10. ANTONIO
ANTONIO
E nzo and I sat in my bedroom, finishing off the last of the cigarettes he’d stolen from his sister, Val. She wasn’t allowed to smoke, either, so she couldn't tell on him without explaining why she had them in the first place. That little detail was starting to work in our favor. We sat in silence for a minute, the smoke lingering between us, before I flicked the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray I had stashed under my bed.
We both stood up, brushing the ash off our jeans, knowing we were running out of time. Ma had already started her usual routine of dragging me to St. Augustine of the Sacred Heart, and I had to meet her at Davidson’s before she came looking for me.
I shoved my hands in my pockets, feeling the weight of the walk ahead. It was a long stretch, especially for a place I didn’t care to go, but she insisted. I knew the reason. She was trying to repent for the sin of killing him . I couldn’t bring myself to call him my father. A real father wouldn’t hurt you. I knew that much.
We made our way out the door, the chill of winter in February biting at my skin. Enzo walked beside me, his pace matching mine as we headed toward Davidson’s. I glanced at him, my mind drifting back to things I’d kept buried for too long.
“Do you still have dreams about your dad?” I asked.
Enzo didn’t respond right away, but I could tell he was thinking it over. It wasn’t the easiest question to answer. He didn’t have to say it aloud for me to know. We both carried those ghosts with us.
Enzo had confessed to me once that after his dad was murdered, he was the first one to walk outside and find him lying in the yard. He said he hardly slept anymore, that he could never shake that last image of his father out of his mind. He’d wake up in cold sweats, nightmares clawing at him. The difference between us was that Enzo loved his father—and his father loved him. From everything Enzo told me, his old man was a good guy, the kind who would’ve never hurt him. The kind who deserved better than some drive-by shooting in the early morning hours.
“Yeah, why?” Enzo asked, his bushy brows furrowing as he glanced at me.
I shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “I’ve been having some difficulty sleeping lately. Just wondered if it ever gets better.”
Enzo sighed, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets as we kept walking. “I’ll let you know when it does.” We fell into silence again, the chill biting as we walked in rhythm toward Davidson’s.
Ma wasn’t just afraid of the cops finding her and locking her away—she was terrified that even if she dodged the cops in this life, she’d pay for it in the next one. She’d always been devout, always believed that God would come in and make it alright if we prayed hard enough. And I hated that belief, because it didn’t matter how hard we prayed. It didn’t matter how much we hoped. No one was coming to save us. Not God. Not Father Delgato. No one.
At least I had Enzo. And he had me. He was the one person who truly understood me, the one who had my back no matter what. He didn’t need to know the darkest secret I carried—that my mother killed my father—but he was the closest thing to family besides Ma that I had. He knew the surface of things, but not the truth. Not the whole story.
My father didn’t die as a war hero, and I hated that my mother used that lie to paint him as someone he wasn’t. It made him sound like a man with bravery, morals, and values. The truth was, he was a veteran, sure—but he was also a drunk with a gambling problem who took out all his frustrations on women and children. He wasn’t a hero. He was a man who left scars, who left bruises that didn’t just show on the skin, but were buried deep in the soul.
I spotted Joey right outside Davidson’s, dressed sharply in his suit and fedora, casually puffing on a cigarette with Paul and Marco standing beside him. Paul gave him a nudge, pointing in our direction. Joey spun around, his voice booming with that thick New York accent. Sometimes I wondered if he even realized just how cool he was.
“Ay! Look who it is!” he called out, his voice cutting through the air. I couldn’t help but smile. Joey had this way of lighting up the room, this easy, carefree vibe. It made me wonder if he’d ever seen anything that could actually steal that smile from him.
“What do we got here?” Marco asked with a teasing grin.
“A bunch of troublemakers, by the looks of it, boss,” Paul added, smirking.
I couldn’t help it—my grin stretched wide. These guys were the coolest people I’d ever met, and I wanted to be just like them.
Before I could respond, the chime of the exit door rang behind Joey, and Ma stepped out. Her brows knit together, arms folding tight across her chest.
“Antonio,” she called, her voice firm. Everyone’s eyes shifted to her, but she didn’t care. “We’ll be late. Come on.”
I let out a sigh, dragging my feet forward.
“Where you two heading off to?” Joey asked, flicking his cigarette to the curb.
Ma’s head snapped in his direction, but before she could answer, I jumped in, hoping he’d feel sorry enough for me to take me with him—anywhere besides St. Augustine of the Sacred Heart, where Ma could confess to a crime she had no choice but to commit.
“Confession,” I muttered. “Second time this week.” I shot Joey a look, silently pleading for an escape from another round of pointless prayers and penance.
“What do you have to confess about?” Joey chuckled, flicking his gaze past me to lock eyes with Ma.
I felt her tense beside me. Guilty. Of. Murder.
“Let’s go before we’re late,” she said quickly, tugging my arm.
I shot Joey a desperate look, mouthing a silent help . Lucky for me, he could read lips. What couldn’t he do?
Joey smirked. “Why don’t you let Paul give you a ride? He lives right by the church. And I’ll take this little rascal to practice some baseball—he’s gotta be ready for the Yankees game this weekend.”
Ma hesitated, struggling with the decision. I could see the war playing out in her head. But I kept my eyes locked on hers, silently begging her to give me this out. I couldn’t endure this new routine—the endless cycle of guilt and repentance, like she could pray away what had been done.
Paul stepped forward, pulling open the passenger door. “After you,” he said smoothly, leaving no room for argument. These guys had a way of making you do exactly what they wanted without you even realizing it .
Ma sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But only because I’ve been on my feet all day. I want him home in time for supper.”
Joey straightened up and gave her a sharp salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Enzo and I snickered as Ma shook her head, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before sliding into Paul’s car.
Joey clapped me on the back, grinning. “Come on, kids. I’ll drop you off at home, Enzo.”
We climbed into his car and pulled away from Davidson’s. Joey dropped Enzo off first before heading toward the baseball field. The familiar rhythm of tossing the ball back and forth settled my nerves, but I could feel Joey watching me, waiting for the right moment.
Eventually, we took a break, settling onto the park benches with our water bottles. I could tell by the way Joey was studying me that the question was coming—why I didn’t want to go with Ma to church.
And I knew I had two choices—lie, or tell him the truth.
The thought of either one was enough to drive me insane.
“What’s on your mind, kid?”
I shrugged, fidgeting with my baseball glove. “Just some stuff. It’s nothing.” There we go, the lie. I guess I had trained myself well. Don’t acknowledge. If you pretend long enough, you might start to believe the lies you tell yourself.
“Stuff, huh?” he asked. “Stuff’s a big category.”
I hesitated, staring at my glove. After a moment, I let out a sigh and glanced at him. “Do you go to church? Do you believe in God?”
He took a moment to answer. “I believe in karma. What goes around comes around. If there is a God, sometimes he doesn’t deliver fast enough. Why?”
“So you believe if someone bad hurts you, they deserve whatever comes their way?” I asked him .
His eyes searched mine for answers. “How badly did they hurt someone?”
I sighed, shaking my head as if the act could knock the memories of the violence and blood out of my mind. “Badly.”
“Then I believe whatever happens is justified.”
“Even murder?” My eyes met his again.
His face nearly went white. “What are you not telling me? What’s going on?”
“I can’t tell you.” I sighed, letting my head fall. My body rocked side to side in some strange effort to ease my mind. I felt his arm draped over my shoulders, and he pulled me into his side. There was something about the warmth he offered. Was this how a father was with their son?
“Look, kid. You’ve got a good thing going here. You’ve got your mom, you’ve got me—and hey, you’re not bad at baseball, either.”
I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It didn’t want to escape, but Joey just had this way about him. “You really think I’m good?”
“Better than good.” He grinned. “We need to work on your swing, but with some practice, you’ll be the next Joe DiMaggio .”
I smiled widely. “Yeah, okay. As long as I get to marry someone like Marilyn Monroe .”
He threw his head back, howling in laughter, and I couldn’t help but mirror him when he did it. “You and every guy with a pair of eyes,” he teased. “But hey, if you can hit a ball like DiMaggio, maybe you’ll have a shot. Just don’t forget who taught you.”