16. ANTONIO
ANTONIO
I walked down the hallway toward the exit, knowing Joey would be waiting for me. My mind had been consumed all day by that damn newspaper article. I could hardly focus on anything I learned, because all I could think about was what I had read—the confirmation that Joey was indeed a mafia gangster. Michael had told me weeks ago to check the papers, but I had brushed it off. Now, there was no way to pretend I hadn’t seen it. That article made everything so painfully clear.
“Hey, paperboy!” Giovanni’s voice rang out, dripping with his usual smugness. “How’s the newspaper empire treating you today?”
I ignored him, keeping my eyes straight ahead. The last thing I wanted to deal with was Giovanni Accetta.
“Do you get a bonus for dodging barking dogs?” he called from behind, his small crew of sycophants laughing and egging him on.
“What happened? Why the long face?” he continued. “Did someone stiff you a nickel?”
I stopped right in front of the exit. I could walk out and ignore him, or I could turn around and face him. My feet made the decision before my brain could catch up. Without thinking, I marched through the hallway, straight toward Giovanni and his arrogant grin.
“You got anything better to do than run your mouth, or do you need me to help you shut it?” I spat, standing toe-to-toe with him.
He grinned, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. But I didn’t flinch. My fists were clenched, and I was ready for whatever came next.
Giovanni raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, paperboy?”
Luckily for Giovanni, Enzo appeared just in time, shoving himself between us before I could flatten that smug face of his with my fist. “Whoa! That’s enough of whatever the hell is going on here!” Enzo exclaimed, pushing his hand into my chest and forcing me to step back.
“Well, if it isn’t Superman to the rescue,” Giovanni sneered, eyeing Enzo.
“Oh, I’ll show you Superman ,” Enzo growled, his stocky frame now pressed chest-to-chest with Giovanni.
“Hey!” Michael’s voice rang out as he grabbed Enzo, pulling him back. “Cut it out!” Michael shouted at Enzo, his hands firm on Enzo’s shoulders. Then, turning to Giovanni, he snapped, “And back off!”
Enzo didn’t back down, still glaring at Giovanni. “You’re not too bright, are you? You know what happens when you keep poking a bear? Let me tell you, you’re not gonna like the results.”
Michael yanked Enzo’s shirt, trying to calm him down. “Knock it off. I’m not letting you guys fight. It’s not happening.”
But Enzo’s fists were still clenched, his face twisted with fury. “I swear, Michael, one more word from this?—”
“Listen, looks like you’ve got your hands full, Michael. Taking care of these two idiots,” Giovanni interrupted with a smirk. “I’ll let you handle it. I’ve got practice to get to. See ya later, paperboy!” He winked in my direction.
“I’d really like to know what the hell is wrong with you two!” Michael snapped, frustration evident in his voice as he turned to us.
“Wrong with us ?” Enzo roared, his voice echoing down the hallway.
I took a deep breath, exasperated, and mumbled, “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Joey’s been waiting outside for a while now. I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.” Without waiting for a response, I hurried off, eager to get away from the mess we’d just created.
As soon as I got outside, I ran into the next mess.. Joey sat in the driver’s seat, parked right in front of the school, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in rhythm with the song playing. I slid into the passenger seat, doing my best to avoid making eye contact.
He turned the music down, his gaze moving to study the side of my face.
“How was your day, kid?” he asked, his voice casual.
“Not too bad,” I muttered, my gaze fixed out the window.
“You seem angry,” he remarked, pulling the car out onto the street. I could see Giovanni’s eyes locked on me from the baseball field.
“I’m fine,” I said, my jaw clenched. I was anything but fine. I knew he didn’t buy it, but luckily, he didn’t press.
I pushed the encounter with Giovanni to the back of my mind, focusing on the more pressing matter at hand. I wanted to confront Joey, but my heart was pounding so hard I felt like I might pass out. The man sitting beside me—calm, almost gentle—didn’t match the ruthless figure painted in the newspapers. But I had to know if the stories were true.
“Joey,” I started, “can I ask you something?”
He glanced at me briefly, curiosity crossing his face before his eyes returned to the road. “Sure, kid. What’s on your mind? ”
I swallowed hard. “Did you really go to prison?”
He nodded without hesitation, like he’d been waiting for this question. “Yeah, I did.”
“For how long?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. I wanted to hear it from him.
“Ten years.”
“Ten years?” I choked out. Yes, I’d read it in the papers, but to hear him confirm it nearly made me sick to my stomach. “That’s forever, Joey.”
He chuckled; the sound just as warm as it usually was. “It felt like forever at times.”
I hesitated, but then the words tumbled out. “Why did you go? What did you do?”
His hands tightened on the wheel, and I felt the air shift. I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he sighed. “I made some bad choices,” he admitted. “Got involved with the wrong crowd. Did things I’m not proud of.”
“Like what?” My pulse quickened. Was this the moment he revealed who he truly was? Go on, say it. Tell me you’re actually just a wise guy. A street guy. A gangster. A mobster. Whatever they called themselves.
He shifted in his seat. “You know what extortion is?”
I nodded. “Sort of. It’s, like, taking money from people, right?” I only knew because the papers had spelled it out in grim detail: how Joey had tried to extort a small business owner, only to discover too late that the man was an undercover cop.
“That’s right,” he said. “I worked for people who didn’t play by the rules, and I did what I thought I had to do. But when you break the rules, you have to deal with the consequences. For me, that meant prison.”
“Who did you work for?” I asked.
His jaw tightened, and his eyes stayed fixed on the road. “That doesn’t matter,” he said.
Maybe he’d changed. He had to have changed. He couldn’t be the monster they said he was. I knew Joey. I trusted Joey. I couldn’t be wrong about this. The man I spent all my free time with—playing baseball, laughing, joking—could not be a gangster. Joey was the closest thing I had to a father. He wasn’t a killer. He couldn’t be.
The Joey I knew was always dressed sharp, driving the nicest car in town, because he owned the most successful wholesale shop on the East Coast. He was loved by everyone—family, friends, even strangers. I saw the way people greeted him. They weren’t afraid of him. I watched him help Mr. Davidson carry boxes into the corner store. I saw him help Mrs. Simpson across the street. He was there when Ma’s car broke down, becoming our personal chauffeur without ever expecting a dime in return. He took me to my first Yankees game. He tapped his foot at red lights when Frank Sinatra came on the radio, turning it up just a little so he could whistle along.
This wasn’t the man who made low-level gangsters disappear without a trace. This couldn’t be the same Joey.
“You’re not like them,” I said softly, almost to myself.
He didn’t respond right away, but I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “I’d like to think so,” he said.
“Were you scared?”
“Scared?” Joey repeated, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t know about scared. Not much gets to me like that. But I’ll tell you one thing—it’s not a place you’d wanna be, kid.”
“You don’t still do any of that stuff, do you?” My heart thudded as I forced the words out.
His gaze was steady. “No. Sometimes life throws you a second chance, and I’m trying to make the most of mine.”
I wanted to believe him—so badly. Joey had been good to me and Ma. Better than anyone else had been in a long time. If he’d changed, it couldn’t be for some scheme. Not to hurt us, like my pops had. The papers might say all kinds of things about Joey, but that didn’t make it true. He didn’t deserve my mistrust after everything he’d done for us.
“So,” I started, “you’re kinda like a baseball player who strikes out, but comes back to hit a home run.”
Joey’s grin broke through, warm and genuine. The one I was used to. “I like the way you think, kid.” He reached over and ruffled my curls, making me laugh.
“I think it’s cool you’re trying again,” I said. I wanted to trust and believe he wouldn’t let me down.
“Thanks, kid. That means a lot.”
We both laughed, and the weight between us seemed to lift. I caught his smile as he leaned back in his seat, looking more relaxed. Like the Joey I know.
I had made a promise to myself after the night we’d escaped. I’d never let anyone hurt Ma again, no matter what. But Joey wasn’t here to hurt us—he was here to help us. A man who’d made mistakes but turned his life around. That’s the Joey I chose to see. That’s the Joey I was going to believe in.