Shoes fly off next. “Dibs on the shower.” I step out of my wet dress, leaving it on the now damp floor as I scamper to the tiny bathroom where I’ll warm up under the hot water. But not before I prance on my tiptoes as I wait for the hot water to make it through the old pipes.
I’m turned on and horny as hell as I step under the warm water at last. I’m wet between my legs -and it’s not from the rain. Horny and wet. I don’t think twice before I slide my hand down to my engorged lips and massage myself. I have a hand on my left breast as my right one finds my nub and those familiar feelings of desire wash over me like a waterfall, all-consuming as I tune out the world.
Except for Dante’s handsome face, his warm eyes and deep voice enhance my pleasure as I gasp when I come with little effort. It’s been so long since I’ve been laid that it’s nice to have something stiff inside me even if it was only my fingers. The release- a needed outlet for pent up sexual frustration from the last hookup I had that didn’t go anywhere.
I’m relaxed now with a warm glow as I dry my hair using a wall plug near my bed so Ava can have a turn in the bathroom. My hair is so long, blow drying takes forever. It wouldn’t take as long if I just gave in and cut it back to my shoulders, but I like it this way.
I pull on a pair of shorts with a few holes in them, shorter than Mama would approve of. I pull on a t-shirt with the university logo and put my hair in a ponytail before settling on my creaky bed to look at my picture.
Art always seems to be on my mind. When sketching, it’s all about getting the light just right and deciding what angle is best. Is it a portrait or a photojournalist approach?
Ava is back from her shower and chatting away with her family back home, providing a rhythmic back drop to the rain pelting the tiled roof. A clap of thunder makes her jump and rattles the tiny windows in our small room.
I stream an Italian opera channel to my earbuds and lie back on my twin bed. Placing my sketchbook on my lap, I pull colored charcoal from the box where I keep them stowed in slots to prevent them from breaking.
I draw a young couple kissing by the river and throw in some large trees for composition. Using the charcoals to fill in the white areas on my paper, I pay close attention to the colors needed to get the desired depth and reflection of the light.
I sink back into my pillows and rest my picture on my knees as I work with the powdery chalk that rubs off on my fingertips, blending it here and there to obtain the desired effect. I smile and softly murmur the words to the song I’m listening to. I notice another bolt of lightning and hear thunder outside but I’m safe, warm, and happy inside. I love the sound of storms and find it relaxing.
My phone clicks in my ear which means Mama is texting me. She’s wondering how I am and wants to come into the city to spend a day with me. She says Dad might come too, but if we’re doing anything other than dinner or a movie, he’ll stay home because watching women shop is torture to him. That last part makes me laugh.
I text her about my day, sending her a snapshot of my present project and let her know that I love her before she has to go make dinner. I ask her to give dad a hug for me before signing off.
I glance over at Ava, sitting on her bed with her legs crossed. She’s finished her call with her mother.
“How’s your picture?”
I flip it around to show her.
“You are wicked good,” she smiles, “you really have talent.”
“Thanks.”
The storm lets up by nightfall and we dash to the cafeteria for pizza. By the time we finish eating dinner, it’s turned into a beautiful summer evening, so we decide to grab a gelato around the corner for dessert.
Many tourists are gone by this time of night. Now, it’s just us and a few locals as we make our way to the gelateria. We ask for two scoops of lemon in a cup and eat it as we walk back to the dorms and I forget about the men dressed in black.
5
Dante
As much as it goes against my code, I can’t help but wonder if I will want an heir at some point in my life. Targeting wives and children used to be considered off-limits but that has changed and it’s not something to be taken lightly, to put someone in that kind of danger. For my generation, having kids outside of marriage is growing in popularity, but I still think any kind of family is a responsibility and a liability. I vowed to never have a wife or child and seeing as how I’m the leader of ourfamiligia, it’s been quietly accepted.
Much has changed over the years, and at times, I think maybe it is a blessing that Babbo didn’t survive the massive heart attack that killed him two years ago. I love him, but I know he couldn’t leave the past behind and keep up with changing times. Change is hard for anyone, but mostly men of his stature and background who like to do business with a handshake or over a glass of scotch and a cigar.
I could sense his frustration with the younger generation. They tried their best to work for him, but the young kids were the bane of his existence. There was a dangerous disconnect that was frustrating for all parties concerned. Ultimately, I viewed this as a liability to the organization and leadership saw it as a managerial weakness. For most of us, our underlings are mediocre at best. Like every business, good help is hard to find.
Babbo didn’t grow up with privilege and wealth. Grandpa had plenty of money but lived conservatively. Always prepared for turf wars, strikes at ports, and whatever other nonsense came under the loose term of ‘doing business’, he kept the organization going as the landscape around him changed.
Lean times hit during the war with the Contis, but the worst part was that it spilled onto the streets and resulted in hits on the sons of both families. After both the Contis and the Michelis lost a son to hits, both families agreed that things needed to deescalate.
But it was too late. Soon, our faces were forever on the news, making our names synonymous with violence, drugs, and other despicable things like human trafficking that I, to this day, refuse to be a part of.
Babbo took over years later, and when he died, no foul play was suspected in his heart attack, but I beefed up security anyway. Once an enemy, always an enemy.
Growing up, I remember he adamantly refused to take aspirin for a headache. He never went to the doctor, preferring Grandma’s homemade chicken soup over any pill.
No one knew he had heart issues, and no one could have guessed how sick he was until he dropped to the ground. But I knew Babbo and knew he would have preferred it to be quick rather than being a burden or lingering on, knowing that the end was coming.