"You sure?" he asked.
"Yes. Don't make me order you to go out and have a good time."
When I pulled up in front of our condo building, Bones pointed beneath my seat and said, "Take it."
I pressed my index finger in the center of a hidden panel beneath my seat. It read my fingerprint and popped open, revealing the Desert Eagle .50 caliber pistol inside. Bones handed me a windbreaker from the backseat that I slid over my flack vest. I slipped the pistol into the jacket pocket and climbed out. Bones circled around and got behind the wheel. I felt him watching me as I entered the building and greeted the dark-skinned, six-foot security guard who often pulled night duty on the weekends. Despite the security, I kept one hand wrapped around the pistol in my pocket until I checked the apartment. Once I verified I was alone, I stored the pistol in the nightstand beside my bed and hung up the windbreaker.
My mind wouldn't stop spinning, so I opened a bottle of wine and clicked on the television. I watched old comedy show reruns and drank until the knot between my shoulders became a dull ache. I tried to drink until I stopped thinking about Markie, but finished off the bottle of wine with her goddamn dimples still running through my mind. Tipsy and exhausted, I crawled into bed.
That night I dreamed of a beautiful blonde waving good-bye as she walked away from me, and when I woke up the next morning, I had convinced myself I was happy to see her go.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Angel
SUNDAYS HAVE ALWAYS been a big deal for my family. Mamma and Nonna (my grandmother) are so desperate to save our souls--despite what we do--that they drag us to mass every week, under threat of guilt trips and possible disowning. After mass, we all go out for gelato, and then have a big dinner with family, extended family, and friends. The women crowd the kitchen, gossiping while they craft homemade pasta and simmer sauces, and the men watch football in the den or help father work the grill in the backyard.
As a child, I used to follow the old man around with a tray full of seasonings and a pair of heavy metal grilling tongs, beaming with pride at the chance to help him. Looking back, I see that even then, he was grooming me to follow in his footsteps. When I aged out of that phase, my now nineteen-year-old brother, Dante, took my place. Today it was Georgio's turn following Father around like a puppy waiting for a pat on his head.
"He's growing up," Bones observed, following my gaze.
I frowned, saddened by the truth of it. "Yeah, he is."
My old man had his usual entourage of ass-kissers huddled around him. I didn't feel like joining in, so I headed for the swimming pool while Bones drifted off to go look menacing alongside the other security guards. Although he was more family than employee, he liked to shoot the shit with them and catch up on all the latest news.
I swear sometimes the security guards gossip more than the women.
Hidden from view by the gate around the pool, I kicked back in a lawn chair and tried to relax. The setting sun had dropped the temperature down to the mid-eighties, and I fought the urge to tug off my loafers and socks, roll up my slacks, and dip my toes into the cool water. Instead, I blocked out the conversations from the deck, closed my eyes, and reveled in the peaceful solitude of the moment.
Thoughts of Markie crept into my mind. I had an excellent memory, but even better technology, and when Markie had passed us her ID to verify her age at the pizzeria, I'd snapped a picture of it with my smart watch. I was my father's son, after all, and it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Bones had most likely done the same. Pulling up the image, I slipped my phone out and googled "Markie Lynn Davis, age twenty-three, from Boise, Idaho." I got a couple of hits, started clicking them, and then felt someone behind me. I dropped my phone face down on my lap, and turned.
"What are you doing?" Bones asked, eyeing me.
I shrugged, knowing I'd been caught, but still trying to save face. "Checking some shit out."
Bones sat on the chair beside me, and leaned forward. "Some 'shit' or 'someone'?" he asked.
I shrugged again.
Bones grumbled a warning about having my nuts removed and took off.
Ignoring the temptation of my Internet search, I closed my eyes again. It wasn't too long before I felt the presence of company once again. Through half-lidded eyes, I spied my baby sister tip-toeing toward the shallow end of the swimming pool, watching me as she went. She wore a green satin dress, and her long dark curls had been confined in a braid and secured by a matching ribbon. She kicked off shiny black shoes, hiked up her dress so she wouldn't sit on it, and plopped down on the side of the pool. Then she gently lowered her feet into the water, sighing deeply.
"Better be careful," I said.
Luciana jumped, letting out a little squeak. "Angel! You scared me half to death. I thought you were asleep."
"That was the goal. I was waiting to see if you were going to jump in."
"I wish. Stupid Sunday dinners," she groaned.
"I thought you liked Sunday dinners."
"Yeah, well Mamma says I have to help in the kitchen. I tried, but all the women want to do is talk, and whenever I say something, they get mad and tell me I shouldn't gossip."
I swallowed back a laugh, but Luciana cast me a sideways glare to let me know she'd heard it.
"Why don't you have to help the guys--," she glanced over her shoulder at the men on the patio, "--with whatever they do?"
