Ason
“Damn, Ason. Are you trying to kill me?” Talon shouted out, as he caught the ball I had just thrown.
After kissing Scarlette, I had run straight to the baseball field. I still had an hour before practice started so I had called Talon and made him come here so I could get some throwing in. My anger poured of me in waves.
Throwing the glove on the ground, Talon rubbed his hand. I could see that his hand was red and starting to swell. I should feel bad, but I didn’t.
“Shut up and catch the ball,” I shouted.
Shaking his head, Talon started to walk toward me. I didn’t want to talk to him because I feared I may admit what I had done. Kissing Scarlette was wrong and dangerous, yet it had felt like being born again. Never in my life had I felt such a rush in my life.
It was insane, because Talon and I always talked about girls. They were conquests to us and nothing more, but with Scarlette, she was something to keep as a secret. A precious prize not to be flaunted or put in the same category as all the other girls we messed around with.
“I’m not going to do anything until you tell me what in the hell is going on. I mean, you are always a mood asshole, but something is off,” he said, his eyes narrowing in on me.
“Watch how you talk to me, Talon,” I warned.
Talon towered over me, his broad frame blocking out the fading evening sunlight. Everyone else was terrified of Talon. Not just because of his size, but because of his rowdy behavior. He had no problem fighting or picking up something and throwing them across the field if needed. I knew though, that he would never step up to me like that. We both knew that I was possibly going to be the capo of the Antoni Mafia Family one day. No one fucked with the boss.
“Ason, you need to figure your shit out. I’m calling a meeting tonight when you get home,” he announced, like he was some fucking big shot.
I went to argue with him, but to my shock and surprise, Talon walked away.
By the end of practice, I had destroyed two of our pitcher’s gloves and almost broken my bat.
I had never been more thankful for the sport of baseball in all of my life. If I couldn’t take out all of my anger and aggression on the field, I seriously worried that I would have killed someone by now. I mean, it was in my blood to be a killer.
When I got home, my parents were in the kitchen and I could hear the voices of my uncles, too.
“Ason, come in here,” my dad announced.
Dropping my baseball bag to the floor in the foyer, I stepped into the large kitchen where my dad sat at the kitchen table with Solly, Chance, and Ryder. My mom was busy at the stove, removing a pan of baked spaghetti from the oven.
Dread consumed me as I watched them all eye me carefully. Sitting down next to my dad, I tried to keep my face as expressionless as possible.
“How was practice?” dad asked.
“It was fine,” I stated, shrugging my shoulders.
Mom placed a plate in front of me and I dug in immediately, savoring the sweet scent of her homemade sauce. Garlic and herbs raced along my taste buds and I almost moaned from the pleasure of the taste.
"That's good," dad began. I could tell he was just making small talk. “We were out taking care of some business earlier, and decided tonight would be a good time to talk to you about your future,” dad began.
When he said ‘business’ I knew that he was referring to mafia business.
Illegal guns.
Killing.
Working out of their Savannah casino night club.
I took another bite of the food, nodding along as though I were really concerned about this conversation. I knew it didn’t matter what I wanted. My life had already been planned out for me before my conception. My father was in the mafia once he became my age. It was destined to be my fate. That thought had me feeling lifeless.
Smacking my back, Chance laughed. “Come on, kid. Don’t look so worried. We aren’t going to ask you to wack anyone just yet.”
My head snapped to the side as I glared at Chance. He thought all of this shit was funny. Chance and my dad both grew up in this lifestyle, while Ryder and Solly begged, pleaded, and did anything they could to find a spot in the mafia.
“Funny,” I mumbled.