35. ANTONIO
ANTONIO
B alancing Vincent, school, baseball, and delivering papers was enough to drive me to the brink of insanity, but I couldn’t stop.
Baseball was my only escape. It gave me purpose, a joy I couldn’t find anywhere else. It was the one thing that kept me sane. Being on the school team made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere. My whole life, I had felt out of place, like I didn’t fit in anywhere. But since moving to Staten Island and stepping onto that field, I felt like I had found my place.
I was so lost in my own head that I didn’t notice Giovanni walking up behind me until it was too late. “Hey, paperboy! Catch this!” His voice echoed from behind me.
I spun around just in time to see the baseball hurtling toward me. Before I could react, the ball slammed into the upper part of my cheekbone. The pain radiated from the impact, sharp and unforgiving. I staggered back, clutching my face, and a few gasps sounded from the guys nearby, but they didn’t dare step forward. Except for Enzo and Michael. They always had my back .
“Antonio!” Enzo’s voice rang out as he and Michael sprinted toward me.
“What the fuck, you little shit!” Enzo shouted, his face twisted with rage as he turned on Giovanni. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
Giovanni didn’t even flinch. Instead, he smirked, that smug, condescending look he always wore like a second skin. “You don’t have the guts, Lorenzo,” he hissed, crossing his arms. “It’s not in your bloodline to survive. Look at what happened to your father .”
Enzo froze for half a second, but that pause was enough to scare me. His brown eyes turned black. Michael and I moved on instinct, grabbing him before he could lunge at Giovanni.
“Let me go!” Enzo snarled, straining against our grip. “I’ll rip his throat out!”
“Enzo, stop!” I said. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. My cheek was throbbing, and I could feel it begin to swell. It didn’t help that Enzo was strong and stocky; right now, rage made it almost impossible to hold him back.
“Don’t stoop to his level,” Michael said, his jaw clenched. He tightened his grip on Enzo’s arm, glaring daggers at Giovanni. “You want to get suspended and kicked off the team? He’s not worth it.”
Giovanni chuckled. “That’s right. Listen to your little babysitters, Lorenzo. Wouldn’t want to end up like your old man, now would you?”
Enzo roared, pushing harder against us, but I wasn’t about to let Giovanni bait him into his own demise. The sting in my cheek was a reminder of the constant garbage we had to deal with because of Giovanni. “Giovanni,” I said. My hand dropped from my face as I stepped toward him. “I swear to God, if you ever try something like that again?—”
“What? You’ll tell your daddy?” Giovanni interrupted, laughing. “ Oh, wait—your dad’s dead too, isn’t he? Or is he?” I surged forward, but Michael caught my arm before I could swing.
“Not you too, Antonio,” Michael growled. “He’s trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him win.”
My vision blurred with red. But then I glanced at Enzo, whose chest heaved as he glared at Giovanni like he wanted to tear him apart. And I remembered. Enzo didn’t just hate Giovanni because he was a bully. Giovanni had crossed a line no one should ever cross. His day would come, and I’d make damn sure I was the one to give it to him.
“That’s enough, Giovanni,” Michael begged.
Giovanni looked between us, his smirk still dancing along his lips, as he shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Enjoy the bruise, paperboy.”
As soon as Giovanni walked away, Michael and Enzo stood side by side, their gazes fixed on me and the shiner appearing on my cheekbone.
Michael sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at me. “Shit, Antonio. You alright?”
I rolled my jaw, testing the ache in my face. It throbbed like hell, but I wasn’t about to let them see how much it hurt. “I’m fine.”
Enzo wasn’t buying it. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white, his whole body vibrating with barely contained rage. “I should go after him,” he muttered, shifting his weight like he was ready to bolt. I grabbed his arm before he could take a step. Michael clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get some ice on that before Coach Artie sees.”
I let them lead me off the field, but as we walked, I could still feel Giovanni’s smirk burning into the back of my head. His day would come. Sooner rather than later.
Coach Artie stormed over before we even made it to the dugout, his expression thunderous as he took one look at my cheek. “What happened?” he demanded, his eyes flicking between me, Michael, and Enzo.
I hesitated for half a second before blurting out the best lie I could come up with, “Enzo accidentally tossed the ball and it hit me in my face.”
Michael’s head snapped toward me in disbelief, while Enzo, who had been bristling with rage just seconds ago, suddenly froze. His face contorted into a mixture of shock and confusion.
Coach Artie frowned. “Enzo?”
Enzo glanced at me and then back at Coach Artie, letting out a sharp breath and muttered, “Yeah. My bad. You know I got this bad arm.”
Michael pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh, while Coach Artie just shook his head. “Watch your aim next time, Enzo. Antonio, you’re done for the day. Go home and get some ice on that.”
“I’m fine, coach,” I tried, but he wasn’t having it.
“Not up for debate. You’re done for the day,” he said firmly.
As he walked towards the field, Michael leaned in, smirking. “Enzo and his bad arm?”
Enzo grumbled under his breath. “Next time, I’ll make sure my damn bad arm gets Giovanni’s face instead.”
When I walked into the house and dropped my backpack near the door, I spotted Ma standing by the stove, swaying to the Elvis vinyl spinning in the living room, a wooden spoon in hand as she stirred the pot. She turned mid-spin, her smile fading the second her eyes landed on mine. The spoon clattered onto the counter as she rushed over, her hands instantly cupping my face.
“What happened to you?” she gasped, eyes locked on the bruise blooming across my cheek. Her fingers brushing the tender skin, as if her touch could make it disappear.
“It’s nothing, Ma,” I muttered, slipping out of her grasp and heading toward the fridge. “I’ll ice it. It’ll be fine in a few days. ”
“Nothing?” she repeated, following close behind. Her arms were crossed now. “What happened, Antonio?”
I grabbed a bag of frozen peas and pressed them to my face, wincing at the cold. “It’s nothing,” I said again. “I had baseball practice, okay? The ball hit me in the face. It happens.”
She was silent for a moment, and I dared to glance over at her. Her sharp, brown eyes scanned my face like she was trying to read between my lies. “It was an accident?” she asked.
“Yeah, Ma,” I lied. “A bad throw. I wasn’t paying attention, and it clipped me. That’s all.”
She wasn’t buying it. I could feel her gaze boring into the side of my face, but I kept my focus on the bag of peas like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
“Antonio,” she said. “If someone hurt you—if this wasn’t an accident—you need to tell me.”
I turned to her, trying to force a half-smile despite the throbbing in my cheek. “It was practice, Ma. A bad throw.”
She reached out and ran her fingers through my hair. “Alright,” she said. “But if I find out you’re lying to me, Antonio, we’re going to have a problem.”
There was no way I was going to admit that Giovanni did this on purpose. The moment Ma found out, she’d fly into a rage and march straight over to confront Renee. And I just couldn’t imagine what the repercussions of that would be at this rate.