“The Camorra will hurt you if you don’t pay them. You should come with me, Mom. We can start over.”
“Leona, it’s too late for me to start over. And what can they do to hurt me that hasn’t been done to me before? I’ve lived through it all, and I’m still here.”
I stared at her. She was still here, but only because she numbed everything with drugs.
“Has he hurt you?”
It took a moment before I understood whom she meant. “Fabiano? He hasn’t hurt me. But he hurts other people.”
“If he’s good to you, why leave?”
Fabiano had been the first person, who had taken care of me, but he was also the man who was taking me down a path I shouldn’t follow.
I reached for the cup of coffee. My hands shook as I brought the cup up to my mouth and took a long sip.
I had to leave. I closed my eyes against the sense of hopelessness that washed over me. I’d never really thought Las Vegas was my final destination but I’d hoped I could use it as my starting point for something new and better.
Now I was even worse off than when I’d arrived in this damned city with my backpack and flip-flops. I didn’t have any savings and not only that, now I’d even lost my heart to a man whose own heart only beat for the Camorra. A man who was brutal and dangerous. A man who would eventually be my death because he couldn’t possibly keep me safe and not betray his oath.
Still a small stupid voice asked the same question my mother had: why leave? That was probably the same voice my mother had listened to every time she’d gone back to a pimp after he’d apologized for beating her to a bloody pulp. Perhaps Fabiano had been right on the night of our first encounter about our DNA determining most of our decisions. Perhaps my mother’s genes would always prevent me from living a normal life.
My eyes were drawn back to her wiry form, hunched over the table again. She wasn’t looking at me anymore instead she was peeling off more of red her nail polish. Her hands were shaking. She needed a shot. She raised her eyes.
“You don’t have any money for me before you leave?”
No. This wasn’t my future. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She nodded. “It’s okay. Just leave and be happy.”
Be happy.
I didn’t say anything. I grabbed a quick shower, feeling a bone-deep tiredness that didn’t have anything to do with sleepless nights. I’d leave Las Vegas behind. I’d leave Fabiano behind, and all that he stood for: Blood and darkness and sin.
I leaned in the doorway to the kitchen. “I’m leaving,” I told my mother. She looked up. “And you won’t come back?”
“I can’t.”
And she nodded, as if she understood, and perhaps she did. After all, we’d moved after every of her breakups and never returned.
“I have to go now,” I said. I went over to her and kissed her cheek. She smelled of smoke, and faintly of alcohol. I wasn’t sure if I would see her again.
* * *
Thirty minutes later I arrived at Roger’s arena. I headed directly for Cheryl who was as usual early. Her affair with Roger kept her busy until the early mornings most days. Sometimes I thought she lived in the bar. The moment she spotted me stark relief filled her face and she rushed over to me, grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a booth. “Are you alright, Chick?” she asked in a worried tone. I was startled by her reaction.
She pulled back. “Heard what happened to your father.”
I stiffened. I doubted she had heard what really happened.
“It was Fabiano, wasn’t it?”
I looked away.
“I told you he was dangerous, Chick. But don’t blame yourself for what happened to your father. He had it coming for a long time. It’s a miracle he lasted that long with all the betting and gambling.”
“Can you give me some money?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What happened to the money you earned? Did your no-good bastard of a father spent it on bets?” She crossed herself as if that would make her insulting a dead man better.
“Please, Cheryl.” I didn’t tell her I’d pay her back because I didn’t think I could. I’d never return to Las Vegas, and if I sent her money, the risk remained that Fabiano would trace it back to me.
“You wanna run, right?”
I nodded. “I have to.”
She pressed her lips together. “He won’t be happy about it.”
“It’s my life. My choice.”
Cheryl touched my cheek in an almost motherly gesture. “Chick, it stopped being your choice the moment he first laid eyes on you and decided he wanted to have a piece. He won’t let you go unless he loses interest.”
“I have to leave,” I said again.