“Well, uh, I want to be, too,” Davo says, straightening up a bit. "I think it's badass. I want in.”
Enzo and Emilio exchange looks.
“Fuggedaboutit, kid," Emilio chimes in. “It’s not all pasta and hot broads.”
"You don't know what you’re asking for, boy," Enzo agrees. “Even if it were an option for pansexual Australian drug dealers to join the mafia, which it isn’t, you wouldn’t last two seconds.”
“Yeah?" Davo says. “I lasted this long, didn’t I? I brought you information. I’m useful. I'm the only one who knows Alejandro. Why can’t you give me a chance? My grandmother was Italian.”
“Fucking Christ,” Emilio curses. “Everybody with an Italian cookbook thinks they can join these days. It's not the fuckin’ Boy Scouts. You don’t get a merit badge for participation.”
“We could use him,” Enzo says thoughtfully, surprising me with his response. He stands up, deep in thought, looking at each and every one of us in turn. He could call my father right now, flood Boston with enough manpower to turn the streets red, but I get the feeling Enzo might try to handle this himself. I know he’s got something to prove, and I know he has leadership aspirations. I just don’t think he ever figured this group of unlikely souls would end up being his crew.
“He's a fuckin’ mess,” Emilio says.
“Yeah. Take him to the ER,” Enzo says. “Get him checked out. Then get him cleaned up. And get rid of the drugs. All of them."
“Uhm, if I’m going to work Alejandro, I need drugs,” Davo points out. “I’m a dealer. Can't be a dealer without drugs. People get suspicious. And really pissed off. I’ve got clients who need their stuff.”
“Since when did I sign up to be a junkie babysitter?” Emilio complains.
“You can stay here if you want, and we can have a talk about what you did to Mia's apartment," Enzo says coolly. I shiver. God, I love this guy.
“C’mon kid, we're gettin’ outta here," Emilio says, grabbing Davo by the back of the shirt and pulling him up out of the chair.
They leave, and then it's just me, Enzo, and the splatters of Davo's blood on the floor. I’m shaken by what I saw, though I’m trying to maintain my composure and not freak out at Enzo. I’ve spent all this time telling him I'm not a little girl and I know what mafia life is like. If I break down now, it’s just another reason for him to shut me out.
“You never said sorry to Davo.”
"I didn't have anything to apologize for,” Enzo says remorselessly.
“If he hadn’t come here, we wouldn’t know about this Alejandro guy."
"We still don't know about this Alejandro guy,” Enzo says. “I don't take the word of a junkie."
"He's not a junkie! He's a dealer!" I’m repeating myself, and nobody is listening.
“As if it makes a difference," Enzo says. “I’ll look into it. In the meantime, you're staying here. No going out for any reason. No classes, no friends, nothing.”
"I can’t live like that, Enzo. I might as well go back to my father if that's how it's going to be.”
“Going back to your father might be very well what happens,” Enzo says, not meeting my eyes. “My priority is keeping you safe."
I watch as he goes to the kitchen, grabs some Lysol and a paper towel and starts cleaning up the blood on the floor like he's done it a million times before. I can't help wondering how much blood Enzo has shed. How many lives he's taken. And why he thinks he can keep me safe when we live in a world which is anything but.
Enzo functions inside a prison without walls. There are people inside his circle, the real ones. Then there are people outside it, the disposable ones like Davo. I feel sorry for him most of all. They’re going to use him and hang him out to dry when they're done, and they won't feel one bit of guilt for having done it either.
“Go get ready for bed, Mia,” Enzo says. “It's late.”
I bite my lower lip, weighing the options of keeping on arguing with him to no avail, or giving up and doing as he says.
“The world is changing, Enzo. You're going to have to change with it.”
He picks up the blood stained paper towel in one hand and points toward the bedrooms with the index finger of his other hand.
“Bed. Now.”
Chapter 12
Enzo
She stares at me for a moment when I order her to bed, as if trying to hedge her bets. I doubt she questions whether or not I’ll whip her ass if she defies me now. I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again, especially now, when I’ve exhausted every ounce of patience. I can only guess, then, that she’s weighing whether or not she wants a spanking.
When she doesn’t scurry off to bed like a good little girl, I get to my feet, fully prepared to bend her over my knee and spank her into submission, but as soon as I step toward her, she runs. She almost trips on her too-big sweats, but catches herself just in time. Slams the door.
Ha. As if that would keep me out.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and draw in a breath.
I can’t shield her from this world. She was born into it, and she’s as much a part of the tapestry of the family as any of us. I can’t shield her from the violence or the danger either. The only thing I can do is keep her safe, and hell, I’ll do whatever it takes until I draw my last breath to do just that.
She won’t like being on lockdown with me. She won’t like not having her freedom, but what she doesn’t know is the little freedom she had was only an illusion anyway. She’s the daughter of Piero Russo. Her fate was sealed the moment she drew her first breath.
There will be no freedom, no globe trotting, no hitting shopping malls with her friends. And goddamn, if that isn’t the biggest mistake her father’s made in all this.
Normal fathers who spoil their daughters reap the consequences of their actions by raising selfish, dependent children. Piero’s done far worse. He’s deceived her. Given her false hope. Let her dream. And I’m the guy who’ll shatter those dreams.
A part of me wonders if he did that on purpose. Was shattering the dreams of a beautiful, innocent girl like Mia part of my punishment?
I wash my hands in the bathroom sink, staring as the sudsy water tinged with pink swirls down the drain. I scowl at the lacerations on my hands.
I could’ve killed them both tonight and not thought twice about it. Davo, for daring to come near my girl when I fucking warned him, and Emilio, who’s a fucking douchebag prick. I shake my head. He’s goddamn lucky I didn’t kick his ass.
I need a fucking shower and a good night’s sleep.
I peel my clothes off and toss them in the hamper, turn the shower on, and wait until hot steam billows into the bathroom.
I wonder how she is. Was she affected by what she saw tonight? A vivid reminder of her past, her present, and her future? Does she think I’m a monster? Christ, I hope she does. If she has any stupid fantasy about me being a good guy, we might as well clear that up. Christ.
I step into the shower and stifle a groan. She’s taken the whole damn thing over.