right, bring my hand to his chin and force him down to the ground on his back. My legs press over his, and I punch him in the face. Police Academy 101, you never want to be on the floor with your enemy above you. McGregor attempts to posture up with one hand, once he starts to brace himself, I swipe his leg, forcing him back down.
He takes a swift jab to my ribcage. Noticing the deathly glare in my face, McGregor continues to pound his fists against my side. I grab around his neck and begin to squeeze. Then a heat as hot as lava makes me glance down. This motherfucker had grabbed his knife and sliced the left side of my rib cage.
McGregor moves from under me, knocking me to the ground. I grip at a puddle of blood flowing from my side.
39
Reese
He said his name was Matteo Giugliano, son of Milo Giugliano. Legitimate and not hidden away in a dark corner or another world, rather.
When I told Jamie I had intentions of leaving with my half-brother, my best friend slapped me all the while asking had I lost my mind. He'd reminded me that I was pregnant, as if having an innocent seed growing inside of me is forgettable.
Now the back of my head is pressed back against creamy, soft leather. There are the Giugliano family crest and initials behind me too. The Learjet has just lifted off, and I'm clutching my purse in my hand, knuckles gray from gripping and twisting the strap so hard and thinking so hard.
“It's gonna be a long ride, Reese.” Matteo smiles as he says my name. “I heard they call you Reese's Pieces?”
I meet his friendly gaze, retorting, “And you can't.”
He smiles harder. “You're just like dad when he… when…” his voice fades and he stands.
“When he what?”
“When Dad left for the States.” He cocks a thumb over his shoulder. “I need a drink. You want a drink?”
“No.” I also would prefer if you stopped referring to my dad as yours too! But I'm too chickenshit to say the words. Though Matteo has been rather cordial since I kicked a concaved dent into his car, I have a feeling he has a bad side. He’s got this softness about him. A baby face really and he's a pretty brown tone. Hair so long it loops and curls at the edges, behind his ears and rests against this shoulder. There’s a bit of salting to the sides of his hair, he has to be at least ten years my senior. But my caution comes from the tattoos on Matteo’s knuckles. The words must be in Italian, as I am unable to distinguish the meaning. Though he’s in a custom suit, some type of large gun has been tatted on the side of his neck, and all I see is the end of a dark barrel until he turns his neck and there’s so much ink, I can tell this is just the beginning of a large piece of art.
Matteo had apologized for watching me and intending to keep me safe while I kicked at his car. And he’s playing the ‘good’ brother. I don’t give a damn about his altruistic purposes, or that he’s my big brother. Never had a necessity for siblings––period.
Matteo sits back next to me, there’s a glass of rocks and hypnotizing amber liquid. But I will not be drinking liquor any time soon. My quest is to get Giovanni Salvatore Giugliano off my fucking back, and then I’ll return home. I’ll shout how much I am in love with Evan Zaccaro until my lungs get raw. The things I must do are all for him…
I lick my lips, and decide to gather some intel from Matteo. I ask, “So why is Sal harassing me?”
His thick eyebrows furrow. Italian accent thick, he surmised, “You say harassing like…”
“Like fucking harassing. Bothering. Threatening... Ruining my life.”
“Oh no, our nonno wouldn't do that to you, Reese. You're family. You're gonna love Napl — ”
“Does it look like I'm traveling with you for a friggen vacay?”
Matteo gives a forced laugh. It's all in the eyes. His have diagnosed me as crazier than my damn mother. “Please, Reese. Salvatore has something to tell you. I am glad you've chosen to see him. Sal's been waiting.”
“Waiting? Are you kidding me, Sneaky Snake Sal pops up every month. Now you're telling me he's waiting for me to come pay him a visit? Has he been given his last rites since he last bulldozed my life?”
“No, our nonno is – ”
“Then all I'm gonna ask him is why… why… am I pregnant.”
Matteo's cheeks redden, he's embarrassed about such talk. I begin to turn toward the window, and glance at a gray flurry of clouds, and then he says “Oh…”
“Oh, what?” I search his face again.
His eyes flit. Our father’s words of wisdom about a lying rat ring blaringly loud through my ears.
“Mie scuse, Reese, but you'll have to hold your questions for Salvatore.”
40
Evan
The trailer park in Dominguez Hills, is where many middle-class senior citizens call home. The lawns are neatly kept, and most everybody sticks to their own goddamn business. It’s almost ten p.m., I’m sitting in the living room on an examination table. The shredded skin on my left ribs is one nice, long U-shaped gash. There’re paper towels with blood all over the floor.
“Do you have a death wish?” Doctor Carson asks, the cigarette on the tip of his lips, bobbles as he speaks.
