I didn’t want to have to deal with my husband’s fury when he found out that I’d slipped out without telling him right away, or any of the men at the house. I’d played them all and knew I was going to have hell to pay.
24
Capo
Did she really think I wouldn’t find her? Just because she didn’t take her watch didn’t mean I couldn’t track her a different way.
It didn’t take me long to find them. It didn’t take me long to realize where she’d gone first and who stared at my wife. The Scarpones. She must’ve realized it, too, because not long after her friend got back to the car, they took off like the devil was on their heels.
He was, but the wrong one.
I followed them to Staten Island. My gut told me they’d be headed that way. After her friend parked the car and they stepped out, Harry Boy met them at the door, the biggest fucking smile on his face when he noticed his sister wasn’t alone.
The smile was for my wife.
She smiled back, but not as wide. When he got closer, she held up her hand, and he looked at it a minute before he caught on. Instead of hugging him, she offered him a high five. His smile dropped a little, but I knew it wouldn’t deter him for long.
Then a puppy came bounding out of the door, a white German shepherd. My wife sat on the porch, letting the dog attack her with his tongue, while she laughed that laugh that twisted my heart in a weird fucking way. Harry Boy ate it up with an invisible spoon.
So this was where she went when she ran from me.
She told me she loved me.
She fucking loves me.
Then she runs to her old stomping ground and into Harry Boy’s safe house.
It took a lot to stump me, and Harry Boy was far from it. Even though he bought the house without me in mind, he knew someday, when we’d fight, she’d run to him—to a place she felt comfortable.
Fuck. That.
Fuck Harry Boy, too.
Fuck love.
Where is the loyalty she vowed to me?
My wife stood, trying to keep the dog down, and then said something to Harry Boy. He made a gesture like, you don’t have to ask, and a second later, she disappeared behind the front door. His sister stood outside with him, putting her hand on his arm. Then she went to the car, dug around for a second, and after, brought him a framed picture of a baseball glove and a jersey.
He hugged her, but the woman inside was more important.
He said something to his sister. She said something back. And then he turned around in a circle, running his hands through his hair.
I wondered if Harry Boy’s sister told him about my wife’s pregnancy.
He didn’t seem happy. In fact, he was livid.
I smiled.
His sister nodded and then touched her stomach before she touched him on the arm, and when he waved her off, she left him outside by himself. She must’ve been confirming the news. Mariposa was pregnant with my child.
The time was right. Tempers had ignited from both sides.
With each step that I took, the clocks reversed, and I was seventeen again, going after my adversary. The one who kept trying me, but this time, it was over a woman, and that woman was my wife.
There was a moment of clear clarity between my boots on his lawn and the first hit, but that shocking word flashed across my mind in that thin space. Jealousy. It felt like a poker right out of hell that wouldn’t stop stabbing me in a raw spot. I was jealous that this motherfucker had my wife’s attention.
She refused to talk to me. She refused to look at me. She refused to feed me. She refused to sleep with me. She refused to fuck me. But here she was, strolling down memory lane with this loser, petting his hairy dog.
He had seen me coming, so it was no surprise when my fist slammed into his face. I wasn’t here to kill him, but to fight him. Death was easier. This. This was fighting for her honor. I wanted him to know and to remember. I wanted him to remember my fist hitting his jaw when he thought about her.
This fight felt like it was a long time coming.
He was giving just as much as I was. Before long, neighbors started bringing their lawn chairs out, watching us go at it like two snarling dogs on his front lawn, fighting over a piece of territory.
“You stole her from me!” he grunted out.
I landed a blow to his ribs, and the neighbors made a collective ooh sound. “She’s always been mine, Harry Boy. You couldn’t steal her even if you tried. She’s in my fucking front pocket.”
He landed a blow to my mouth and one of the neighbors hooted. “I told her.” He swung at me again but missed. “When you fucked up, she’d be here with me. And where is she? In my house.”
I rammed him like a bull with my head, right in the gut, and we went down to the ground, grunting, landing punches wherever we could.
The first watery hit didn’t register, not until the cold clung to it. Adrenaline pumped in my veins and my blood ran hot. The sprays kept coming. Harry Boy jumped up first, lifting his hands in surrender, spitting blood from his mouth. I stood right after and received another sharp spray to my chest.
His sister had the hose. “That’s enough!” she yelled. “The both of you!”
“I—” Harry Boy went to defend his actions, no doubt, and his sister hit him with the spray again, this time in his mouth.
“Harrison.” Her voice was mean. “Knock it off. You know I won’t let up until you stop with the excuses. Now get your ass inside before you catch cold!”
“Sissy boy,” I muttered.
She hit me with the hose again. “You! I’ll get you some dry clothes, but only if you shut it!”
I narrowed my eyes at her, and she narrowed back. No wonder Cash Kelly wanted her. She wasn’t fucking playing around. She was an archer, too, and from what Mariposa had told me, she had unchallenged aim.
Instead of staring at her, I looked toward the porch, where my wife stood, holding on to the railing. The dog sat next to her, looking up, tongue hanging out. She had his loyalty already.
“What are you doing here, mio marito?”
Not Capo. My husband. Not that I minded, but she refused to use my name, my real name. The one she’d given me. It was the only name I called mine.
Her friend took the hose and started rolling it up, going to the side of the house. Giving us privacy but not.
“I’ve come to collect my wife. She ran out on me.”
“No.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I needed some space.”
“There’s enough of that between us.”
“You’re not mad that I left on my own?”
“No. I’m not mad.” I rolled my teeth over my bottom lip. “I’m livid.”
She watched me for a moment. The sun fell on her just right, and something in my heart twisted again. Her sweater showed the bulge of her growing stomach. I swallowed hard, ignoring the fact that my throat strained.
“You’re owed that,” she said.
“But nothing else.”
“No, that’s the problem. You’re owed everything.”
I took a step toward her. She didn’t move. She stood her ground while my entire world rocked.
“You owe me nothing,” I said.
“Not even loyalty?”
“You give it if you want to.” I took another step toward her. This time she went right, toward the steps, and after I took a step up, she looked down at me. “I refuse to accept anything that’s not given anymore.”