Prologue III Constantine
Prologue III
Constantine
Edric drove me to an enormous villa behind an iron gate.
No one was out front, monitored instead by a series of cameras, but once the gates opened and we made it inside, we saw the militia of armed men in the courtyard.
All carried rifles and shotguns, smoking cigars as they leaned against the cars and waited for their shifts to finish.
I’d never been around guns before, but for some reason, it didn’t bother me.
Edric took me in, and the guards at the front did a double take when they looked at the two of us.
“My brother, Con,” Edric explained.
We headed inside, and the main room was full of round tables, which were all occupied by men gambling and drinking.
“What in the actual fuck?” Some guy in a pin-striped suit walked up with a lit cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He took a look at me, then Edric, and then me again. “What am I looking at right now?”
“Oh yeah, I’m a twin,” Edric said. “Guess I forgot to mention that.”
“There’s two of you?” he asked in disbelief. “Like the world needs that.” He broke out into a loud laugh.
Edric did the same—like they were well acquainted.
“Take him to Tommaso,” the guy said. “He’ll get a kick out of that.”
Edric walked off with me in tow and headed away from the room where everyone gambled.
“Who’s Tommaso?”
“The boss. Mr. Boss Man.”
I saw my brother in a new light, in a new world where he seemed to fit in perfectly. “And he’s going to want to meet me?”
“Yeah, we’re cool.” He crossed the villa to another set of double doors, which were closed and guarded by two men. But Edric knew them too, because they all exchanged hand embraces before Edric said, “This is my brother, Con.”
“You have a twin?” one of the guys said.
“Yep—and I’m the better-looking one. Tell Tommaso I want to introduce him.”
One of the guys entered the double doors to relay the message.
“You sure we aren’t going to bother him?” I asked, not understanding how a crime boss could care about my brother being a twin.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” he said. “Don’t be nervous. No one will shoot you, because they’ll think you’re me.”
“Or they’ll shoot me because they think I’m you.”
Edric chuckled and gave me a playful jab in the side.
The guard returned. “The boss will see you.” He stepped aside so we could pass through the doors into the other room.
The next room was a study, a large hearth against the wall, a sprawling living room set and a wet bar. The villa itself was like a palace, and the mammoth size of it was intimidating on its own. Cosa Nostra obviously had more money than they knew how to spend.
A man with jet-black hair stood there, suspenders over his shoulders, a stiff drink in his hand.
He finished speaking to one of the guys in a hushed tone before he dismissed him with a flick of his hand.
Then he turned to us, stopping to glance back and forth between the two of us.
“Now we’ve got two pretty boys.” He came forward and sized me up like I was a pig he was about to butcher for meat.
“But this one has ink. I like it.” He took a drink, then shook the ice cubes in his glass. “We can use him.”
“I had the same thought,” Edric said. “Now I can be in two places at once. Perfect way to set up one deal and take down another.”
I had no idea what that meant. “I’m not looking for a job.”
“Oh?” Tommaso asked. “Then what do you do?”
“Work at my family’s restaurant in Taormina.”
“Oh, I see. So you’re already making the big bucks,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Mr. Moneybags, huh?”
“No one is richer than a man who doesn’t care about money.”
His chuckles subsided, and a serious expression came onto his face.
He shook his glass again before he took a step closer.
“And a man who says he doesn’t care about money is a man who’s never had money.
If I put twenty in your hands every month, you’d be singing a different tune—preferably Sinatra. ”
Twenty what? Twenty thousand? “A bit clichéd, don’t you think?”
Edric turned to me, gave me a look, and mouthed, “Chill.”
Tommaso examined me again, like he didn’t know what to make of me. “You look exactly alike, but it’s obvious you’re nothing alike. What brings you down here from Taormina?”
“Trying to get my brother to come home.”
“But he doesn’t want to?”
“Unfortunately,” I said. “He’s always been like a balloon . . . drifts off easily.”
“And you’re the rock. I can see that.” He moved to the couch, then addressed one of his men. “Make my new friend a drink.” He got comfortable, crossed one of his legs, and then gestured for me to take a seat.
I complied.
Edric remained standing like he wasn’t part of the conversation.
“Edric has spoken of you often—just left out the twin part.”
“Yeah? What has he said?”
“That he fucked up things pretty badly between you two. But it seems like you’ve made up. How sweet.”
I glanced at my brother, realizing he really did feel terrible if he mentioned it to strangers. “Yeah, we’re good now.”
“Trust me, pussy is never worth it. My brother and I fought over a woman once. I regretted winning right away because she wasn’t that great in bed.
Kicked her out, and five years later, we were friends again.
Glad you two didn’t take as long.” He took a drink from his glass, then set it on the table.
One of the guys put the drink on the coaster in front of me before he retreated to the edge of the room.
I didn’t touch it.
Silence passed for a while as he continued to stare me down. “You say you don’t care about money, but you’re in the presence of the wealthiest men in Sicily. You say you want your brother to come home, but instead, you’ve ended up here with me. So, what do you really want, Constantine?”
I didn’t have a clue. For the last six months, I’d nursed my broken heart.
Spent my nights alone in my apartment. Stopped going out with my friends because all I wanted to do was be alone.
When I didn’t think about how much Isabella had hurt me, I thought about how much my brother had killed me.
Now I didn’t know what direction to take in life .
. . if I belonged in Taormina anymore. “Honestly, I don’t know.
I planned to settle down with a woman, until she broke my heart. ”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But sometimes the worst things that happen to us end up also being the best things that ever happen to us.
” He finished off his glass, then lifted it in the air until one of his men retrieved it and made another.
“You’re far too young to be married. You aren’t old enough to know what life really is.
Haven’t had enough pussy to know which pussy you really want for the rest of your life.
So may I suggest you take the time to figure that out . . . and make some money along the way.”
It was the quickest job offer I’d ever received. “You’re offering me a job when you don’t know me?”
“I’m offering you an opportunity. What you do with that opportunity determines where you end up.
I am a great judge of character, and I can tell you’re as smart as your brother but not as impulsive.
Keep making your little rice balls at home if you want to live in a cramped apartment for the rest of your life—or expand your horizons and explore something greater.
The choice is yours. But don’t wait too long .
. . because my generosity has always been fickle. ”
I worked in the kitchen at Rosticceria Da Cristina in the morning, preparing the restaurant for the morning crew.
It was the same thing every day since we were open every single day of the week.
I never had a day off because I just had to be there a couple hours every morning.
We could hire people to come in and do the morning stuff, but my mom didn’t trust anyone alone in the restaurant except for family.
Something caught my eye in the window, so I looked up—and saw Isabella walk to the front door.
The front door that I left unlocked. “Fuck.” I should have listened to my ma.
She burst in the door with a wild look in her eyes.
I already knew what this was about. I took off my gloves before she even came behind the counter.
“You’re moving to Palermo?” She yelled when she didn’t need to, not where there was no music or other conversation to talk over. “What the hell is this, Constantine?”
I’d expected a conversation to happen at some point, but I didn’t expect it like this.
“Your restaurant is here. Your family is here. Why do you need to move three hours away?”
“Because there’s more to life than this little town.”
“This little town?” She stepped back. “Or you’re too good for us now?”
“That’s not what I said, and you know it.”
“This is your home. This is where we decided to settle down—”
“I had other plans before that. I wanted to move to Rome or Florence, see some of this big, beautiful world. But I stayed here because I fell in love with you, and I wasn’t going to leave you.
I gave it all up to settle down and be a husband and a father.
But then we know what happened after that . . .”
She flinched like I’d struck her with the back of my hand. Cut her deep with my words.
“So there’s nothing keeping me here anymore.”
“Nothing?” Her voice cracked from the tears. “I’ve given you space like you asked, even though it nearly killed me—”
“I didn’t ask for space. I asked you to let me go.” Big difference.
“I hoped something would change in the last few months. That you would forgive me and we would find our way back to each other, but now you’re leaving—”
“I do forgive you, Isabella. I don’t hold any ill will toward you.”
“Then stay. Give us another chance.”
“No.”
“Con, please—”