5. Ravage Me #3
Gabriel had gunned down one Bratva. While he didn’t have Teddy’s computer hacking skills, he’d find these thugs and he’d take them out.
One motherfucker at a time.
AT EIGHT O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING, Gabriel rang the doorbell of the two-story brick-front home in an older Fairfax neighborhood, forty minutes outside DC, his arms loaded down with bags.
A sleepy-looking Angelo opened the door, invited him in. He stood there in shorts, no shirt, his dark hair going in every direction.
“Who’s here?” Gabriel asked before making his way into the compact kitchen and setting the grocery bags and flowers on the counter.
“Everyone. The funeral was yesterday.” Angelo furrowed his brows. “You got a limp. What happened to you?”
“Bratva ambush.”
“You get hit?”
“Yeah, but I’m good.”
“You need my nonno’s walker?” Angelo chuckled.
“Smart ass.” Gabriel pulled the food from the bags. “How’s everyone holding up?”
Angelo shrugged. “My nonna’s a mess. Hasn’t stopped crying.”
“Put on a shirt,” Gabriel said, “then help me make them breakfast.”
Angelo disappeared. Gabriel went through the cupboards, found a skillet, got busy cracking eggs into a bowl.
He’d known the Morettis since he and Angelo had become friends in kindergarten. Even though the Morettis weren’t involved in organized crime, Angelo liked hanging with him… and Gabriel’s dad. Together, the boys grew up learning about the rougher side of life.
Their motto: We don’t need no stinkin’ childhood.
Angelo moseyed in wearing a T-shirt and worn jeans . “This is nice, you doing this for them.”
As they cooked, Gabriel explained his situation with the Bratva. “My brothers want me to leave.”
“They got a point,” Angelo said. “Lure the slime bags back with you. We take ‘em out on our turf.” He pulled bacon from the skillet. “You hate when anyone runs Santini Euro for you.”
Gabriel dropped bread into the toaster. “You’ve run it for me plenty of times.”
“Sono come uno di famiglia.” I’m like family.
“You and me, we are family,” Gabriel said.
Angelo’s grandmother shuffled into the kitchen. “Gabriel, eri troppo impegnato per venire al funerale di Giuseppe ieri? Non hai reso omaggio.” You too busy to come to Guiseppe's funeral yesterday? You don't pay your respects.
“Nonna, G’s here now,” Angelo said.
Gabriel held out the large bouquet. “Mi dispiace per la tua perdita, Nonna. Giuseppe era un brav'uomo.” I’m sorry for your loss, Nonna. Giuseppe was a good man.
She barked out a laugh. “Good man? He was a son of a bitch, but he was my husband. I loved him.” Nonna took the gift, patted his cheek. “Grazie.”
While Angelo’s grandmother got busy arranging the flowers in a vase, he and Angelo finished making breakfast.
“My sister’s in from Baltimore,” Angelo said.
Gabriel wanted to roll his eyes. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s a wreck,” Angelo’s grandmother replied. “Maybe you can console her, G.”
The aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly-brewed coffee lured Angelo’s mom and dad, the visiting cousins, and Angelo’s sister, Cece, into the kitchen.
She must’ve heard him, maybe peeked and seen him because she sauntered in wearing a low-cut, skintight T-shirt, her ultra-huge, implant boobs on full display.
She’d painted on a skirt so tiny, he silently prayed she not bend over.
He had every confidence she’d left her panties upstairs.
Clothing aside, she’d slathered on too much makeup, and her hair was teased back into the 1980’s.
“Gabriel!” she shrieked. “What a surprise!”
“Mettiti addosso qualcosa,” said Angelo’s grandmother. “Sembri una donna di strada.” Put some clothing on. You look like a lady of the night.
Gabriel bit back a smile. She meant hooker.
“So, G, how long you in town this time?” Cece asked.
Before Gabriel could answer, she sidled close, blinked up at him. “I’ve been waiting on you to invite me to your restaurant. I hear it’s the best in Northern Virginia. Real Italiano cooking, yeah? Gimme your phone number and I’ll make sure you got mine.”
He didn’t want to insult her, wasn’t about to ask her out, so he said, “I wish I could, but…”
“But what?” she snapped.
“He’s flying back to Italy,” Angelo replied.
Cece’s shoulders dropped. “Why’d I get all dressed up for then? Put on makeup, did my hair and everything.” She pushed her way through the small group and stormed up the stairs.
The kitchen table wasn’t large enough for everyone, so the cousins pulled in dining room chairs.
The family sat like sardines in a tiny aluminum can.
Gabriel loved Angelo’s family simply because they were intact.
They fought all the time. Someone was always giving someone the silent treatment.
Even so, the family stuck together, no matter what.
Gabriel shot Angelo a smile. His friend was a lucky man.
My father’s dead. My mother ran off years ago, and I’m being run out of town by my brothers.
When they finished eating, Gabriel expressed his condolences to the group before Angelo walked him out.
“Whatever you need, brother,” Angelo said.
“You want me to stay and help you take out the Bratva? You want me to go back to Italy with you? You need me to check on the businesses back home, you got it. Because of you, I have a good life. I got money. I could give my nonno a respectable funeral. I got a house here and a beautiful villa on the coast.”
Gabriel extended his hand. “I’ll let you know.”
“Sorry about my sister.”
“She knows what she wants and she goes after it,” Gabriel said. “I respect that.”
“She’s been gunning for you since we were kids. I mean, c’mon man, take a fuckin’ hint.”
Gabriel chuffed out a laugh as he made his way to his sports car, parked on the street. A quick glance around before he eased in and drove away.
He didn’t know what the Bratva knew. Maybe they thought they’d killed him. Maybe they were watching from the shadows. As he jumped on the main road, he was more determined than ever to find these hoodlums and take them out.
It would send a strong message that would make its way back to Italy. Gabriel Santini ran from no one. And he sure as hell wasn’t running now.
Bring it on motherfuckers.
Bring. It. On.