3
Antonio
“Antonio! Antonio! Did you hear a word I said?”
Vinnie found me leaning over the bar with a glass of whiskey in front of me. Bass and drums make up for most of the music thumping through the place. It’s one of those joints where the bar circles the stage, and I guess it acts as a good barrier between the punters and the broads on the poles in order to protect the merchandise. Though, the girls don’t have to worry about any feisty drunks anymore, not after we took over the place. I guess they appreciate that kind of security because the girl who’s dancing, waving her hips as if her body was a snake rising up, has had her eyes locked on me the whole time she’s been up there.
“What is it, Vin?” I ask without taking my eyes off the girl—watching her intently as she teases to pull down her panties. I sip from my glass, imagining the things I’m going to do to her when she gets off that stage, though I can already tell that Vinnie has other plans for me. A loyal soldier for the family, a neighborhood kid just like me, and undeniably misconceiving in his looks. Round bellied and a laugh contagious to most, it would be easy to think of him as the gentle kind. Yet, if you saw the things I’ve seen him do to a man, you’d hold your breath every time he passed, hoping to God you didn’t catch his attention. And I’m guessing, by the bloodthirsty look on his face, that we’re about to go to work.
He leans close, doesn’t want anyone to hear the next words that come out of his mouth.
“We found the thief,” he tells me, and I turn to him. “The fucker’s going to pay.”
“Come on,” he continues with a pat on my shoulder, “the car’s outside.”
So, I guess that’s just how my night’s going to go.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I mouth to my dancing admirer, straightening my suit jacket before downing the rest of my drink. I show the girl that all her ass shaking wasn’t for nothing by throwing her a few Benjamins.
Outside, I recognize my father’s driver. He sent his car to come and get me, so I guess he wants to talk in person. In reality, I’m glad that I’ll get a chance to talk to him since the last few assignments have come and gone absent of my father’s words. Yeah, he’ll send his approval, but he hasn’t had the strength to join any of the family meetings—not lately, not in his condition. As Vinnie and I get into the back of the car, he’s all amped up because he knows how long my old man has been looking for this son of a bitch.
“We finally got him, Antonio.” Each time Vinnie talks, he points out with his right index finger, the links of his gold bracelet lightly clinking against his thick wrist. “I tell you, I’m going to stomp on the old fucker. I know how long the boss has been looking for him. Goddammit, just the disrespect itself is enough to put him and his whole family in the ground.”
I let Vinnie unleash his excitement without interruption. I just sit back, looking out the window. I know better than to get all riled up. That’s not my style, but all men are different. Anyway, I want to hear it from my pops. The thief Vinnie mentioned has long been an insult to our family name. Luckily, my old man did a good job of covering up what happened. Imagine if word got out to the other families that the accountant for the Moretti family had run off with a big bag of our dough, that the fucker actually got away with it. Well, almost. That’s the thing that some people just have a hard time understanding. I mean, how many heads you gotta smash in before the point gets across? The Moretti family does not forget. Integrity, to us, is everything. Do us wrong, and you will be running for the rest of your life—and you best believe that you’re better off killing yourself than being found by us.
When we arrive at the house, the inside is in the usual commotion. My auntie is shouting at one of the guys for sticking his finger in the lobster ravioli sauce as my teenage sister Fiona’s voice echoes out from down the hall. She’s on the phone to someone or another, always on the fucking phone. And my brother, Huxley?
“Hey, where the fuck is Huxley? He should be here for this.”
“Aye, Antonio,” Vinnie, still by my side, pulls me toward the staircase. “Your brother’s taking care of some other business. Don’t worry about it. Come on, your pops is waiting. We’ll inform Huxley after.”
We take the left side of the double staircase and head to my father’s bedroom. He’s been sick for a while, but now it’s at its worst. Though the business never stops, we’ve come too far. When we enter the room, Vinnie stays by the door, and I take the chair next to the bed. My father, who has seemingly aged a decade a week, stretches out his arm, allowing me to lift him so that his back rests against the headboard of the bed. I watch as he brushes his hair back and straightens the collar of his silk sleeping shirt.
“Hey Pops, how are you feeling?”
My father—Lorenzo Moretti, our boss—sweeps my concerns away with a wave of his hand.
“Antonio,” he says with a gravel in his voice, “there’s something I need you to take care of.”
He sweeps his legs off the side of the bed, puts his feet in the slippers. “Give me a hand, would you?”
I help him to stand and follow him closely as he walks to the large window that faces the front courtyard of the house.
“If I had the strength, I would take care of this business myself.” He looks down just as my brother Huxley pulls up to the house in his Lamborghini, a girl in a short silver dress stumbling out with him. “You’re going to have to take control of a lot of our interests around here, to take care of things for me.”
I nod, watching along with my father as my brother takes a moment to grab some ass before he enters the house, pushing the girl against the car and sliding his hand under her dress.
“Your brother’s a good kid, he just needs a slap on the head now and then, needs to gain some responsibility.” My father turns to me. “You understand?”
I nod again, noticing Vinnie nodding along with him from the corner of the room.
“This accountant, we found him upstate. I want you to take your brother and to take back what he took from me. That means you can put a beating on him, but don’t kill him, not yet. He needs to pay his debt first. And if he doesn’t have the money, then take everything else he has instead. Everything.”
* * *
“This is it,that’s the place.” Vinnie points to a small bookshop on the street opposite us. We’ve brought along my kid brother, made him do the driving while Vinnie and I sit in the back. Our windows blacked out, and it’s for the best. In a small town like this, it’s better to go in quietly, to be inconspicuous for now.
“Pull in here,” I tell Huxley, pointing to the side of the street a few hundred feet away from the store.