“I’m out with my wife,” Capo said, cutting him off. He took another sip of his whiskey. “We’ll talk business later. Right now, you have a job to do. And that’s to clean this table. I want it spotless. After, you’ll help Emilio box the leftovers. Then you’ll search the streets for the hungriest people you can find. You’ll feed them.”
“Yes, sir.” Bruno started clearing away everything we’d eaten, and I tried to avoid his eyes and the nearness of him when he came close to grab a dish or silverware.
It was so fucking awkward that I wanted to kick Capo in the shin with my sharp heels for doing what he did. Who did he think he was? The king of New York? He couldn’t react this way whenever someone was mean to me. Beyond that, this made me feel even worse. It shone a big light on what had been done, and it proved to Bruno that he had gotten to me. He had made me feel small. Insignificant.
Whenever a server would enter, Capo would dismiss him. He wanted Bruno to handle it all by himself while I sat and watched, like that would make me feel better.
After all of the plates had been cleared and Bruno had wiped madly, polishing the fancy table, he came close enough to me that I could smell the dumpsters on him. A missed crumb fell in my lap, and he apologized, but when I met his eye, he gave me the coldest look. When I looked at Capo, he was staring straight ahead again, raking his teeth over his bottom lip.
A second later, Capo was out of the chair, the heavy wood turned over onto the floor, and he had Bruno pinned against the wall. A few servers came in carrying desserts, Sylvester right behind them, and when he noticed what was going on, he shooed the servers in and shut the door. The servers and Sylvester stood clustered in a darkened corner, watching.
I stood, squeezing my fingers, not sure what to do.
Capo’s voice was low, but understandable. He was telling Bruno that he knew what he had done to me, when I was out on the street, and when he was cleaning the table, and if he ever saw him so much as look at me again, he’d fuck him up beyond repair.
I glanced at the servers. None of them would even look at me. No wonder. They were too afraid.
Without making a sound, I slipped out of the room, passed the dining area and bar, and went out the front door. Giovanni appeared out of nowhere, calling for me to wait for Capo, but I refused. I didn’t stop until Capo grabbed me by the arm, forcing me to.
His eyes almost glowed in the darkness, looking murderous. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“I don’t know! But I need some space.”
“Space, ah?”
He took my arm, leading me out of the way of pedestrian traffic. There was a sports bar on the corner, where televisions playing a variety of games lined the walls. One television played the news.
I flung my arm out of his hold when we were to the side. “Space, Capo. Do you need the definition of the word?” Damn Caspar. His definition clause had gotten to me.
Capo took a step back, glaring at me. “Space.” He spelled the word. “Position (two or more items) at a distance from one another. I know very well what the word means, Mariposa. What I don’t fucking know is why you want it.”
“Ass,” I said. “Do you know the definition of that one?”
“You’re testing my patience.”
Oooh, I wanted to say, but didn’t. “You embarrassed me!” I shouted. “No one, not even Bruno, has ever made me feel that small.” I started to pace in a circle, making circles with my wedding ring around my finger. “I’m no better than those people who serve you, and they’re afraid to look at me now! They’re behaving like I’m someone. When I’m not. I’m not—” I flung my arm out. “I’m not you. And that asshole Bruno? You basically told him what he did hurt me!”
“It did.”
“So? He didn’t know that! Not until tonight!”
“As your capo,” he snapped at me, “I protect you. If anyone touches one of the girls at The Club, there are consequences.”
I’m not one of your employees; I’m your wife! I wanted to shout. But a second later I realized how wrong that was to think, much less share. It was a lie. He was my capo. I even had it engraved on the ring around his finger to prove it.
He continued, not missing a beat. “Most people know better, but the ones who don’t catch on quick enough. You’re my wife. Your flesh, blood, and bone belong to me, and so do your feelings. Someone hurts you. They hurt me. Capisci? I hunt for you only. And always remember this, Mariposa. ‘It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both.’ People will fear you. Why? They see me standing behind you. I don’t cower. I don’t fucking bend. I kneel for no mere man on this earth.”
I looked away from him for a second. My eyes caught the tattoo on his hand. All that he had just said suddenly made sense—why he had gotten the permanent mark on his body. I don’t cower. I don’t fucking bend. I kneel for no mere man on this earth. That was my husband. All of him. He had never done anything to make me believe otherwise.
“They all know who you’re married to now,” I whispered. A girl from the streets. A girl who has nothing to offer, only take. No one knew about this arrangement, so from the outside, it looked one-sided.
“Mariposa,” he said. “That’s who I married. The girl who had a drink on the menu before she showed up at the door.”
“You named the drink after me before we were married?”
“It was the first item on the menu. I didn’t name any of the others.”
“Why?”
“A reminder.”
Again, I couldn’t read the look on his face. He was still pissed off, but some of the ice had melted. When I couldn’t hold his stare any longer, I turned from him, staring into the window of the sport’s bar. My eyes narrowed on a strip of news playing at the bottom of a screen.
Breaking News.
A picture flashed on the screen.
Quillon Zamboni found dead.
Strangled.
In the end, he couldn’t breathe.
Neither could I.
Capo’s hand touched my shoulder, and I looked up at him. He removed my hand from my face. It was covering my mouth.
People will fear you. Why? They see me standing behind you.
My husband was the big bad wolf, snarling at anyone who came too close. I hunt for you only.
I swallowed hard, feeling like my throat was closing up, but the air around me moved, entering my lungs. “Capo.” His name came out solid, though I felt anything but. “Do you know a guy named Merv?”
“Knew. Briefly.” This time he looked away, at the screen, no expression on his face. “I should have told you. Vera II is actually Vera I. She was a welcome-home gift. Those plants. They seem to have roots made of steel.”
I took a deep, deep breath, sighed it out, and then, with a trembling hand, slipped mine into his steady one.
14
Mariposa
New York had become a battleground I’d survived for too long. Every sound was a war cry. Every season gave reason to run and hide, some unknown element coming at me. Every smell was bloodied. Every sight was someone fighting to live.
Italy, Italia, was the promised land after the long and grueling fight.