Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Joey
FUCK!
Okay, universe, why are you doing this to me?
No, it was Nonna who launched this madness into my life. Nonna, the universe, and whoever hired the receptionist.
I need to call HR. She’s gonna let Jenny walk back there, no appointment, no checking ID… What the fuck? And she didn’t even recognize the owner of the company standing three feet away from her.
I guess the dog really is an invisibility cloak.
I text Silvio as I return to the summer heat on the street.
Me: Tell me which unit that woman in your office is buying.
Please not the building I fucking live in.
Silvio: 18B in the high tower.
Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck and an extra fuck for bad luck.
Silvio: What do you want me to do? She’s got a cute dog here, and she’s asking questions.
Me: That’s my dog.
Silvio: Can I pet him?
Seconds later, he sends me a picture of him petting Kingston. Damn it.
Me: Did the couple who offered $200k over asking pan out?
Silvio: Still waiting on the bank.
Silvio: Your dog likes Jenny. And her questions are legit and researched. She’s quoting the building code to me. Who is this woman?
If that isn’t the question of a lifetime.
The subway is only a block away, and it will lead me right to Uncle Gio’s office.
He has spots all over town. He called a family meeting at a joint Nonno owned.
It’s old school—no Wi-Fi, no cameras, just a space with a few chairs.
There’s still blood spatter on the wall from a hit back in the eighties.
It also smells like stale cigarettes and cigars.
Honestly, the subway station is cleaner.
Silvio: Where are you? I’m this close to giving her the place for free if she lets me keep your dog.
Me: You can’t have Kingston.
The fucking audacity that he thinks he can steal my dog and cost me money. I must’ve gone soft if he thinks he can talk to me that way.
The subway platform isn’t crowded, just a few people of varying ages and descriptors that aren’t important. Mostly my brain registers them as not a threat. My phone buzzes again.
Silvio: She’s talking about bringing in lawyers.
Of course she is. She should. We’re the ones who are in the wrong.
The screaming subway drowns out my cursing. The hot air and the stench of oil hit me at once as the train blasts by and comes to a halt. The doors open and a few people trickle out. I find a seat next to an old woman who makes my heart hurt the instant I see her.
Nonna is gone. And all I have left of her is…
Me: Fine, give her the place. Put on a good show, make a big deal out of it.
Silvio: Closing in a month?
Me: Close whenever it’s good for her. Keep her happy.
I reread that sentence. Why do I care if she’s happy? Probably because I’ve been making her life a living hell without realizing it.
But what does this mean? She’ll be in my building.
A weird sensation of heat flushes through my body.
I’ll see her every day, and not because she’s walking the dog.
When she comes home from a long day, she’ll be coming home to m— Um…
to my building. Not me. But I’ll be ten floors away.
She’s free to come and go as she pleases.
What happens if she brings a guy home… Nope, I don't like that thought at all. I’m about to come up with a list of contingency plans when my phone buzzes.
Silvio: Your dog has the softest tongue… he’s licking my hand. You’re bringing this dog downstairs every morning until the project’s over. I love him. Maybe more than my wife.
I shake my head and scroll through the news. Still nothing about Nonna's plane. I guess the Olympians are doing a good job keeping it under wraps.
Donny sends me a meme that I don’t think is funny, but I give him a thumbs up anyway.
How has this become my life? Jenny’s already costing me three hundred grand by locking in early, which I can’t even be mad about because that’s what happens in business.
Sometimes we’re able to push early buyers out, but it doesn’t always work.
Plus, the thirty-six thousand she scammed me from the refund of the membership she’s keeping.
Ok, that one’s my fault too.
Ugh. I want to be pissed at her, but every time I am, it circles back to me being angry at myself.
The subway stops with a lurch and the passengers stand, jockeying for the best position by the door. I manage to make my way out with only a few brushes against strangers.
The sun is always jarring when coming from the darkness and the yellow lighting of the subway. By the time I make it down to the space, most of my family’s there. And I’m hungry. Donuts and coffee didn’t fill me for a thirty-block walk.
Donny’s leaning against the left side wall, that’s his usual place. There’s one of those old-school jukeboxes there, and he likes to lean on it like a character from the fifties. Uri and Thiago are there too, both of them are on their phones. They look up and nod at me.
“Got something on your mind?” Donny says.
I’ve got about a million things, and they’re all about Jenny.
I don’t like her. Right? I mean she’s cute, very fuckable.
And she has the same kinks I do. But she doesn’t like me either.
And she’s costing me a fuckton of money.
And she’s going to be living in my building, which I not only ok’ed, but fast tracked it.
That’s annoying too. Plus, there’s that whole demon thing. Why do the cute ones have to be crazy?
“Jenny thinks there’s a demon on Carver Street and she leaves it presents every time she passes it.”
Donny pushes his hair back, raises his eyebrows at me, and I brace for some cutting insult about me. Or worse, her.
“Creepy-ass brownstone at 632? The one with the fucked-up sidewalk?”
“Yeah.”
Donny nods. “She’s right. Don’t know if there’s a demon, but there’s something supernatural happening there.”
Uri looks up from his phone and Thiago slides his into his back pocket, suddenly very interested in what we’re talking about.
“What?” I can’t believe Donny agrees with her.
“Look, I’ve seen it all—Buffy, Angel, X Files, Vampire Diaries, iZombie, Charmed, original and the reboot, every episode of Supernatural.”
“Sabrina?” Uri adds.
Donny nods. “The cute one and the scary one.” He pauses and mumbles, “I like the aunts and the cat.” He shakes his head. “I’m an expert.”
Thiago rolls his eyes. “Sounds like you’re a fan of paranormal teen drama more than anything else.”
Donny pushes himself off the wall. “I’ve read the books, watched the documentaries… Fuck, I even have a double major in Folklore.”
“Uncle Gio paid for a degree in Folklore? Does he know this?”
Donny waves his hand. “What the fuck did you major in?”
“Double majored in Civil Engineering and Business, with a minor in construction and on-site management.” I have my master’s in business, too, but I keep that to myself around Donny or anyone else in the family.
They thought I was at strip clubs in my early twenties.
Nope, locked away in a library studying.
He scoffs. “Whatever. I liked the folklore shit and never missed a class. The point is, she’s right. Bad shit’s been happening in that building for over a century. If you go there, carry some table salt and sage.”
I’m about to tell him he’s crazy, when the uncles come in. Uri pipes in with, “Uncle Gio, did you know Donny has a degree in Folklore?”
“Not pleased about it, but at least he went to class,” Gio replies, rolling his shoulders from side to side.
“He and the dog walker think there’s a demon on Carver Street.” Uri laughs, but Gio doesn’t. In fact, all the uncles get quiet—eerily quiet—as they exchange glances.
Oh, fuck.
Uncle Andrey scrubs his palms together and then jams his hands in his pockets.
“The big brownstone at 632 Carver? The families have a long history with that place. Your great grandpa survived a shooting on the second floor. A bloodbath back in the forties. Some hippies OD’d in the basement.
Bodies show up there all the time,” he says.
“Avoid that place at all costs.” Uncle Gio crosses his arms. “Look, Nonno wasn’t a great man.”
Obviously. We’re in the mob.
Uncle Gio continues. “He used to cheat on Nonna a lot when I was younger. Shit, Rita isn’t even our full sister. Nonno got a girl pregnant, and Nonna decided to raise the baby. A whole long complicated family history there.
“Anyway, when I was about eight, my father went out to do a job at 632 Carver. Something went wrong. Bullets went flying. Our guys were fine, but the other side… Well, they took some tough losses.
“My father came home… different,” Gio says, looking at the ceiling.
“It was like he was wrapped in a shadow.
He stalked around the apartment, threatening us, yelling.
He smacked your father across his jaw. That was the first and only time he had ever hit any of us in the face.
Nonna had been out with the other grandmas, and when she came home, she took one look at him and knew something was very wrong.
“She started yelling in Latin and dragged his ass out of the house. Nonna was not a big woman, and he could’ve killed her right there.
But she didn’t give a shit. Dragged him out, I think by the ear.
They came back in the morning, and Nonno locked himself in their bedroom.
My father cried for a whole day. Then he slept for another three days.
“When he came out of the bedroom, he showered, shaved, and kissed Nonna. Told her, ‘You saved my life and my soul.’ I thought he was being melodramatic, but he never cheated on her again. Never even looked at another woman. And from that moment on, he called her his Angelo Femmia.”
The rest of us look at him as the room gets colder. “We’ve been working in the shadows for a long time. And sometimes we aren’t the only ones working in the darkness.” Gio rubs the back of his neck. “Stay away from that building and go to church on Sunday.”