My mouth tenses, cheeks puffed out. “Evan, if you would just listen to me…”
CLICK.
He hung up!
I rub my index finger over my thumbnail and consider what the fuck just happened.
Evan. Dismissed. Me.
Does this mean he plans to find me or I've pushed him away too much… Jamie’s words about my man growing weary of my standoffish behavior stain my cognition. All the secrets I have ever kept aren’t even worth not wanting him to know the real me. The bits and pieces of me that I hate weigh down my shoulders.
I plop down on the bed, push myself toward the headboard, and sit with my legs to my chest. I wrap my arms around my limbs in self comfort, and tap the cell phone to my calf. I should call him back. I should explain why I’m staying… Sheesh, my dumbass should have never left.
Shoving a hand through my hair, I realize second-guessing the moves I make are of no use. Besides, I don’t want to need Evan, at least, not unless it regards love and our child. He isn’t safe near the Giugliano crime family, and the longer I attempt to settle his spirits over the phone, the weaker I’ll come. He’d come and get me for sure.
That is, if Jamie was wrong all along and Evan hasn’t grown annoyed with me and all my baggage.
There's a knock at the door.
“Yeah,” I respond.
“May I enter?” The voice is feminine, Italian accent. It could be anyone. Besides the arsenal of foot soldiers surrounding the perimeter, and the numerous servants needed to keep this fortress afloat, I recall Matteo said the rest of our family lives here, along with a few uncles and aunts and their own brood.
The door opens. There's a frown on my face unyielding to the stranger’s politeness. My palms are itching, compelling me to dial Evan’s number. And if he had finally knocked some sense into himself, and chose I wasn’t worth it?
The woman is as round as she is tall. A gray streak divides her stark black hair which is in a severely pulled-back ponytail. She's dressed in black lace that rumples at various fat rolls. She appears in mourning, yet the politeness is gone. Something tells me that her old ass won't be baking any cookies anytime soon.
An ethereal speed is on her side as she lunges at me. A scream is perched at the tip of my tonsils…
42
Evan
Cosenza, Italy
“The fuck happened to you, Valentino?” Vincenzo asks, barefooted, dressed in basketball shorts, and a jersey barely covers the fat-folds of his arm pits and tits. Vinny is a rich slob and he doesn’t give a fuck about it.
His face is a mask of my pain as he glances me up and down. Though I’d showered at my dad’s place, and donned one of my black suits in my old room, for the sake of getting through TSA at the Los Angeles Airport, my face is full of scruff from not shaving and all abraded up. And I haven’t found my medication, so the melatonin I took on the ride just to get me here has worn off.
“I need a gun.” I reply as he leads me into his house.
“No, wait a minute, here you come over to my house outta the blue. Long time no see, the first thing outta your mouth is to ask for a burner?” Vinny rubs the back of his neck, as we walk down a corridor with glossy gray walls. “First of all, big cousin might have been in Vegas today. Where would that place you? At least give your big cousin a hug.”
I hug Vinny and grimace as he holds tight, I pat his back roughly and now he’s grimacing too.
“Alright already, Vinny. And you need to stop frequenting Vegas or Monte Carlo or San Juan too. Isadora is ready for you to grow the fuck up.”
“Me, grow up? Don’t speak such blasphemy in my spot.”
I follow Vinny down a long corridor, up a flight of stairs as he mentions his current inventory. The only dirty family I have, guess I lucked out he dabbled in arms dealing with the funds Isadora unknowingly offers him. We step into a room with wood walls.
He steps toward a security pad. Vinny pauses from punching in a key code, and his interest piques. “So, whadaya need?”
“Just a standard .9.”
“Fucking cops, you're so easy, you’re boring.” He grumbles.
“Yup, boring does make life easier, doesn’t it?” I assure as he finishes punching in the code. The wood walls separate as I add, “I'll need a few clips.”
We stand before a display case. Bright lights shine down on every sort of combat weapon.
“Where you heading? I've got these new modified Intratec,” his beefy arms bulge as he handles the automatic gun, “This shit is sweeeeet, thirty-two round magazines, and if you empty your fucking mag, and still wanna play, the Intratec is also equipped for another eight rounds of shells, muhahaaa. You could blow a fucking crater in your enemy’s chest with this bad boy. I’ve been waiting to take ‘em out.”
“Point that at me, I'll punch your fucking lights out,” I order, fisting the barrel of his Intratec.
He grumbles once more. “Man, it’s taken years; I finally see why Isabella calls you a brat. Where are you going, Tino?”
“Naples.”
He rubs a thumb against stubble and fat chops, and we head toward the bathroom across the way. “I had this old lady out that way a while back, she was wise in many ways, know what I'm saying?”
I grab the bottle of Aspirina that he tosses my way. “No.”
“Lighten up, Evan. I'll ride with you.”
I flick on the faucet, and water pools into my hands. “No, you won't. I have no intentions of using the gun you gave me, unless provoked.”
After I swallow 1500 mg and wash it back with tepid water, I add, “Also need to borrow a car.”
His eyes widen. “I have no extra cars…
