Shifting to my side, I know it’s just a wish though. People like me don’t get happy endings. I’ve always been a prisoner.
I don’t know anything different.Thursday
RomeoStepping out of my house, the chill from the night tries to break through the jacket of my Armani suit, I straighten my arms and adjust my tie. Seeing as this is the first official meeting with me being the underboss, I thought I’d dress for the occasion. Really, I just don’t want to listen to how my father is disappointed I wore jeans. Reaching for the door handle of my Navigator, I notice a slight shake to my hand. Jerking it back to my chest, I grit my teeth and hold it tightly with my other hand. I hate that I’m so nervous, why am I so nervous. I know why, it’s because I don’t know what I’m walking into tonight. Cracking my neck to the side, I exhale sharply and get in. My father offered to have a car pick me up, but I’d rather drive myself. Ever since we were kids, I’ve been the one who preferred things to be… simple, I suppose. My parents and brother like expensive name brands, and are always trying to make an entrance wherever they go, I stay in the back and under the radar. I always have.
As soon as I pull into the driveway of the Shady Tail, a slick black town car is sitting in front with its lights on, a plume of muffler smoke clouding the entrance. The back window rolls down, so I roll mine down. My dad looks back at me from the back seat, his hair slicked back and face freshly shaven; menacing eyes staring right at me.
“Follow us,” he grumbles before rolling the window back up.
The car slowly pulls away, I tuck up behind it and follow. We pass tall skyscrapers, people crowding the streets, and head away from town and toward Brooklyn. Down a seedy street, away from more lights and people, and down the rabbit hole where criminals and the most-wanted of thieves do their hustling.
My Navigator rocks back and forth as we turn off the road and onto gravel, darkness crawling all around us and eating any light the street lamps may offer. Driving under a bridge with spray-painted symbols all over it, the hair on the back of my neck stands on full alert. Headlights just up ahead of a van and a small car I can’t make out seem to be where my father’s town car is heading. Our headlights dancing through the ominous night, offering pieces of light momentarily before being taken away and given back, the town car’s brake lights light up the underpass, and we stop.
Tony and Leo get out first, both in suits, and their hands cupped in front of them, Gio must have had something else to do as he’s not here. My two uncles are Dad’s protection for the night. I look to my passenger seat, looks like I have my own back tonight. Taking my gun from its holster right under my jacket, I check it to make sure the saftety lock is off and put it back in its place.
“Here we go,” I breathe out, stepping out of the car. A man and two others get out of the van and greet my father as I approach, their small talk so quiet I can barely hear what’s being said.
“I promise you my product is the best, you won’t find any better,” the man says with a cheesy smile, his accent so thick the English he does speak is choppy and hard to understand. The glow from the headlights dance around his face show stubble and thick lips, his skin golden dark. He’s wearing a long tan coat with a scarf around his neck, the men behind him in dark slacks and white button-ups. I’ve never seen them around before, and I don’t remember Kieran ever mentioning them. I look to the van, curious what they’re hauling. Drugs, guns?
Taking a step away from the man and his sales pitch, I tread lightly to the van and cup my hands around my face and peer inside the glass window. Something moves, dainty chatter from inside making my eyes widen. My brows furrow, and my mouth parts. What the fuck is in there? There’s people inside, and judging from the movement I saw, quite a few. Is Dad buying men to work for us? My mind races with what’s inside, and I do what no man should ever do in a trade.
I head to the other side of the van and jerk the doors open, finding a slew of women.
Their faces frightened, the smell of body odor strong, and sounds of light cries make my skin crawl.
NO!
I’m not being a part of this. Taking advantage of women is not something I wish to participate in. I don’t know, maybe it’s because of my mother I refuse to see a woman as an object. Either way, I simply can’t do this. My stomach rolls, and the urge to puke has me swallowing twice.