Ezra 8.
Motherfucker. Son of a bitch. Damn. Shit.
That did NOT go as planned. She was pure fire as she walked into that lobby. All heat and confidence and that body made for sin bouncing as she moved. The texture of her voice. At first, I didn’t pick up on the meaning behind it, just the way it soothed something inside me to see her and hear her for the first time in over a week. But slowly, the words registered, and I truly looked at her and saw something I didn’t like looking back at me.
Shame. Disgust. Horror.
She stared at me like I’m a monster.
I am under no illusions what we are, what my role is in the Kosher Nostra. But like so many others, what Dottie doesn’t understand is the necessity of our existence. The balance between good and evil that we enforce. We aren’t good Jewish boys, becoming doctors and saving lives, our world is dark and deadly. We live in the shadows to protect those in the light from the other monsters that creep around during the night. And we deal with the demons that wander the streets in broad daylight in suits and ties and hold respectable jobs.
We aren’t saints. We aren’t good men. But we do bad things for the right reasons. At least, most of the time. Moshe’s job, and his father’s before him, and his father’s before him, was to keep a tight leash on those who would see the world burn if left to their own devices.
I have never, not once in my life questioned the Kosher Nostra or our purpose. I’ve never felt ashamed or insecure about what we do. But the look in her eyes…
I swallowed down my anger, the nasty retorts on my tongue that would have burned everything between us before we had the chance to explore and discover our potential. I did that for one reason.
Hiram Goldman.
If that fucker is Dottie’s only connection to the mafia, then it’s no wonder she reacted the way she did to learning my name. What she doesn’t realize now, but will very, very soon, is that the Kosher Nostra is nothing like Hiram Goldman and the organization he’s tied to. We don’t seek violence or harm innocent people. We don’t take our anger and impotence out on our children. Any one of my uncles, or aunts for that matter, ever harm a hair on one of their kids, no one would ever find the body and that child would be raised never knowing they were an orphan.
We take care of our own, not because of some ridiculous “made-man” code, but because we genuinely love one another. We are a family, first and foremost. And she will see that…as soon as I calm down and convince her to give me a chance.
I slam my front door behind me and stomp into my kitchen over to my bar. I need a fucking drink. Or ten. I should be balls deep in the best pussy I’ve ever had. Engaging in a battle of wits with my equal. Needing her smart mouth as much as I need the tight clutch of her snatch. Turned the fuck on by her sense of humor and her thick hips. That elevator ride gave me only a taste. A sample of the 7-course meal I know she is. Dorothy Goldman is not a woman you nibble; you devour her whole.
And I’m a hungry man.
When my phone rings, I glance blearily at the empty bottle of scotch. I don’t know how much I’ve had, but I think it was full when I started.
“’Lo?”
“Dammit, Ez. Are you drunk?”
“Dad?” I pull the phone from my ear and stare at it. His voice sounds far away.
“PUT YOUR PHONE TO YOUR EAR, YOU INGRATE!”
“Dad. Man. There’s no need for names.”
I swear I can feel his sigh from the other end of the call. “Ezra, go downstairs to the garage. I’ll have your driver bring you to the hospital. Seril has gone into labor.” He pauses, and when he continues, he’s noticeably excited, “Another member in the new generation of the Kosher Nostra is about to make their debut.”
And just like that, I’m far more sober than I was thirty seconds ago.
Just as excited as he is, I confirm, “I’m gonna clean up and I’ll see you there.”
“Love you, son.”
“Love you too, old man.”
I’m gonna be an uncle. Kind of. Sort of. Not by blood or marriage or anything, but by heart. And that’s fucking awesome. In the bathroom, I splash water on my face after I brush my teeth, swipe some deodorant under my arms, and change into clean clothes. I don’t need to show up smelling like a distillery.
I greet my driver Anton in the garage of my building and jump into the backseat of the Grand Wagoneer. Sometimes I like to drive myself, like I did earlier to see Dottie, but having a driver comes in handy…like when I’m still technically drunk.
I rest my eyes on the drive. At first, I try to think of the baby and how freaked out Moshe must be right now. But it isn’t long before Dottie’s visage is all I can see. She’s beautiful. Not in the way some of society would lead you to believe is attractive, but in the way almost every warm-blooded male would be unable to deny to themselves. She isn’t on a runway or gracing the covers of magazines. She is the type of beautiful you yearn to come home to every night of your lucky life. Hers is what has men fighting like hell in war, so they can see her just once more when they return.
“Sir.” My body jerks at the unexpected sound of Anton’s voice next to me. I blink several times, the hospital coming into focus before me.
“Thank you, Anton.” I step out of the vehicle, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be. Uh…how long does labor last?” He chuckles, and it’s only a little mocking. I grin at him in encouragement.
“Depends.” He shrugs, “Could be a while.”
“In that case, get something to eat, I’ll text you when I know more, and we’ll go from there. I can always get a ride with someone else.”
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d prefer to stick around. Text me when you’re ready to leave.” I nod, knowing he takes his job seriously. The members we use as drivers usually double as a bodyguard, especially for the women. But each of the kapitans has a dedicated driver capable of backing us up should things get hairy.
“As you wish.” I tell him, his laughter fading as I enter the hospital. I’m directed to the maternity ward, and into a private waiting room filled to the brim with my family. I hug my father, mama, aunts and uncles, then find a seat next to Zeppo and Ruthie.
“Where are Flotsam and Jetsam?” I ask softly, inquiring about Tovah and Tevye. They’re noticeably absent.
“At home with Arlo. He’s not having a good day.” I nod in understanding. Poor kid. He’s in better shape than when he was dropped off on our proverbial doorstep months ago, but even with the best doctors, his progress is slow. A lot of that has to do with Tevye’s continued reluctance to accept his role as a father. However, since I’ve never had a sick baby abandoned by its mother who kept the whole pregnancy a secret…I’m not voicing any concerns just yet. Aunt Gertie and Uncle Steven are voicing enough for all of us. I will say, it’s nice to see Tovah helping her twin out as much as she does. She’s not known for…behaving like a human, let alone one with a working heart. She won’t admit it, but she’s got a soft spot for Arlo. And none of us are brave or stupid enough to call her on it.
“Suzie and Aunt Esther in with the happy parents?”
Ruthie leans across Zeppo, her smile nearly blinding. “Yup. Though, I don’t know how happy they are. Moshe’s been sent out here three times already as punishment.”
“He’s in time-out?” I don’t even hold back my laugh at that wonderful bit of news.
“Seril kicked him out the first time, Suzie the second—”
“And his mom the third?” I interrupt, wiping my eyes.
Zeppo throws his head back in laughter as Ruthie shakes her head. “No, the doctor.”
“Oh, please tell me someone is recording this?”
Zilv holds up his phone from a few feet away, “Every minute of his time-outs are being digitally recorded for posterity’s sake.”
I settle in with my family, anxious every time someone comes out to update us on our Sarai Ima and the next head of the Kosher Nostra. Boy or girl, I know Moshe’s child will someday take over, though I hope it’s a long time from now. I don’t remember Moshe being able to enjoy his childhood as much as the rest of us. It’s something we’ve talked about over the months, and it weighs heavily on Moshe’s mind. He wants them to have fun, be reckless (within reason), and be a kid. They will have a choice, he won’t force them to do anything they don’t want, but I can’t imagine a child of Moshe and Seril’s not wanting to lead the fight.
Ruthie falls asleep at some point, her head resting on Zeppo’s shoulder, his arm around her holding her tight. He kisses the top of her head and smiles into her hair. I pointedly look away from the happy couple.
“You want to tell me why you were drunk on a Monday afternoon?”
I don’t pretend not to know what he’s talking about. Zeppo and I have had our differences over the years, what brothers haven’t? But he’s always been there for me when I needed him, always had my back. Not to mention, he royally fucked up with Ruthie and has done some Tier-1 level groveling for the last 6 months. And now, his girl is nestled against him, her hand holding his shirt tight like she’s afraid he’ll disappear while she’s sleeping.
“I think…”, I begin, unsure where I want to start. “I think that Yak got everyone worried for nothing.” Zeppo meets my eyes and lifts his chin for me to continue. “It doesn’t matter who her father is, because she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Why?” I’m thankful he doesn’t joke. But I should know better.
“The mishpocheh.”
He hums, leaning his head back against the wall behind us, and staring at the ceiling for a moment. “Is that all?”
I shrug, “That’s enough, isn’t it?” He lifts a shoulder in answer. “She figured out what I was doing in that apartment building before we met.”
“That makes more sense.”
“What does?”
“Based on what we learned about her father, I knew she’d be skeptical and probably vehemently opposed to being involved with anyone in the mafia, no matter the affiliation. But to meet you right after you…she doesn’t see our world in grayscale. For her, because of how she and her sisters were raised, I’d imagine she only deals in black and white. Right and wrong. And the life they’ve built here outside of the influence of their father is brightly colored. And blood isn’t a shade they are interested in.”
I exhale heavily, my entire body deflating in my chair, as I mirror his position, minus the cutie glued to his side. “I don’t know…if you’d seen her…I don’t think she will listen to the differences between me and her father.”
“You spent a short amount of time with her, is she worth the effort of trying?”
Without thinking, I ask, nodding at Ruthie, “Was she worth the effort?”
“Every fucking second,” he responds immediately.
“Love you too, Zep,” she murmurs sleepily. Arching her head, she presses a kiss to his jaw, then looks at me. “Stalking is illegal. And so is kidnapping. So, find another way to show her how different you truly are.”
The door of the waiting room bursts open, and Moshe enters…doing the running-man dance. I quickly look at Zilv to see him already recording. Good man. “I have a son! He’s got a penis! It’s a boy! I’ve got a son!” And now he’s doing the cabbage-patch.