A sharp painknifes up my side. My breath wheezes out. Under my jacket, my shirt is growing wet. My boots clunk over the broken black top. I want to stop and sink to the ground.
Got to keep moving.
The thug came out of nowhere, popping into my path and pulling me into a forced embrace. I wrenched myself away, but not before his knife sank into me, a red hot slash burning like wildfire through my core.
I’m bloody and bruised, but I’m in better shape than him. I left him in a dark pile by a dumpster.
The assassination was like everything my father’s ever done. Sloppy.
E tu, padre?
The pink door of the bakery glimmers ahead of me, a mirage in the desert. My left eye is a bit blurry. Probably turning black. I force my feet to trudge on, staggering up the glass-strewn pavement. A pile of newspapers have spilled out of their glass case and turned into a sodden mass of pulp.
This was once a nice area, but crime and gangs have ruined its charm. Sent the townspeople packing. These shop owners pay for protection, but my father gives them nothing.
That’s something I’ll change.
My father thought he’d end things with a quiet knifing. What sort of man sends assassins to take out his own son?
He thinks he can best me. I'll take his mansion, his territory, and then I'll take his throne. Nothing can stop me.La Familigiawill back the victor. The wheels and cogs in my head are turning. There's just one missing piece.
The bell over the bakery door rings out, announcing a customer leaving. I stop, leaning against the wall like an addict contemplating his next fix.
A young couple blows out of the bakery. Both are blond and laughing, arm in arm. They look like brother and sister, wearing matching Empire University sweatshirts. I wait for them to jump into their bright red Camaro and drive off before limping to the Panetteria door.
More of my father's assassins might be looking for me and I need a place to hide. They won't expect me to have walked this far on foot. I blink at my boots. Have I left a trail of blood? A knife in the gut will do that.
I push open the bakery door. The bell cha-chings and the sweet scent hits me. For a moment I’m back inmia zia’skitchen, watching her roll out the dough with her floury arms jiggling.
A young woman stands behind the counter. Her eyes are red rimmed but she gives me a brave smile. “Hello, welcome toPanetteria Principessa.” She pronounces the Italian perfectly. “What can I help you with?”
I straighten as best I can, limping to inspect the bakery cases. My reflection in the glass shows an unkempt man with sallow cheeks and dark crevices under his eyes. I look twenty years older than I am. I look like a homeless man.
I am a homeless man. For now.
Until I take my father’s mansion.That will be my first move.
“Un caffè,per favore.” My voice is a guttural rasp.
She bustles to get it. I lean a little too heavily on the counter and when she returns, she nearly drops the cup.
“Oh my god,” she says. “You're bleeding.”
“It's nothing.” I wave a hand and wince. “Do not trouble yourself.”
“No, no, wait here.” She whirls and heads to the door leading to the back of the shop. Through the haze of pain, I focus on her curvy backside.
The burn in my side fades to nothing. By the time she returns with a first aid kit, I’m standing taller.
“May I?” She gestures to my hand.
At my nod, she lifts it and begins to clean the slash on my palm with gentle hands. Funny, I didn’t even feel that wound. The one under my jacket is much greater. What would this little baker do if I shrugged off my layers and showed her my red-stained shirt?
Up close, I can study her snub nose, her dark lashes, her bright doe eyes. She’s been crying, but there’s more color in her cheeks now than when I first came in.
“Did someone upset you?'' I ask as she bandages the cut.
“Oh, it's nothing.” She blinks and sniffles. “My boyfriend just broke up with me,” she admits. “That was him and his new girlfriend who left just now. They acted like…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “They acted like I was nobody to them. We spent four years together in high school.” Her voice wobbles. “Anyway.”
