40. ANTONIO
ANTONIO
I was certain of one thing. I was a pawn in a game I didn’t know the rules to.
I was running around doing Vincent’s spying, convinced Joey was the problem. I let myself believe Joey was the enemy, the one tearing this family apart. But I was wrong. This was a game without instructions, but all I’d managed to piece together was that Vincent and Hector had been the ones who put Joey in prison. Renee was insane and working alongside her dad to somehow take Joey out. And I’d been roped into the entire thing.
I stood there as I swept the floor at Davidson’s, which was just more dirty work. When I heard the door chime and saw the way her face lit up, I knew exactly who had walked in before I even turned around.
Joey. She didn’t smile like that for anyone else.
He leaned against the counter like he owned the place, his eyes locked on hers. And I felt something settle inside me. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, after all. Joey had been more of a father to me than my own ever was. And I’d never seen Ma this happy before. That’s all I ever wanted for her .
“Morning, Joey!” I called from across the store.
He turned, flashing me a grin as he made his way over. Even now, it was impossible not to admire him. The gold watch, the tailored suit, the fedora tilted just right—he was cool without even trying. I still wanted to be like him. Just like him.
Which meant I had to end this thing with Vincent. Before it ended me.
Or worse—before it ended, Joey.
“How’s it going, kid?” he asked, pouring him a cup of coffee.
“It’s shit,” I muttered, sweeping the floor. “Ma’s got me doing all her dirty work just because of this suspension.”
Joey chuckled as he took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, well, if she hears you cursing, you’ll be working for free even longer.”
“Take me with you,” I begged. “I swear I’ll behave. Just get me out of here.”
Joey looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, okay. I’ll have to ask your mom first.”
Romano Wholesale.
Not a very creative name on Joey’s part, but I’d read in the papers it was the most successful car wholesalers’ shop on the East Coast. So he must be doing something right. Joey’s office was fit for a king. A high-back, leather chair perched behind a large wooden desk with a chandelier hanging above. A small bar cart was in the corner.
Joey gestured toward the chair behind his desk. “Sit there,” he said. I sank into the chair without a second thought, glancing around the room with wide-eyed fascination. Joey walked toward the window, cracking it open and lighting a cigarette as the faint scent of smoke filled his office.
“This is what it feels like to be you.” I grinned, leaning back in the chair. He laughed and exhaled the smoke out of the crack in the window. “Can I have one, too?” I asked, nodding at the cigarette dangling from Joey’s fingers.
Joey raised an eyebrow, tapping the ash into the small glass tray. “Not a chance, kid.” He took another drag. “And I don’t want to find out you been smoking. It’s a bad habit.”
“Then why do you smoke?” I asked him.
Before he could reply, there was a knock at his office door, followed by Sal poking his head through, asking Joey to step outside.
“Be right back, kid,” Joey told me. “Make yourself comfortable.”
My eyes drifted over Joey’s desk—just a mess of invoices, listings, and contracts. Paperwork. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing interesting. My fingers brushed against the top drawer, and I cracked it open just enough to peek inside.
Bullets. Cash. And a gun.
My stomach twisted into a knot. The office door swung open, and Joey stepped in.
Shit. Caught red-handed.
My pulse thundered in my ears as I shoved the drawer shut—too loud. Too obvious. Joey’s eyes locked onto mine, then dropped to my hand, still lingering on the drawer. He didn’t say a word, just took a slow step forward. I forced myself to sit back in the chair, straightening under his stare. I braced myself for whatever happened next. But Joey just reached down, pulled the drawer open, and grabbed the gun like it was nothing. He slid it into his waistband, then nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I hesitated, my heart still hammering. But I followed. We drove in silence, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Had I just crossed a line? But when we pulled into the empty dock, Joey did something I wasn’t expecting.
He got out, rummaged through a garbage can, and pulled out an empty soda can. Then he placed it a few feet ahead of us, lining it up just right. I took in a sharp inhale as he turned back to me. “Come here,” he said, pulling the gun from his waistband and holding it out to me.
The realization hit me like a hard slap across the face. He wasn’t going to hurt me. He was going to teach me how to shoot.
Joey raised a finger as I stepped closer. “This never happened,” he said, wagging a finger at me, trying to make his point clear. “Your mother would kill both of us if she ever found out about this, and we’re both destined for a long life, kid.” His serious facade quickly washed away in exchange for a smirk.
I grinned. “Of course not! I’ll just tell her you worked me like a slave, and I never want her to let you take me anywhere again.” I laughed.
Joey chuckled, too, but the tone in his voice became more serious as he raised it carefully, positioning it with precision. He held it with ease, like it was second nature to him. “It’s a powerful thing, Antonio. Holding a gun. You don’t realize what you’re capable of until your finger is on that trigger.” He smirked, handing the gun to me. “You got one shot. So you better make it count, kid. You never play around with guns. Don’t ever mess with one unless you absolutely have to. And if you ever have to use it? It’s because your mother’s in danger, and I’m not around. That’s the only time.”
I swallowed, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal. He stood beside me, helping me line up the gun and adjust my aim. “Like this,” he instructed, his hand steady on my arm. “Now, pull the trigger. And don’t miss.” His breath was hot against my ear.
For a second, I thought about Ma—what she must have felt, holding a gun in her hands. The weight of it. The power it yielded. But then I thought about that night.
And I pulled the trigger .
The familiar, sharp pop rang out. “ Oh, fuck ,” I exhaled, my pulse slamming against my ribs. But my arms stayed steady, the gun firm in my grip. Adrenaline surged through me. I’d never felt anything like it before.
Joey stood beside me as I lowered my arm, his arms crossed over his chest, head cocked to the side. Admiration lit up his face. Like a proud father watching his son. “How’d that feel?” he asked.
“Incredible!” I shouted, a wide grin stretching across my face. I looked down at the gun. There was something intoxicating about holding that gun, feeling the cool metal against my fingertips. The adrenaline coursing through me was like a drug, addictive. My body responded in ways I couldn’t fully explain; every nerve in my body had been set on fire.
It shouldn’t feel this good. I shouldn’t be enjoying this. My mind screamed at me to give it back, to walk away and forget about it. But there was a yearning I couldn’t deny myself forever. I loved it more than I should have. I could taste the power, the control. It wasn’t just the gun—it was the threat it carried, the fear it invoked, the sheer fucking power it yielded.
Joey took the gun back, tucking it back into his pants. “It’s not a toy. You need to know when to use it and when not to.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I said, looking down at my empty hand still vibrating from the shot I fired.
“This shit is real. You don’t mess with it unless you have to. One shot, Antonio. One shot. That’s all you get. So you always make it count. ”
Joey and I sat on the dock, cracking open boiled peanuts and washing them down with glass-bottled Coca-Cola. We drank as many as we could before I lined up the empties for target practice. Eventually, we headed back to his shop, where he gave me the grand tour—not that I really needed one. I already knew everyone who worked there: Sal, Paul, Marco, Tommy. They greeted me like I belonged, like I was one of them .
Being suspended and grounded didn’t feel like a punishment. That day, it felt like the best damn thing that had ever happened to me.