Chapter Thirty-Two-Luc
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO-LUC
I stand next to Angel in the hall as Nico has his meeting with Liam O’Doyle and his twenty year old daughter Margaret.
The old man has her pimped out in some trashy get up like she’s up for grabs and I feel nothing but revulsion.
What the fuck is wrong with him that he would blatantly offer his daughter like some carnal sacrifice?
It makes me sick.
I don’t often accompany Nico to these kinds of meetings. Not unless there is something legal to be discussed. But the O’Doyle’s are old school Irish mob, and they have something we want.
I’m not there to negotiate terms. I am there to pick up on something they might be hiding.
And I can see it as soon as I look at the old man’s wrinkled maw.
This motherfucker has Sanchez Junior.
And we want him.
But I want his brother more.
Ever since I heard Matteo Sanchez’s slimy, high-pitched voice asking Maria’s frail mother if she’s heard from her daughter, my hackles have been raised.
“You see your daughter lately, Senora Lopez? You know, she broke my heart that Mia. Yours too, si? Don’t worry, Mami. We will see her again. Soon.”
Every inch of me is on high alert. And I hate that I am here.
I fucking loathe that I left her home.
Maria is mine.
She’s become so damn important to me.
I know I have what some might regard as an unhealthy obsession, but I really don’t care.
She is essential to me. A necessary part of my life.
I need her more than I need air, or food, or water.
Maria is my sustenance.
She nourishes me with her love that she gives so freely. With her body that I find so divine. With her mind, that is brilliant and funny. And with her sweet smiles, and the way she naturally gravitates to and attracts all things joyful.
I think about the way she gave her virginity to me, and I rub the hollow part of my chest.
I recall how good she tastes on my lips, and I lick them, hoping to find a remnant of her there.
Fuck.
I wish I was back home with her.
Then I pause because I realize Maria has made my renovated warehouse a real home.
Sure, it was already set up. A little snooty for the area I grew up, but there was a lot of real estate development on the Hudson now.
But with her brightly colored pillows and her eclectic tastes in food, music, and art, she’s turned my cold, minimalist place into something warm and vibrant.
Fuck, I love her.
I’ve known it for a while now.
I haven’t said the words yet. But I should. I need to.
Maria is so damn pure and innocent. But she’s not just some goody two shoes.
She’s got a penchant for mischief. And it makes her irresistible.
My devious little minx.
I know I am not good.
I’ve done bad things.
Terrible things.
Things that some people would never dream of doing.
All that stuff started before I got my law degree. Some of it when I wasn’t even legal yet.
But with my education, I achieved a new understanding about life and the roles we take on.
I think Maria understands it, too.
She likes philosophy. I catch her reading a lot in the library, and it melts something inside of me.
She likes Dante, and when I tell her I have an old copy of The Divine Comedy in the original vernacular Italian, she begs to see it.
I show her, and we discuss religion and politics. Then I read from it, and she goes wild.
Apparently, Maria has a thing for guys who read and speak Italian.
Lucky for me, I do. And I wonder how she’ll react when she learns I speak Spanish, Greek, and a little Russian, too.
She is so fucking hot.
But philosophy is a tricky thing. It makes me think, and I’m the kind of man to get lost in thought.
Good.
Bad.
Which am I?
Am I good or bad for her?
Do I taint her with the bad things I’ve done?
I push that last thought far out of my brain. Maria might be good, too good truth be told.
But she’s lied. She’s kept secrets. She is multifaceted, like any precious gem should be.
Besides, I don’t care about all that. All I care about is that she is mine.
The things I am party to are not all legal, but I have my own ideas of right and wrong. I’m a monster sometimes.
A snake.
But I am her monster, and that makes all the difference.
I try to keep the viper inside me tightly coiled. It's the only way he doesn't take over.
But lately, he’s been slithering to the surface.
The beast in me knows when someone threatens what's mine.
And someone has been threatening my Maria.
If I let him out, if I unleash the beast and all his vengeance, I will become a thing of pure fucking rage.
If she sees it, will she shy away?
I don't want to scare her, but I need to protect her. To cherish her.
Life isn’t black and white. It’s gray.
I’m not talking fifty shades. I’m talking motherfucking thousands.
It's a tricky thing trying to say what is good and what is bad.
You can't label everything. No matter how hard you try.
I’m bad. But what I feel for Maria? That’s good.
There is no black and white.
Only gray. Hundreds of thousands of different shades of gray.
How dark you go all depends on the circumstances. Mine are pretty extenuating.
All the shit I've done.
All the tragedy I’ve seen.
My father leaving.
My sister overdosing in a dirty alley.
My mother slipping into alcoholism.
Her dealer skipping bail.
City politicians not giving a fuck.
Criminals running parks and schools.
After all the years of fighting and clawing my way up through all the shit and shitty people, now I am one of the ones in power.
The Vipers are more than a criminal syndicate. We are a family.
And family is power.
That’s something Nico identified back when we were kids, after my sister and his mother died from dirty drugs.
He knew we were better together. Stronger, too.
We slithered and crawled our way to the top. With Angel training us, backing us up, there was no stopping us then.
Just like there is no stopping us now.
O’Doyle might think he has the upper hand, hiding our enemy. But we will find him. We always do.
I’m taking notes on my cell, listening when O’Doyle’s men mention thinks like “the package” and “the prize”.
These assholes have no idea who they’re dealing with.
A few weeks ago, I watched a video of Nico Fury gauging out some asshole’s eyes for peeping on his wife.
What does this moron O’Doyle think is going to happen when I confirm Nico’s suspicion that he’s hiding the guy who threatened Nico’s pregnant wife?
Yeah.
It’s not something good, I can tell you that.
And I’m about two seconds from confirming it. I have dozens of people working for me. For the Vipers.
Hundreds, even.
When I think about Maria, I understand Nico’s actions a little better.
There is something about the curvy little seductress that disintegrates any shred of civilization left in my moral compass.
Hell.
The damn thing might be broken for all I know.
Angel’s phone pings, and he grunts, trying to take it out of his tight fucking jeans.
Not his fault, really. He’s just built like a Mack truck.
It’s been twenty minutes, and I’m getting impatient.
I should be home. With her.
An image of Matteo Sanchez flits through my mind, and I get mad.
That asshole seems to have an unhealthy attachment to my woman. And I am just the man to relieve him of that disturbing fucking delusion.
I will too. As soon as I get back home.
I should text her.
And I’m about to, but Angel finally gets his phone open.
“Oh fuck,” he grunts, and then I see Nico running towards us.