23. Nicolo
Chapter twenty-three
Nicolo
A iden thinks he’s so slick. He thinks I don’t know something is going on that I’m not privy to. He forgets that we have known each other for over twenty-two years, and that he’s never been effective at lying to me, like when he tried years ago to hide the fact that his asshole father with the God complex was beating on him, when he was a child.
The image arises of a smaller, frailer, Aiden, attempting to hide all the bruises on his skinny body, with clothes that were two sizes too big, and how he flinched with every painful movement. We were just ten, and my young mind couldn’t understand how and why his father would do that to him. My father was a ruthless asshole too, a mob boss, but he never laid a finger on his children, even when we acted out and deserved it. No, all Vito Amato had to do was give his errant children a look, and we knew to immediately behave. That look still works to this day on me, but now it’s also wrapped up with the deadly fear of disappointing him.
I’m sitting i n a swanky hipster bar, around the corner from the hotel Aiden and I are staying at. I left him to his moping, and lying asshole behavior, hours ago, but when I went to my quiet room, the silence was deafening, and it made me panic. Memories from long ago accosted me, replaying and tallying up all my mistakes, like some vicious network special in my mind. I’ve never done well alone, always needing the company of others to avoid having to take a hard look at myself. I needed a distraction, noise, and to be around people, before I put my fist through the walls.
I found this place on a quick walk in the sunshine, after a sleepless night, and it looked decent. It was quiet but not too quiet, and definitely not filled with day drunks. I fit right in, with my dark wash jeans, and an inexpensive t-shirt that Aiden insisted I buy, as he threatened me with bodily harm. A part of me is missing my expensive suits, like a coat of armor that protects me from the world. The other part feels like I have taken a costume off, and I don’t know who the real me is underneath everything. What the fuck is happening to me? Am I really sitting here contemplating myself, and my personal choices? Are they really my choices and preferences, or are they based on the expectations my father, family, and the world around me have for me? I don’t have a ready answer for that. Lately, it seems I can’t make up my mind much.
It was never a question that I would follow Milano into the family business, instead of going off to college. I’ve never had to be reminded that image in our world is everything, and to always project strength and power. That’s the Amato way. From the moment we took our first steps, our father had drilled the need to be better, fiercer, and more deadly than anyone around us. I killed my first man at fourteen, as part of my initiation into the Amato family business. Despite being a born son, I got no leeway, and neither did my brother, as the heir. I swore my oath to all the made men, including my father and brother, in a blood ceremony, wh ere I had to spill my own blood on a painting of the Blessed Virgin, and agree to uphold the Omertà, and never choose anyone above family.
I don’t know if Aiden had to do the same on his end with the Irish mafia, since it was something neither of us had ever discussed. In fact, after the moment I took the oath, we started to become divided, with my father urging me to break off my friendship with Aiden and Tadhg, and only associate with Italians. I refused, of course, they had been my best friends for years, and besides, there was no way I could distance myself from Phoebe Murphy. My sun rose and fell at her feet. She was everything I had ever wanted, and needed to have. She was going to be my mafia queen, and I would lay the world at her feet.
“How come you spend so much time with us? Don’t you have Italian friends on your side of the city?” A freckled, smiling Phoebe teased me, as she passed me another neon rubber friendship bracelet she made me, after I beat the shit out of a fucker who called her ugly, because of the braces on her teeth.
We’re sitting on the grass outside Holy Immaculate Church after Sunday school. My father gave up calling for me to get in the car after church, when I blatantly ignored him, and I know there will be hell to pay when I get back home for the disrespect. I had spied that asshole Jason Fitzpatrick being mean to my girl before church, and right after mass. Fucking Tadhg was oblivious to what the slimy cunt was doing, and saying, to his little sister. He was too busy chatting up Melissa O’Reilly, like he even had a chance with her pious ass. Aiden was forced to leave with his old man the minute mass was done, and he looked miserable about it, his sad eyes going straight to Phoebe. He had noticed what Jason was doing too, and with a nod of my head, I reassured him silently that I would protect our favorite girl.
When all of us kids went down to the basement to get the cookies Father Santino had laid out for us, I saw Jason pinch her hard in the side, and heard him calling her names. I lost control of my temper, and myself. Forgot that I was inside of church, after spending a torturous hour in prayer, asking God for forgiveness of my sins, and threw a punch at his ugly face when he turned around, after I heard Phoebe’s whimper.
“What the fuck, Amato?” The ugly, red-faced fucker flared his nostrils at me, as he swiped at the blood underneath his nose. “Don’t ever fucking touch, speak, or look in Phoebe’s direction, or I swear to the fucking Virgin, I will end you!” I growled, pushing a tearful and frightened Phoebe behind me as I puffed out my chest, ready to swing again at the stupid twat.
“What, she your ugly girlfriend or something? I thought you Italians all stuck together, so what you doing with an Irish?” The bloody grin on his pimpled face made me even madder with his insinuation that we shouldn’t be together. My clenched fist struck out again, this time hitting him on the side of his cheek, and making his head thrust sideways. I followed it up with a kick to his balls, ’cause a guy like that shouldn’t be able to have kids someday, and watched with evil satisfaction as he fell to his ass, clutching his junk in agony. “Oh my God, Nicolo! Stop, you are going to get in so much trouble!” Phoebe cried as she grabbed onto my arm, and pulled me away from a furious Jason hunched on the floor.
I turned toward her, and witnessed the tears glistening on her pretty cheeks, as she bit down on her bottom lip, her teeth adorned with the braces the fucker had teased her about. “No! No one ever gets to disrespect, or fucking hurt you, Phoebe, no one. As long as I’m fucking breathing, whoever tries will get a beatdown.”
I’m pulled out of the memory of the twelve-year-old version of me, and I down the contents of my glass, signaling to the attentive bartender, who has been trying to flirt with me for another round. No one else disrespected Phoebe after that day, in fact, most people gave her a wide berth, knowing Aiden’s and my attachment to her. Years later, I sliced Jason wide open, from throat to asshole, for once again speaking ill of my Phoebe, and dumped him in the river to feed the fish. Good fucking riddance.
The problem was, I was a fucking liar. I swore that, while I was breathing, no one would disrespect or hurt her, and then I went ahead and did that exact thing, and tore her heart out and stomped on it. I deserved the beatdown that I threatened others with, and while Aiden did put his fists on me on the day I was supposed to marry her, it was not nearly enough to pay for the pain I caused Phebes. I deserve so much more, even if I won’t readily admit to it. Inside my heart, I know it.
I force my thoughts away from the past. No good can come of them, and I can’t ever go back, despite how much I wish I could. I’ve been enjoying the instrumental versions of trendy songs for the last hour. The space is filled with people stopping in to have lunch, and drinks, in the middle of the day, but their behavior is at least tolerable. I bring the new glass of top-shelf gin to my lips as I think over the events of yesterday. It was all a fucking bust. We spent hours after the coffee shop, wandering around Soda Springs University, trying to look inconspicuous, well as inconspicuous as two hulking males with bruised faces, clearly searching for someone, can look, and never got a glimpse of Phoebe. Aiden spent a good part of his day checking his phone, and making sure I couldn’t see the screen. I wonder if shit back home is already hitting the fan for him. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know that it’s actually Aiden, not Tadhg, who is leading the Irish. Well, maybe Tadhg doesn’t know, ’cause he’s a useless cunt.
It certainly didn’t help our search that there had been a stabbing on campus, in one of the coffee shops. For a moment, I panicked that it could be P hoebe, knowing her penchant for coffee. I’ve never experienced such terror as I had in that moment, not even when she left me at the altar. The thought that I may never get to see her again, never get to apologize for my horrific behavior, and beg her to take me back, almost brought me to my knees, and certainly earned me an annoyed look from Aiden, who managed to stay perfectly in control, and calm. Still, I saw the tightening in the corner of his mouth, the way his hazel eyes grew large, and how his shoulders tensed, as we made our way to the location of the stabbing. He wasn’t as unaffected as he was projecting. By the time we got there and through all the bystanders, the injured person was gone, rushed by ambulance to the hospital, and the only information we could get was that an unknown assailant had stabbed him. I’ve never been so relieved to hear the word ‘him’ as I was at that moment.
We returned to the hotel, dejected and both irritated, so much so that Aiden went straight to his room without a look, or words, in my direction, and I was left to my own devices, which was bad news. I tried to behave and just watch some television, but honestly, even the paid porn was shit here. I smoked a blunt, had room service bring me a bottle of gin and some food, and I was chill for a few hours, but then the memories of Phoebe kept intruding into my mind, and playing havoc with my emotions.
“One day, I’m going to make you my wife, Phebes, and then you’re going to have to listen to me.” I smirk at her giggling face, as I push a strand of her sweaty hair away from her eye. My eyes lock on her stunning green eyes. They shine like bright emerald pieces, and I wish I could spend every moment of every day staring into them.
“Yeah, in your dreams, ‘pretty boy’,” she smirks, calling me the nickname that I’ve picked up from our schoolmates. Assholes, they could have at least given me a more frightening name like they did Aiden. The fucker got ‘ massacre’ after taking up boxing, and beating all his opponents, and somehow I got ‘pretty boy’, much to my brother Milano’s amusement.
“It’s going to happen, Phoebe, you’ll see. Your destiny is to be an Amato. Together, we are going to rule this city, and have lots of pretty babies.” I wink at her, and she flushes a beautiful pink shade. I pull out the silver clover necklace I found in one of the shops, and force her hand open as I drop it in her palm. “What’s this?” She questions as she quirks her pretty, dark eyebrow up, and lifts the small charm up to examine it. I shrug my shoulders, suddenly shy. “I saw it in one of the shop windows, and it reminded me of you, so I got it for you.”
She leans forward, and I’m not sure what to do as her lips go to meet my cheek, but at the last minute, I turn my face, and our lips touch instead. Our eyes open wide in shock, as we stare at each other closely, and refuse to move away. Then, without thinking, I deepen the kiss, licking her lips, and asking for entry. After a second of hesitation, I’m almost certain she’s going to deny me, and I’m going to look like a damn fool, but instead, she widens her lips, and her tongue tentatively and shyly strokes against mine.
We spent hours kissing, until both our faces hurt and our lips were dry. That was one of the happiest moments of my life, knowing that I was responsible for giving Phoebe Murphy her first kiss, the first of many things, as far as I was concerned at the time. Unfortunately, I didn’t count heartache and betrayal as some of the others. She left the little clover behind, with her note telling me, in not-so-polite terms, to fuck myself with a ten-foot pole, and that she hoped my dick fell off, when she abandoned me at our wedding. I pull out my wallet, lift the delicate charm out, and stare at it. It’s a constant reminder of what I lost, what I gambled with and have paid the price for. God, where are you, Phoebe? I need you so badly to forgive me, to smile at me once. I’d eve n settle for her screaming at me, just anything to hear her voice again.
“That’s a pretty necklace. A gift for someone special?” The brunette bartender asks, as she wipes the spotless counter in front of me, and leans forward, so I can get a great look down her buttoned-up shirt to her fake cleavage. I avert my eyes and stare at the charm, such a small inexpensive thing, but it might as well have been my heart. “It belongs to my wife. She’s missing, and I’m here to find her.” I tuck the necklace back in my wallet, and leave a couple of hundreds on the counter, as I make my way out of the bar and back toward the hotel. It’s time I found Phoebe and took her home. I’ll make her listen to me, and she’ll have to forgive my transgressions.
She’ll also never have to worry about her cousin Shauna either. After all, Aiden snapped her neck, in front of her whole family, the minute we realized that Phoebe had fled, much to Tadhg’s disgust. The nasty cunt was fucking her too, regardless of them being cousins by marriage. Nothing is preventing Phoebe from returning with me, and there’s nothing to stop her from being able to trust me going forward, well, nothing except my past mistakes, I guess. Either way, I refuse to take no for an answer; she’s mine, and it’s time she was reminded of that.