Chapter 20
twenty
. . .
Sleep on a flight had never been a luxury for me, not even a forty winks nap. As the engines hummed beneath me, I found myself thinking about Lorenzo’s suggestion throughout the night and well into the morning until the taxing plane jolted my attention.
“Ciao, Remo.” I deplaned to find Uncle Frank next to a long black limo instead one of his men in a waiting truck. “You look tired, my boy.” He pulled me into a warm embrace.
“Too much to think about,” I muttered, unholstering my gun and the machete I never left home without.
“Then perhaps this break is what you need. Sort out those tiresome thoughts. Yes?” He chuckled. “Or maybe get some much needed shut eye.”
“No sleep for the wicked, zio, you know that.” I shared his laughter yet the tendons in my muscles refused to soften, anticipating a showdown.
However, the second I slipped into the vehicle, set my weapons beside me and rested my head on the backrest, my lids were already closing. I felt myself being dragged under by a gentle hand that promised reprieve.
“We’re home, son.”
My uncle’s soft voice pulled me from a deep slumber I hadn’t expected and opened my eyes to find I’d somehow stretched out on one of the long seats. I sat up, dragging a hand through my hair and glanced at my watch.
“It’s the hot Italian air, it makes you lazy.” Frank chuckled.
Seemed like the fifty-five-minute trip was all I needed to recharge. When I climbed out the vehicle and glanced around the estate, new energy rekindled the fire in my veins. Grabbing my weapons, I followed my uncle.
“Good to be back?” Frank asked as we walked through the estate.
“The last time I was here, Lorenzo usurped Mother’s title. That was a moment I’d waited for a long time,” I replied. “Now, it truly feels like home.”
My gaze drifted to an old olive tree, more so the two-seater bench swing my brothers had constructed for me and my best friend.
After his death, I refused to go anywhere near that tree.
Ironically, I came from a mafia family which meant my days would be numbered once I became a Made man, but my friend died before he even had a chance to live.
Steps slow, I walked toward it and sat down on the weathered wood. Still sturdy, the rope took my weight without effort.
“Seems like a lifetime, doesn’t it, old friend.” Not one for emotional shit, I strangely couldn’t stop myself from caressing the empty space beside me, as if by that action alone, he’d come back. Unexpected memories flooded my head.
Endless days spent under this tree, either Bastone fighting, an Italian martial art with wooden staffs, riding down the hill in our cardboard versions of a sled or filling our stomachs with Nonna’s famous bomboloni.
A grin tugged at the corners of my lips, wondering how I’d gone from a glutton for Italian doughnuts rolled in sugar and filled with rich pastry cream to a zest for blood.
“Life, Tanto,” I whispered, referring to the name he always preferred, it made him feel ten times bigger than his short build.
After I saved him from bullies by sheer accident, I began to see his underlying strength over the length of our friendship while he ended up being the only person I trusted with my secrets. Thankfully, he took them to his grave.
Gaze drifting over the expanse of verdant hills and valleys spotted with occasional trees, I inhaled deeply. The peace and quiet here, an absurd contrast to the family raised within the walls behind me, was breathtaking.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Frank came up beside. With his hands in pants pockets, he stared out into distance. “Think you can live here permanently, forget about the mafia world back in the States and make a life here?”
I snorted a laugh and stood. “The second Lorenzo screws his head on straight, I’m out of here,” my words were flippant.
“You need to stop running, my boy.”
Meeting his gaze, I frowned. “Running?”
His expression softened somewhat. “From your past, Remo.”
If he wasn’t a man I respected, my fist would’ve showed him how to get lost. “What makes you think I am?”
He fished a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket, removed two, lit them and handed me one. After we took a few silent drags, he looked at me, his expression solemn. “You’ve tangoed with your demons for a long time, son and in doing so, you’ve let them take the lead.”
That had me wondering what the fuck he was alluding to.
Granted he had an ear to the ground when it came to our family; he knew jack about my demons.
“You can’t conquer the demons you enjoy fucking, zio.
” No way he’d get me to admit defeat even if he’d always been an attentive ear when I was younger.
“True.” He gave me that knowing grin, having faced his fair share of torments.
“But sometimes, the only way to fight your demons is to sit them down and propose a reprieve from their own ludicrous miscalculations. Perhaps offer them a bottle of scotch they’ve been dying to taste.
You’ll be surprised how nice they’d play, letting you in and just when they begin to trust you, you dissect them into tiny little fuckers not even the best osteologist would be able to piece back together. ”
“Great concept.” I watched a puff of smoke curl up toward the sky. “Not everything that is conquered can bring change, though.” My gaze slid back to him.
Dropping his cigarette butt and squashing it with a shoe, he turned fully to face me. “But nothing will change until its conquered, son.”
“Why bother when the bearer of those demons have long ceased to exist?” I dropped the remains of my cigarette and ground a heel into it, my anger surfacing. “What the fuck am I doing here again?” I muttered. “I should be back home, like Rayden says, fucking up more shit.”
“What if they haven’t?” he asked quietly, pulling a frown from me.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s still there, Remo,” he replied so quietly, I thought the wind was playing tricks on my ears.
“Who?” Hackles threatening to explode, I sought confirmation.
“The queen bitch,” his words weren’t much of a bombshell, more a venomous whisper.
Aware my skin must’ve paled with shock, every nerve in my body froze. Not waiting for him to elaborate, I spun on my heels and stormed off, a blazing torrent pissing fire through me, charging my veins with revulsion.