12
Antonio
Tommy Irish should be grateful he could still breathe at all. The plan was never to make him disappear, but to make an example of him, and trust me, with his new appearance, even Tony Romano himself will think again before sending one of his hood rats to do his dirty work. Street politics, much like the real thing, is an ugly game, though for me, I’m suddenly finding myself involved in another game entirely, one that’s given me a right hook to the chest.
“Antonio, you sure you’re alright, boss?” Vinnie asks. We’ve just pulled up back at the house. Huxley has already left for the club, and so far, the restaurant/nightclub business is going well. I just hope my kid brother doesn’t end up sniffing it all away.
“Yeah, Vinnie.” I nod my head as the first drops of rain land on the roof of the car. The men I have on guard at the end of the courtyard lift their jackets over their heads like a bunch of broads who don’t want their hairspray to run.
“Let me ask you something,” I say. “You ever go crazy thinking about one person all day?” I think perhaps my best friend might have been through this before. He wouldn’t have told me, for the sake of keeping his ruthless reputation, but maybe now he’ll share some wisdom.
Vinnie stretches his mouth so that a crease appears on his chin as he thinks about the question. “I don’t know, like with a chick you want?”
I confirm his question with a slant of my head.
“Sure,” Vinnie answers. “If I’m being honest, every time I’m fucking a girl, I swear I think I’m in love. I can imagine spending the rest of my life with her. Problem is, after I let go of my load, it’s like some kind of off switch. All that stuff goes away in an instant, and then she’s just some chick again.”
“Right.” The more I think about it, the more I realize how emotionally stunted you have to be to get anywhere in this line of work. Perhaps there’s something more primal about men like us. We hunt for what we want, and all the rest is just a physical appetite. We have sex to fuck, or to continue our bloodline, and that’s all. And you know what, that rumbling in my stomach, telling me that there’s something I want from Mia, well that’s as primal as it gets. I’ve just never met a girl that made me think twice about it. I tell Vinnie to get washed up and join my brother at the club.
“Are you coming too?”
“No, I’ve got something I need to take care of.”
Before I even think about going to Mia’s room, the blood has to be washed away from my hands. It’s almost become a ritualistic experience, like a warrior returning from battle, cleaning away my sins. I watch the red-tinted water wash past my legs, swirling around the shower drain, and although the blood may be gone, my scars remain. After I dry myself, I look into the mirror and imagine what it is that Mia sees, what any woman does when they see a man like me. My scars echo a lifetime of violence, they’ve become a part of my identity. Maybe that’s why she gave in, even though she was scared. Maybe she thought I’d hurt her if she didn’t comply and leave a few scars across her skin. Maybe it wasn’t lust after all, but just a desperation to survive.
It doesn’t sit well with me. After staying away for days, I need to see her now. I need some answers about her life, about where she gets her fiery confidence. Initially, I thought she was an adventurous woman, giving herself to me because she wanted to. After realizing the truth about her virginity, in my mind, she became a young girl far out of her depth. Still, I want her. I want to show her what that heat between her legs could lead to. Knowing that I could be the one to teach her what ecstasy is, I want her more than I ever did. More than when I saw her in the shower, more than when I had her against the wall. I saw lust in her eyes, I felt the slickness in her panties. She’s ready, and I’m going to be the one to show her just how fucking amazing she could feel.
I put on a white shirt and black pants and make my way to Mia’s room. My mind is dreaming of the warmth between her legs, so much so that my father’s voice from down his end of the hall hardly registers to my ears. And when it does, I don’t think much of it. He’s just with his nurse, letting her entertain him, no doubt. In front of Mia’s door, I pause. I knock and when I don’t hear a response, I walk in.
“Mia?” I call her name, but it’s obvious there’s nothing but an empty bed. Maybe when I said that men like myself are emotionally stunted, I spoke too soon. Perhaps, we aren’t stunted at all, just wired differently because the feeling of betrayal is quick to rush through my body, leaving me feeling like a fucking idiot.
I run out of the room, head downstairs, and grab the first guy I see outside. “Where is she?!”
“Who?”
“Mia!”
“I swear, Antonio, we didn’t see her!”
“You stupid fuck!” I slap the cigarette away from his mouth, the rain soaking us. “Why do I have all you meatheads here anyway, joking and smoking? It’s like a fucking schoolyard out here! Jesus Christ, get your guys and look for her, and if you don’t find her, then I don’t know why I need you here at all! You hear me?!”
I shove him away, his face in shock before he runs off to order the rest of the guys to start searching for Mia. I march inside to the kitchen, and pull the maid to one side, away from my Auntie Maria, who’s boiling up some tea on the stove.
“So she was in the room when you brought her dinner?”
Our maid Sophia, who’s been with us since I was a kid, nods to me but still manages to echo her disagreement as she does.
“Jeezalo, give me a break, Sophia. Come out with it, when’s the last time you saw her?”
“Are you looking for your friend?” My auntie speaks up now, as apparently, she’s heard the whole thing.
No matter how many years pass, this woman always manages to make me feel like a little kid again. “Yeah, Zia Maria, tell me that you’ve seen her?”
She turns to face me, rubs her hands on a tea towel. “Antonio, why do you keep that nice girl all locked up anyway. Even the daughters of our enemies deserve our respect. Your mother would be so ashamed.”
Fucking women!
“Zia, I swear to God I’m losing my mind over here. Have you seen her or not?” I thrash my hands down. Why is it that the women in my life—my auntie, sister, even fucking Sophia—have the extraordinary ability to get under my skin?