7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Marco
B right and early, fueled by caffeine, irritation, and very little sleep, I blew through the door of my father’s office and strode straight toward his desk, foregoing all pleasantries. I was not in the mood for any shit today. Hell, I was rarely in the mood but more often than not, I could fake my way through it. Not today. Not after the shit show I'd witnessed.
“We need to talk,” I ground out, planting my hands on his desk with more force than needed.
Pops held up an index finger and continued his phone call as if I wasn't even there. “That's correct. We’ll have a team ready to accept the first shipment by the end of the week. Once I have a location for you, I'll be in touch.”
He skimmed my expression, unimpressed, as the man on the other end of the line said something. I wasn't surprised he didn't take the bait. He’d been dealing with far worse temper tantrums from Gianluca all these years. It served to piss me off even more.
“Very good. Wait for my call. If everything goes according to plan, this will be a beneficial transaction for both of us. I see a lot of money in our future. Ciao, signore. Do not call again.” The phone clattered back into the cradle as my father hung up. He jerked his chin toward a chair and leaned back in his. “Sit, my son.”
With a roll of my eyes better suited to a teenager, I pushed off the desk and collapsed into the chair as directed. I rubbed my palm over the stubble I'd neglected to shave and expelled a heavy breath.
“Tell me what is bothering you, Marco.” The picture of calm and collected, Pops folded his hands over his stomach. “You did well yesterday. The reports from the street are all as I expected.”
“I'm not working with those idiots you call a team. I refuse.”
“Too bad. Make it work.” My father cocked his head and squinted. “I know you're capable.”
“It's not about me. These men… these children… are not capable. They're animals. Reckless, deranged, incompetent—”
“Enough,” Pops barked, leaning forward to place his palms on the desk. “This will all be yours one day, son. Get the job done. No fuck ups.”
My spine stiffened. No fuck ups? The insult was a direct blow. We both knew I did time because of a dirty fucking cop and not because I'd fucked up. I did a lot of time, all things considered. Four fucking years of my life, gone. Four years and then some, because I definitely wasn't the same man I was before I got tossed in a cell. I resented his tone. I resented what he implied. I resented the fact that for four fucking years, I was left to languish alone without any contact with my family. Logically, I knew why. It made sense on paper—the distance between us while I served out my sentence kept them safe. But damn, did it hurt. It hurt more than I could explain.
I scowled and scratched at my jaw, turning my eyes toward the glittering galaxy of sunlight reflecting off hundreds of thousands of windows in the distance. What a fucking joke.
“Here are the names for the contacts we’ve been sent so far.” He pushed another one of his stupid fucking index cards across the desk. “I need you to make the initial connections in the next day or so. We're expecting our first shipment this week, as you heard.”
“Yeah, fine.” I collected the card with a sigh. “Shipment of…?”
It could be anything. Car parts. Weed. Coke. Money.
“Firearms from overseas.”
I nearly choked on my tongue. That was the last thing I expected him to say. “Arms dealing? Are you fucking with me?”
“No, I'm not one to fuck around, Marco. It's time we diversified. I didn't think you'd be keen to sling dope and fentanyl is too much of a risk. But the arms deals will set you up nicely.” He waved a hand toward the door. “I have calls to make—”
“Buying or selling,” I cut in with a growl.
“Both. We’re starting small to test the waters. I have some contacts in Russia for larger deals.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I flew from the chair and paced toward the window and back. “This isn't what I agreed—”
“You agreed to whatever I said and you’ll continue to agree. Yes, this will all be yours one day, and you can do what you will with it, but right now, I am in charge, and this is the direction we're taking!” His voice rose to match mine, shaky with anger and frustration.
“Fuck you! You give me a fucking joke of a crew and expect me to start a fucking arms dealing ring all because you said so? Fuck you!”
“That’s enough, Marco! Get the fucking job done or else!” The stress in his body was visible as he bellowed at me. Tightness around his eyes, a tremble in his hands, the tension in his shoulders. My father was at the end of his rope and the direct result was my ass on the line to make his life easier. I shook my head in disgust and turned on my heel. He had me by the balls. It was either in or out, and the latter option was too depressing to consider. Of course I'd get the job done. I'd probably end up dead in the process, but he evidently didn't care about that. Frankly, neither did I.
My mom’s voice called out my name as my shoes clicked over the floor of the foyer. I hesitated and glanced toward the kitchen door to find her peering around the frame. Fists clenched and jaw tight, I shook my head and mouthed a silent apology. I didn't have it in me. I was already hurting, already resentful, already on edge. I didn't think I could handle any more guilt, intentional or not.
“Marco? Baby, please—”
“Not today, Mom.” My voice cracked under the pressure. “Please?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded nevertheless. Remorse colored her features and made her look far older than I'd ever seen. Another shot straight to the heart. I clenched and unclenched my fists before turning to continue my escape. If I didn't burn off some steam, I was liable to lay someone out in a fit of rage. Or crawl back into bed and never leave. Both options sounded exceptionally tempting, so I knew I had to do something to counteract it.
In a daze, I found myself back at my apartment only long enough to change into workout clothes and grab a bottle of water. The fog followed me all the way to the gym in the building. I wanted so desperately for it to be empty, but there was no luck for me in that respect. Of all the people I didn't want to deal with right now, my brother was high on the list. To my chagrin, he was parked right on the weight bench. I groaned out loud.
“Nice to see you too, ass.”
“Please, not today,” I muttered, detouring to the treadmill instead of the weights.
“Damn, who pissed in your fucking cereal this morning?” Gianluca racked the free weight and strolled over with a smirk. “I still got Twinkerbelle’s—”
“Gianluca, I can't do this with you right now!” My voice came out far louder and more strained than I intended, echoing around the cavernous room before silence swept in to swallow even the smallest sound.
“Marc,” Gianluca murmured softly, his hand reaching out to clasp the nape of my neck. “Hey… I'm sorry. Shit, man. What's going on?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I closed my eyes and briefly let myself absorb the rare moment of quiet between us.
“Fuck that, I always worry. Talk to me, bro.” Gianluca pulled me away from the treadmill and forced my ass onto the bench. “Please?”
My elbows landed on my knees and my head landed in my hands. “Your so called friends are fucking animals. I hate them all. I hate what Henny did to you, I hate what they do to Henny. I hate the new direction Pops wants to take the business. I hate the work, I hate myself, I hate all of it, and no one gives a fuck.”
“Whoa, shit…” Gianluca crouched down in front of me and angled his face to try and make eye contact. “That’s… a lot to unpack.”
Despite myself, I huffed out a small laugh. “Surprise, my life's a fucking shit show.”
“Walk me through it.” Gianluca repositioned himself to sit cross legged in front of me. He drummed out a senseless, patternless rhythm on his knees, but otherwise remained surprisingly still. It was a remarkable improvement to his typical hyperactivity.
“You pick the worst kind of people to be friends with, Gian.” I dropped my hands from my head to let them dangle between my knees. “I'm still pissed you hang out with fucking Brandon after what he did.”
“You're gonna have to help me, I ain't smart like you. The fuck are you even talking about?”
I boggled at him and shook my head. “When he stole your meds in middle school. He's the entire reason you got kicked out of the school. He's the reason you got shipped out to Nonna’s farm—”
“Hold the fuck up,” Gian blurted, pressed a clammy palm to my mouth. “You got this so fucking wrong, my head is spinning.”
I recoiled and sneered, wiping my mouth with a scoff. “It's true. You both got kicked out. I was there for the arguments.”
“Bro, shut it.” Gianluca went back to drumming his thighs as his movements became more pressurized and frenetic. “I gave Henny those pills. If anything, I'm the reason he lost his scholarship. I'm the one who fucked up his life.”
I sat back further, squinting at his face in disbelief. “He stole them. He stole your meds and you went on a fucking rage—”
“Marc. I gave them to him. Yeah, it was dumb as fuck, but I didn't want to take those fucking pills anymore. I wanted to move to Nonna’s. I got kicked out of school for fighting. Danny Albertson wouldn't leave me, Henny, and Jer alone. I knocked his fucking teeth out. Henny got in trouble for having the pills since my name was on the bottle. He never stole shit.” Gianluca shook his head with a disappointed laugh. “That's what you've thought all this time?”
I swept my palms over my face with a groan. “Fuck me.”
“Henny's a good fucking guy, Marc. My best friend. He’s helped my ass so fucking much. And Nico’s. Fuck, he saved our damn lives when Leda went off the rails.” His hand cupped the nape of my neck as he bumped our heads together. “Give him a chance. Jericho too. I ain't close with the others. But those two? Ride or die, bro.”
“Ride or die for you. Not me—”
“Marco,” Gian stressed, gripping me tighter. “He’s the one who helped me off the fucking pig that put you behind bars.”
My world tilted on its axis. Everything I thought I'd known, plus all the things I hadn't, coalesced into a firestorm in my brain. My eyes blurred. My blood whooshed in my ears. I had to brace myself upright as tightness squeezed in my chest. Nothing at all made sense as my foundations cracked and crumbled. My brother had killed for me? My brother and fucking Brandon ?! I refused to believe it.
I stood so abruptly, Gianluca fell backwards with a startled exclamation. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't fucking breathe. My mind was pure chaos and panic as I stormed through the gym and whipped the door open so hard, it hit the wall with a loud crack. The sound reverberated in my head, and I physically felt the cracks spreading through my rib cage as I tried desperately to drag air into my lungs with no luck.
Gianluca’s voice followed, shouting my name over and over again. Marco. Marco. Marco. I couldn't stand the sound of it. I couldn't stop myself. I barreled through the door to the emergency stairwell with another loud bang as my sneakers squeaked on the concrete. Down, down, down until I tackled the door to the garage open with a grunt, pain radiating from my shoulder from the force of it. What did I care?
I scanned the space and advanced on the group of men loitering near the convoy of SUVs belonging to my father. They were his cars. His men. Fuck it all. I stalked forward, intent on escape.
“Keys.”
“Sir, I—”
“Give me a set of fucking keys now!” My body trembled from head to toe as I clenched my fists in the nearest man’s jacket. “Now!”
“Fuck, man.”
“Jones, just do it.”
I shook the man harder and only let go once he retrieved the jangling keyring from his pocket. I swiped them from his grip and pressed the fob. My eyes darted toward the sound of a car unlocking. Freedom. Control. A need so intense, it was as imperative as breathing. My feet were already moving toward the vehicle as Gianluca blew through the door in a rush.
“Marco, stop!”
It was too late. I wasn't going to stop. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. I slammed the car door closed behind me and hit the door lock. It took three tries to get the keys in the ignition, but finally, the rumble of the engine cut through the white noise in my head. Gianluca slammed his palms on the hood of the car, but I already had it in reverse. The last thing I saw in the rearview mirror was Gianluca pitching a fit in the middle of the garage.
The daylight burned my eyes with its intensity as I pulled out into the late morning traffic. Everything about this damn city was so fucking claustrophobic, it was no better than being in jail. Tall concrete barriers. Narrow spaces. The feeling of being trapped and corralled and unable to move was so overwhelming and only made my chest tighter.
I drove and drove for what felt like ages but was only half an hour. Traffic around LaGuardia Airport was insane, but I wasn't in the area to catch a flight. I pulled into a sketchy little construction site between 80th and 81st and eased the car toward the water’s edge before killing the engine. With the steering wheel clutched to my chest in a bear hug, I squinted out across Bowery Bay to the looming monstrosity perched in the middle of the East River. My home. The one I sometimes longed to return to so that life made sense again. The one I was still trapped in, no matter how many times everyone told me I was free.
Rikers Island.