35. Is Somebody’s Son on My Forehead?
Is Somebody's Son on My Forehead?
Bianca
“My Shayla!” Stephanie whines at my eighteenth hug since picking her up.
Sicily is ready to toss us out. We haven’t stopped hugging and squealing since she came out of the airport yelling, “Bitch!” Security wanted to haul me away because I let the bass rock with “Down for My N’s.” My friend deserved an entrance and got one.
“I missed you,” I pout. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the house to rest?”
She flicks her bangles. “I slept on the flights and have a month and a half to give my bed some head. I wouldn’t mind using that fine man who picked us up as a pillowcase. That’s Sally’s cousin?”
“Best friend and business partner,” I laugh, shifting us away from a small group on the sidewalk.
Catania’s central district is hot and busy. Benny gave the okay for me to come with Steph “alone,” provided security follows and I stay in areas accessible to the drones he taught me to use. We’re shopping, not carrying out a military strike.
“Andrea already dealt with the four bags you brought. Give the man a break,” I say.
“I’m trying to give him some pussy.” She tips her glasses toward the bridge of her nose. “Is he single?”
I snort. “Very friendly.”
“My kitty doesn’t mind a meeting with his welcoming committee. Shit, maybe I’ll fall in love and stay here too.”
We cackle and link arms.
“You look happy, B.”
“I am.” I smile. “I like him.”
Stephanie bumps my hip with her sundress. “You are glowing in this Sicilian sun, and not because of the weather.”
“It’s too early for love. I’m not sure it could grow into that because our circumstances are wild.” I sigh. “That’s not how love happens.”
“And you know from all the dating you didn’t do, giving everything but your ass to that awful job.”
I suck my teeth and roll my eyes. “I was building a career!”
“In Corporate America, which historically has never given a damn about Black women. All that climbing up a ladder with missing rungs. The microaggressions and lack of equity.” Stephanie frowns. “Didn’t you get hemorrhoids?”
“Yes.” I snicker at the memory of my itchy ass. I’m glad I can laugh about it now.
She pulls me next to a building with a balcony and shade to match what she’s about to throw.
“That job and that industry didn’t deserve you.
I commend ladies fighting in spaces not meant for us, but it’s okay for a soft life to be your next chapter.
Happiness looks good on you, B. If it’s here with the don, roll with it if you feel safe. ”
I grin. “I’d be the don in this scenario.”
“See! He elevated your title. He’s a good man, Savannah.”
“We’re based on a lie.”
“But your marriage will be real. Keep arguing, bitch.” Her eyes lift above my head. “Let’s go.”
“What are we doing?”
“Making it real.”
“That’s the one.”
“You like it?” I turn in the mirror. Lace trim meets ivory satin above my hips. Delicate straps hold the open back and cowl neckline. The gown hugs my body as if it were tailor-made.
“It’s perfect.” Stephanie fans her eyes and lifts her phone. “You’re getting it.”
“What?” I huff a laugh.
“And take your hair out of your braids to wear it with your natural curls.”
I squint. “Did they put drugs in your champagne? We’re signing a marriage certificate. There is no wedding.”
Benny never mentioned one, not that I asked. I wouldn’t mind a cake, but we don’t need to pretend we’re more than we are.
Stephanie waves me off for another sip of champagne. Her lemon maxi dress glows against the copper undertones of her chocolate brown skin. She looks like Olivia Pope about to fix the White House in the embellished scarf draped down her back.
“We look good,” I say to our reflection.
She passes me another glass and eyes me heavy in so what we doing?
“Want to play dress-up this weekend?”
“Like we did in my auntie’s good casino dresses and wigs when we were little?” She beams.
“It’s a date.”
We squeal.
“Benny is always busy. We can kick him out, watch movies, and stuff our faces with food and liquor.”
Stephanie raises her glass with a shimmy. “To the citrus grove!”
“The citrus grove!” The almost-forty crew is not above a sleepover and will do it up in couture.
I hand the attendant Benny’s credit card he’d given me. The dresses need alterations, so we might be in bonnets and pajamas this weekend.
“We have a private exit for you to use,” the attendant says with a wide smile. She switched to English after hearing us running our mouths.
“Thank you. That would be nice.” I pick up my lingerie bag and follow her and Stephanie out the back door.
The bridal store is a cozy boutique in a historic building off the main street Stephanie and I found. Sunlight spills into the alley and the text message I send Aldo. I spot him across the street when we’re halfway down the paved passage.
“There he is.” I wave at Benny’s driver. My smile dissolves at the large iron gate closing at the end of the alley. “We’re still back here!” I shout in Italian.
“I know Paolina or whoever didn’t forget us.” Stephanie doubles back to pound on the door we’d left.
My heart races and my stomach drops.
There’s banging on the other end of the handleless gate, too high to climb.
It fades under the blood pounding in my ears from the man walking down the other end of the alley with a gun.
The warning for Stephanie to run catches in my throat.
My voice cracks at the crunch of his boots over the gravel, inching closer.
“Unni vai?“ the stranger teases with a menacing glare.
Stephanie slowly backs away from the door. “What did he say?” she asks, her eyes never leaving the gun at his side.
“I think he said, ‘Where am I going?’” I dip my head in a whisper. “Benny’s grandmother only speaks Sicilian. I’m trying to learn.”
“Girl, that’s cute.”
“It is, but now’s not the time. I’ll tell you once we get out of here.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Ms. Caselli,” the man says in English. The color of his tone is questionably cheerful.
“Caselli?” Stephanie mumbles through her teeth, taking another step back with me.
I give her a look.
Mafia boss, remember?
The wrinkle lines across her forehead ease.
Ooh, bitch. This is an enemy?
I force a swallow.
Mhm.
Stephanie and I are no strangers to violence.
We fought in an alley or two growing up and even had a few run-ins with dickheads who brought knives and guns to the party.
We aren’t foolish enough to rush anybody with a gun head-on.
Not any man, or this one who looks like he missed a few showers and will dance to his reflection in a window.
His beady eyes skid from Stephanie to me. “Come with me.”
“So you can kill me somewhere else? No thanks. Do it here,” I challenge. I might kill us all with the gas tightening my belly, but I play it cool.
Stephanie’s head whips toward me. “I’m not trying to die anywhere.”
“And you won’t.” I force tears to fall and wrap her in a bear hug. “My Shayla!”
“Bitch, what are you doing?” Her voice is low in my ear.
“Calling support,” I whisper, fingers moving across the phone I hold behind her back. “Don’t let him see.”
“Lord, why?” she wails. Her nails dig into my dress to hold me tighter.
The stranger’s voice explodes. “Come now, Caselli.”
The sun spills over the screen, lighting up with my commands. “I need more time,” I say, low enough for Stephanie to hear.
Sweat trickles over my brow like I’m defusing a bomb with three seconds left. When Benny showed me how to use the app “just in case,” I never imagined I’d use it today.
“No!” Stephanie screams from her belly with her finger raised. If we weren’t facing death, I’d shed actual tears for her Charlotte York impression. She’d kill for me and wouldn’t think twice if someone dared to leave me at the altar.
“Got it!” I whisper-yell and tuck my phone into the back of her sundress. “Go stand in the corner, just in case.”
“Just in case what?” Stephanie barks.
“Shh! Benny didn’t update the software to make you a friendly.” I slowly back away from her with my hands raised.
“My God.” She crosses herself before scurrying to the gate in her sandals. Her ass is in the air to protect her vital organs.
Drones fly in the distance, too quiet for this dead man walking to notice behind him.
He licks his cracked lips. “I might take you for myself before I turn you in. What do you say, bitch?”
The first bullet pierces his neck. Blood streaks the alley inches from my feet. A second follows, spilling his brains across the ground. His body collapses and goes still after a final jerk.
The drones fly low to do a quick scan before speeding into the distance. My breath recoils at the body lying inches from my blood-soaked sandals.
“B, you good?!” Stephanie yells from the corner.
My knees turn to mush. I stumble back with a hand clamped over my mouth. “I just killed a man.”
“What? He’s dead?”
“The pieces of him heating in the sun confirm he is,” I say.
“You okay, though? Eww.” Stephanie swipes his flesh from my neck. “Did you get any blood in your mouth?”
I shake my head until she grips my shoulders.
“Let’s not do that. You got some”—she motions to my face and hair—“a nice shower will get that right out.”
My breath hitches. “I’m wearing a dead man, aren’t I?”
Steph rolls her lips and blows out a puff of air. “What matters is that you’re alive and I’m not dead.”
I sniffle. “But there’s somebody’s son on my forehead?”
“Not your forehead,” she emphasizes. “Let’s get you home. You’re likely in shock and just need to wash the day away. Look on the bright side: you handled your first run-in by yourself like a boss.” She lifts to put her arm around my shoulder but thinks twice. “Does Sally have a hose?”
The gate pries open. Aldo rushes in with a gun. “Are you okay, miss?” he asks in Italian.
“I almost died getting a wedding dress.” I don’t know if I want to laugh, cry, or both. “The drones work.”
“Let’s get you home. Security is inside,” he says.
Stephanie links our arms and grabs my lingerie bag from the ground. “You kept your new panties clean.”
“I peed on myself.”
“Bitch, me too.”