26
Antonio
“Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?” Father Cusano reads to us. The casket where my father, the late Lorenzo Moretti, lies is already in the ground. Our whole family and our associates looking down on him. My sister and auntie are crying. “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors…”
We took turns to throw our handful of dirt, and I waited until the end, to be the last to say goodbye, as is tradition. And so did a line form at the edge of the cemetery, the members of the family in the congregation to congratulate me. The new boss, capo mandamento, the successor who came just in time to see the edges of his father’s successful reign falter, weaken as enemies slowly but surely surround us.
Back at the house, we drink in remembrance. At one end of the living room, my auntie has prepared a table full of food. The bar has been restocked, our attendees are scattered around, and the kids weave in and out of the different groups. I stand for a moment with a few of the old guys, the men who knew my father from back in the day. They share stories back and forth about him.
“Antonio, did your father ever tell you about the time we got stuck in the Lincoln Tunnel with a van full of stolen cigarette cartons?” One of the guys asks me. His gray hair is slicked back, and a gold miraculous medal hangs over his black shirt and jacket.
I shake my head.
“I swear, when the patrol car came, I thought for sure we’re all going to be taking a vacation. Then, Lorenzo, the crazy fucker, had the balls to stick up the pork-smelling asshole. I tell you, that guy shit his pants. Your father handcuffed him to the side of the road after we jump-started the van using the patrol car. Can you believe that?”
All the guys around started laughing, patting each other on the shoulders. I join them and even stay to hear a couple more tales. In many ways, I’m jealous of those guys. They describe a lighter side to him, a man worlds apart from the father me, my brother, and sister knew. In a way, it makes it easier to say goodbye. After a while, I make my excuses and leave the group, leaving with multiple pats on my back, each one given as a sign of respect. Soon enough, I’m searching for a quiet place to hide, so I sneak off into my father’s office on the other side of the house. Even if just for a minute, I get an overwhelming need to relieve the pressure building inside my head.
Opening the door, I’m immediately hit with a thick musky air, but I don’t mind. I inhale deeply as if standing in an open field. It’s been a hell of a few days, and when I should be focused on my first move as head of the family, I’m still thinking about Mia. Fuck, man, what a shit show that’s been. I don’t know what it is about her. The closer I find myself getting, the more volatile my actions become, no matter how aware I am of the fact or not. I know when it’s happening, yet I’m incapable of stopping myself. And even now, I know I should be focusing on more pressing issues, like how to succeed a man like my father. With that thought, I drag my knuckles across his mahogany desk that faces the door. I take a seat on the chair and lean back, closing my eyes just for a moment.
Or would have liked to if Huxley and Vinnie didn’t enter the office.
“Already behind the desk.” My brother says. He walks over to the mini bar in the corner of the room. He opens a bottle of bourbon and pours three glasses, putting an ice cube in each before giving a glass to me and to Vinnie. “Saluti, to health and happiness.”
“Saluti, Don Antonio,” Vinnie raises his glass. I raise mine in return and we drink.
“Boss,” he continues, “I know it’s ill of me to discuss business on a day of mourning, but we just got news that a few of our investments have been approached by our competitors. Now, they never acted but asked a lot of questions. So it looks like—”
“They’re getting ready for a move,” I interrupt Vinnie. “You know who they represent?”
“We have reason to believe it’s coming from the Corsetti family.”
“Get the fuck out of here! Jersey’s stepping on our feet, no way.” Huxley takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “You know what I think, Antonio? I think we act before they can even show their cards—squash them before they even think of moving.”
“I don’t know, boss,” Vinnie tries to say his peace. “It’s going to look like we’re the ones initiating a war.”
“Vinnie’s right,” I agree, “before we move, we need reasonable cause to do so, otherwise the other families will question our motives. With that said, somebody’s out there thinking that without my father at the table, we’re weak. So, let’s show them that we’re not.”
I turn to my brother. “From tomorrow, I want you and Vinnie to get everybody ready. If there’s going to be an attack, we have to be prepared to counter.”
“You got it.” Huxley downs his glass.
“But for now, let us remember our father, Lorenzo Moretti. Let this night be for him.”
* * *
I toldHuxley and Vinnie to rejoin our guests, to get their drinking and fucking out of the way, because as of tomorrow we’re going to have to focus and have our heads straight. Likewise, not one thought passes my mind without it diverging toward Mia. The problem is, I’m not exactly sure where we left our conversation last time. It ended so abruptly, the only thing that’s apparent to me is that it can’t carry on like this. Either she leaves the house and goes on with her life, or we find a way to clear the air between us. To be honest, though, watching her walk away from here is not an outcome I’m wishing for.
I gather a plate of cold cuts, bread, and some wine, making my way to her room with genuine anxiety brewing in my stomach. Since the restaurant, I don’t know, it’s like I’m incapable of making things right with her. But what was the alternative? To let her lose her shit at me on the street? No matter how I feel about her, she has to get to grips with the idea that everyone is looking at me. And if I lose even an ounce of respect from the people out there on the streets, then it’s game over.
Funny thing is that leading up to our date at the restaurant, I was beginning to form a good idea of who Mia was as a person. All that time we spent talking, and don’t get me started on our sex, it was like nothing I’ve experienced before. So powerful. The way she finally opened herself up to me, being so unapologetic about what she desires. Then, all of a sudden, she goes batshit and for what? Because I gave a guy a few licks? Come on. I tell you, just when I thought she’s actually the perfect girl for me, someone that could take all the bullshit this business throws at us, to be able to adapt. Fuck, I don’t know, just a big part of me keeps saying that she’s worth a shot.
I unlock the door but knock and wait.
“Mia, it’s me,” I say.
There’s a pause, and just when I think she’s never going to answer, she does. “What do you want?”
“I brought you some food.”