Chapter 7
When I’m in through the van’s rear door, I clamber all the way into the very back corner and I hunch low, grinding myself deep into the seat. Knots tighten in my stomach.
Daddy should have done this job himself. Not left it to someone else. Especially not to me. One of my idiot younger brothers could have done it. But, no, not one of his boys. They’re both far too precious.
One of them will be Daddy’s successor. So he won’t risk either of them. What if Daddy needs one of them to step up? Can’t take a chance on either of them being in jail.
Me, though, it doesn’t matter much what happens to me. I’m the eldest, and, by the way, the only one who isn’t a totally self-obsessed narcissist. Not that it makes any difference. They’re the future don and the one-day second in command of the Famiglia Benedetti.
At which point, I confidently predict, the tiny little tin-pot ‘empire’ of our family will have a life expectancy in minutes. Hours, at best.
Mikey’s bulky silhouette hardly moves in the driver’s seat as he fires up the motor and steers the bulky van out on the long driveway.
Unwanted images flash in my head as I watch the road from the darkness in the back of the van. Legs and hands, mouths and heavy cocks. Through the windshield, arches of trees glow and rush by in the headlights, and the pool of light on the road swings, left and right.
My stomach turns over.
“Stop the van,” I shout forward at Mikey again. “Mikey. Stop.” I bang on the metal side of the van. “I need to get out.”
I’m nauseous, and a cold feeling drains through me. There’s a sweet taste in my mouth as the van lurches to a stop. My stomach churns. I get the back door open, but before I can get outside, I’m yelling and a thick blast of barf surges up and out of my throat.
I drop to the cold wet grass outside, cold air and sodium light makes the wold spin, and the whole of my insides churns. Everything in my stomach surges up in a hot, bitter flow, a thick jet, splashing onto a tidily mown lawn. Acrid yellow under the flat, toneless streetlight.
Mikey stayed in the driver’s seat. He didn’t get out of the van. Spared me the embarrassment of having him watch as I hurled and spluttered, choking on all fours. Clambering back up from my hands and knees, I catch the warmth in his smile in the mirror. With it is an unspoken invitation to sit up front with him.
Him and the dog.
He’s already called the dog ‘Diabolo,’ and Diabolo’s tail thumps the upholstery as he licks Mikey’s hand. Probably the first human kindness the poor animal has seen in its life.
Mikey looks at me. “Onward and offward?”
I smile. And nod. That’s been our saying since he drove me to kindergarten. If Mikey thinks we’re safe enough, that we’re far enough away from the house and any witnesses, that’s good enough for me.
As far back as my memory goes, Mikey watched over me like my guardian angel. If an angel can be built like a fireproof safe and have huge hands as fast as a title-fighter’s.
On the drive back home, my phone chirps with a text message from Federico, my former supposed but not really boyfriend.
Morning light is breaking blue around the horizon.