22
Antonio
“So what, this prick thought he could demand a sit down?”
I’m sitting with Vinnie at the small bar we have set up at the house. Nothing glamorous, but we have a stock of whiskey, a bottle of which we’ve cracked open. We’re smoking a couple of stogies, and ordinarily I wouldn’t have given a low life like that a second thought, but as the scale of responsibility tips towards myself, I can’t help but think of it as a sign of times to come. I don’t know, the whole thing is giving me a headache, not the least because Mia’s on a constant run through my thoughts.
“Just forget about it,” I tell Vinnie. “Don’t want to give that scum another thought.”
I tap my glass against his and down my drink. Watch him as his fat fingers pull the cigar up to take a hit. Clouds of smoke get pushed out of our mouths, linger for a moment, then disintegrate into the rest of the fog that hovers around us.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
“Right,” I answer, tapping Vinnie on the shoulder. “How do you think my father managed to head the family the way he did?”
Vinnie frowns. “In what way, Antonio?”
“I mean, let’s face it, apart from the odd bit of business here and there, why do you think that nobody challenged our family until now? Think about it.”
“I don’t know, because your father had respect.”
“That’s right, and you know why?” I lean closer. “Because he was decisive. That’s what gave him respect, what people feared from him. Cross the family, and you pay for it with your life, no matter what. You pay your debts, no matter what. A definitive understanding, and you’d be a stupid motherfucker to doubt that.”
“Yeah,” Vinnie agrees, “but what are you getting at?”
“I’ve been too distracted. There’s too much noise around me that’s keeping me from focusing on what has to be done. I need to be more like my father.” I stand up. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” I say, “and bring your tools.”
* * *
I could feelMia watching us as we left, and probably most people would have felt sorry for her—the damsel in distress, locked away in her tower. That’s how it always goes in the fairy tales, ain’t that right? It’s a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. Every character in every one of those stories is two-dimensional. The bad guy is the bad guy, the hero is the good guy, and the girl whose life is in danger? Well, she’s a damsel, grateful to anyone who is willing to help her, or so it seems. What they fail to mention, of course, or even consider, is the fact that the damsel may not want to be saved at all. And when I looked at Mia’s eyes, I didn’t see a woman in need of saving, eager to go back to her old, normal life, but one that feels invigorated by her captor. She isn’t telling me that she wants to leave but rather, she’s begging me to stay.
Outside Stefano Gallo’s house, we open the tool bag and both me and Vinnie take a gun, shove them down the back of our pants. In order for myself to move forward with the family business, I have to first clear myself of any unimportant baggage. Mia’s father is said baggage in this particular situation. This time, I knock on the door instead of breaking in.
We know he hears us because the lights come on, and slowly the door opens, but the old man leaves it on the latch.
“Let us in,” I say. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
The old man’s eyes, under his gray brows, scans both myself and Vinnie. “Where’s Mia?”
“Look, are you going to let us in, or are we going to have to kick our way in?” Vinnie decides to use his charm.
“Alright, alright.” Stefano opens the door to let me in, then slams the door shut on Vinnie, and before I know it, the old asshole has his own gun pressed directly against my head.
“Woah! Take it easy.” I shout, raise my hands so that he can see them.
“Antonio?” Vinnie calls out. He kicks the door, but it doesn’t budge.
“Tell your friend to calm down, that I have a gun to your head.”
I look at the old guy, amazed more than anything else, guess my perception of how this part of the story ends also lacked the relevant depth.
“Vinnie, it’s okay. He has a piece to my head. Relax.”
“Cazzo di merda! You son of a bitch, stealing motherfucker!”