Bitterness poisoned my insides. I was caught up in a self-destructive spiral, but I couldn’t shake myself free of it.
The woman noticed my attention and smiled. She wasn’t my type. Too unnatural, but she was exactly what I needed. I got up, walked over to her, and sank down on the bar stool beside her. Up close, she barely looked like Serafina, but I didn’t care. After a short chat and a few more drinks, we stumbled into the restroom together. I fucked her hard against a bathroom stall, her front pressed against the wall, her back to me. I focused on her blonde hair and let out my frustration and anger. Remo had taken Serafina from me, had stolen her innocence and her heart. I could imagine his feeling of utter triumph every time he fucked her, knowing he’d taken this from me. I came with a violent shudder and untangled myself from the woman in front of me. I wasn’t sure if she came, but I didn’t care. She didn’t look unhappy as she leaned up to me and rasped something into my ear that I didn’t understand before slipping a piece of paper into my pocket. She stumbled out of the stall, and I braced myself with one arm and disposed of the condom. For a long time, I stared at the graffitied wall, feeling sick to my stomach and not sure if it was the result of too much alcohol or my tasteless fuck in a dirty restroom. I straightened my clothes and stumbled out of the restroom. After dropping money on the counter, I staggered to my car.
Once behind the steering wheel, I stared straight ahead, trying to stop my vision from spinning. I closed my eyes, considering where to go. The hotel was out of the question. My family and I had been staying at the place for as long as I could remember. I wouldn’t show up there in this pitiful state. My parents had enough to deal with without worrying about my drunken escapades.
There was no way I could drive myself to another hotel or cheap motel. After what had happened with Emma, I’d never drink and drive. I didn’t need to add another layer of guilt to my already heavy conscience.
Back in Indianapolis, I’d have just called Marco and asked him to give me a lift to his place. Though he’d probably be as shitfaced as me. We usually spent these kinds of shitty nights together. Eventually, I pulled out my phone and called Pietro.
He answered after the second ring, no sign of sleep in his voice, only a deep, all-consuming wariness. “Danilo, what can I do for you?”
Maybe showing weakness to another Underboss was a mistake. Pietro was one of the better men in our world, but he was still a Made Man, and keeping face in front of him was important. He wasn’t the backstabbing, gossip-spreading type, and he’d also be family one day. He would already have been family, if not for Remo Falcone. The anger I’d dulled temporarily with liquor and a meaningless fling with a girl lightyears from reaching Serafina’s grace erupted inside of me again, lighting up the embers of my thirst for revenge and blood.
“Danilo?” Concern now mingled with the exhaustion in Pietro’s voice. Perhaps he was one of the very few people who understood my turmoil. We’d both lost something. But what he’d lost couldn’t be replaced.
“I’m too drunk to drive. I’m stuck in the parking lot of some shithole bar. Can I spend the night at your house?”
“Of course,” Pietro said without hesitation. He didn’t even ask why I didn’t just return to the hotel I’d booked. “If you give me the address of the bar, I’ll pick you up.”
I nodded as if he could see it through the phone, then told him where I was. I wasn’t sure how long it would take Pietro to reach this part of the city. I’d driven aimlessly through the streets before I’d finally stopped here.
My eyes fell shut as I gave in to the heavy fog the alcohol spread in my head.
A knock at the window jerked me from sleep. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, but when I peered out of the window, Pietro stared back at me. I straightened and pushed open the door. My legs were wobbly. I’d obviously drunk even more than I’d thought. Pietro scanned me. I knew I was a pitiful sight, but he didn’t comment and wouldn’t spread gossip about me. By our standards, he was a good man.
He didn’t offer to help me as I staggered toward his car, even though I obviously could have used it, for which I was grateful. I wanted to keep a sliver of my pride.
Once I plopped down on the passenger seat, a wave of nausea washed over me, but I battled it down. I wasn’t a fifteen-year-old boy who’d overdone it at his first party. Pietro slid behind the steering wheel and started the car. He rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.
Before the thing with Serafina, I had never seen him smoke, but I supposed each of us had our own vice to deal with recent events.
We didn’t talk. I was too drunk, and Pietro, albeit not drunk, looked like he was hungover.
“Is the Capo still at your house?” I asked eventually. The note of mutiny in my tone might have caused me my head on any other day. Not that I cared.
“No, he and his family left for Chicago.”
“Home sweet home,” I muttered.
Pietro took a deep drag and nodded. Our families were in shambles for various reasons, but Dante had kept his in perfect condition.
We arrived at Pietro’s mansion fifteen minutes later. The house was dark, except for a room upstairs.
Pietro sighed.
“Your wife?” I guessed.
He nodded. He’d never been very talkative, but
