CHAPTER 8
VINCENT
Tom and I leave the meeting together. It’s only ten at night, but I’m so tired it may as well be three in the morning.
“Let’s hang out and order some food. I’m starving.” He opens a pack of cigarettes, grumbling when he realizes the box is empty.
“No. I need to be alone,” I tell him seriously. I keep wondering how Eve is doing. I want to run into her room and force her to talk, but I shouldn’t. She has to calm down before I speak with her. And something tells me that after our discussion last night, a few days off from me is the right move.
“Vince,” he says emphatically, a nervous look on his face. I cock an eyebrow. Tom only shortens my name when he’s broaching a sore subject. “I still can’t believe that Eve is actually here in school with us. What are the fuckin’ chances? I mean, shit, I know you told me how smart she is. But there are so many other schools. I mean, fuck. Talk about a turn of events. We’ve gotta discuss this.”
I let out a grunt. After the shit that went down between Carlos and I, I had no choice but to tell Tom about Eve and what happened between us. I needed him to do some damage control for me since I didn’t kill Carlos on behalf of the family. Tom may be family, but he isn’t Antonio’s son, and he isn’t in the inner circle—not yet, anyway. He can get away with more than I can. Ending the life of the sergeant of arms for a gang—even if it’s only a pissant street gang, would be a declaration of war if it came from me.
It took a long time, but I was finally accepting Eve was good and truly gone from my life. In my head, she was off at some great school, living her dreams in safety and maybe even wearing the Uggs I bought her. And even though I felt like I gave up something bigger than the world as I knew it, I told myself that so long as she was doing well, it was enough for me. It had to be. I’d eventually get out from under Daniela’s thumb, get off the East Coast, and maybe one day, have a chance with Eve again.
But all that came crashing down around me when I saw her at the party last night. I seriously just couldn’t believe it. And God, she’s so beautiful. I wish I kept her in my bed, head on my pillow, body wrapped up in my sheets. She should be with me, not in some cold dorm room. Instead, I sent her off like the asshole that I am after mauling the hell out of her. She must be mortified, thinking that I used her. With the life she grew up with, what else would she believe?
Tom clears his throat. “Let’s stop at that deli. I need a fresh pack of smokes.” He throws the empty pack in the trashcan on the corner as we step into the dimly lit bodega. The place is tiny and jam-packed with rows of junk food. There’s a small counter in the corner selling lotto tickets and cigarettes.
“Can I help you?” The clerk looks between us nervously, probably grabbing his gun beneath the register. The truth is, he should be afraid. We’re both huge—sucking the air out of this place and making it look more like a dollhouse than a store. We’re also packing some serious heat tonight. I’ve got four guns and a knife on my body, all concealed. Although we do our best to tone it down when we’re out in the real world, we’re always Borignone mafia. We could set this entire place on fire and get away with it. We’re dominant in this city, and everyone knows it.
Tom leans against the counter, giving his best smile to put the clerk at ease. “Marlboro Lights.” Tom reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his leather wallet that we bought together in Buenos Aires last year. Dropping a hundred-dollar bill on the counter, the guy hands him his pack and opens the register to get him his change.
“Make that two,” I interject. Tom turns to me, a smirk on his face. He pays for the packs and we head back outside.
He chuckles. “Behind that stone face you’re sporting, you’re really freaking the fuck out right now that she’s here, huh?” Tom knows I only smoke when I’m stressed.
“Shut up, man.” I open my pack while he laughs.
“Don’t worry.” He throws a meaty arm around my shoulder. “We’ll eat and chain smoke on your balcony—and maybe we can even braid each other’s hair—while we discuss the girl you killed for.” He’s laughing, but behind the smile, I can tell he’s mad as fuck.
He moves his hands to the back of my head and I duck, shifting away from him. We walk to my building near school, talking shit until we finally get upstairs. My apartment here is a nice-sized one bedroom; it has a black leather couch, nice big screen TV, and a simple rug on the floor. It’s totally different from both my room at my dad’s townhouse and from my SoHo loft. In a weird way, it’s appropriate though; all three sides of me are represented via different living arrangements.
Tom takes out his phone to order the pizza while I walk out onto my small balcony for a minute of privacy. I pull out another cigarette. Lighting up, I let myself take a deep inhale.
Most people in my world smoke. I try not to since I love to fight and don’t want anything to slow my training down. But every so often, it feels damn good. It’s completely quiet on my block, and that’s by design. I can’t stand the stress and hustle of the city. The truth is, I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. I turn to the glass door to see Tom laying back on my couch and turning on the TV. Thank fuck. The last thing I need is for him to question me right now.
Tom and I have been Borignone family since before birth. My father grew up in Brooklyn, the American-born son of Italian immigrants. While his father didn’t choose the life, two of his uncles rose to infamy in the early 1970s by taking bets on sports, eventually using their brand of muscle to manipulate games. Those uncles are the men who supported my father as he grew up. They bought him shoes when his were torn and gave him lunch money when his own father’s pockets were empty. And so, after grade school, my father joined the family. And since his uncles’ deaths, he’s the Boss. Gambling, guns, and drugs are our main sources of income. Tom’s father, Enzo, is my father’s consigliere. The hope is that one day, Tom will be mine. Even though he’s made, he isn’t at the highest rung—yet. But I am. I’ve killed for the family, and I’d do a fuck of a lot worse if need be. I may be at a crossroads right now, but I’m a man of loyalty. Always will be.
What’s funny is that once upon a time, being part of the family was all I ever wanted. I desired all the benefits that came with the notoriety. I knew, even then, that most men would sell their soul for a chance to live the life I was born into. They wish, if only for a moment, to walk into a cocaine den where naked women sort and weigh the goods—tits sprinkled with white powder. The vacations abroad on private planes. The non-stop cash pouring in. Hell, being above the law basically guarantees a life of debauchery. But that’s just human nature, isn’t it? Without being forced to tow a line, everyone would be running as wild as we are.
No other illegal enterprise is as powerful, organized, or as successful. We’re the governing body of most black markets on the East Coast. Hell, Eve said it on the night we met. If the government turns a blind eye to illegal shit like fights, then control is lost and people get hurt. Well, she was wrong about something. Control isn’t lost. It just falls into someone else’s hands. And usually, it’s ours.
I swallow hard, letting my mind wander back to the night that would change the path of my life forever.
***
We throw our blue caps in the air and cheer. Everyone slaps each other’s backs, scattering to find family. My father comes to me, chuckling in both pride and amusement while one-hundred-twenty students gawk at us. People know who we are, and they stare in nervous fascination. The Mafia Don and his intellectual son; I earned my honors status. We’re both well over six-feet tall with chiseled, hard features. I’m already wider and thicker than he is. Where his eyes are electric blue, mine are coal black like my Native American mother.
I graduated in the top five percent of my class, and it wasn’t done with anything other than aptitude coupled with hard work. My IQ took me far, but to get to the top level here at Tri-Prep Academy, nothing but keeping my head in the books would get me the grades I needed for an Ivy League. My father always knew my potential, and he was sure to capitalize on it. If we want to take our business to the next level one day, we need someone in the family with the academic credentials. An inside man to be the face of legitimacy.
Behind all the shit we do is love and loyalty; that’s what we stand for, and it’s something that regular society doesn’t have. These boys around me would shorten their lives to be me. I don’t give a fuck how many times they shrink back, talking shit about what we do. The truth is they wish they were me. If they had the brotherhood as I do—people who have their back no matter what—I’d bet my life they’d never leave it.
My father shakes his head, excitement in his eyes. “Tonight’s the night, Vincent.”
I nod, doing my best not to show how excited I truly am.
Tom moves next to me, his typically fun-loving face turning serious as he puts his hand out to my father, showing respect.
Tom never gave a shit about school and grades. He spent the last four years partying, fucking girls, and doing small-time shit for the family. Now that he’s graduated, he plans to stay and work in the ports of New York and New Jersey with his father, who oversees our business there. The family dominates the waterfronts, and our stronghold could always use more loyal muscle. His father is a Capo—a made man of the highest rank, beneath my father, of course.
Most of the kids in school are getting into their limos to go to the Hamptons for post-grad parties, planning to get drunk and party. Meanwhile, my father and I step into the back of our Rolls Royce, heading to one of our warehouses in Long Island.
Sitting side by side in the back seat, my father takes a small black box from inside his suit jacket. “Open it.” The warmth in my father’s tone from earlier has disappeared.
I use my thumbs to pry the box open. It’s a gold crucifix. I let my fingers touch the simple chain. Every member of the family wears this. Everyone’s got ink, too. The Borignone insignia.
“You aren’t getting inked,” he says, reading my mind. I move my head in confusion. “When you’re in college, you have to focus. I don’t want people seeing you and automatically knowing you belong to us. You’ve gotta be smarter. Cleaner.”
I look into his electric eyes. “Yes, sir.” I keep my mouth in a firm line, my attention solely on him.
“And you don’t wear this until tonight is complete.”
I shut the box, sliding it into my pocket. I’m not sure what tonight will bring, but I’m ready for anything.
I may have a propensity for books, but I take my fighting and gun skills very seriously. People like to think that today’s mob families are less dangerous and powerful as they once were. Well, that’s an utter lie. We’re just better at cloaking ourselves in legitimate work. Regardless, behind the surface of intellect and schooling, I still have my father’s blood running through my veins.
During the ride, tiny pieces of doubt creep inside my head, but I shove them down, focusing on my future. It’s time for me to man up and accept my destiny. Scenery passes by in a blur; before I know it, the city skyline is behind us. The traffic, as usual, is ridiculous on the Long Island Expressway.
“I swear to God, Vincent.” He lowers the window before taking out a cigarette and lighting up. “They could add a tenth lane to this motherfucking highway and there would still be bumper-to-bumper traffic at any hour of the day. Fucking bullshit.”
“I heard the mayor is creating this traffic on purpose as punishment or some shit, for someone in the political arena for not supporting him.”
My father laughs. “That’s life. Tit for tat. Someone should leak that shit to the Post.”
Other than that comment, he sits beside me without a sound. Completely unmoving, other than taking slow and deep drags of his cigarette. A lesser man may be afraid by his silent demeanor, by the way he’s trained his eyes to show no emotion. The government would argue Antonio Borignone is an enemy of the United States. They wouldn’t be wrong.
About an hour later, we step out of the car and stand in front of a huge warehouse; the combination of heat and recently smoked cigarettes permeate the air. Sweat drips down my sides, dampening my starched Armani button-down shirt.
My father opens the heavy gray door and has me walk ahead of him; I’d be lying if I said exhilaration wasn’t the primary thing I feel.
The warehouse is dim and damp. We strut through towers of gun-filled wooden crates while my father’s shoes clap against the concrete floors, echoing through the space.
Standing at the top of a concrete staircase, my father taps my back. I look into his eyes and he nods, telling me in his own way that what I’m about to see and do will probably change my life forever. I stare at him unblinking, communicating that I’m ready.
I move ahead of him, my steps measured as I walk down the narrow staircase.
I smell it first: a twisted mixture of piss, puke, and blood. Two young-looking guys, at least from what I can tell beneath their broken faces, sit in plastic chairs. Their arms and legs are bound together with cable ties. They’re crying like little bitches, noses broken, eyes blackened and shut. Pools of liquid saturate the floor under their chairs.
“Jesus Christ,” I say out loud, lip curling in disgust. A tightening sensation moves deep within my bones.
I swallow hard and take a moment to look around. All the men in the family are here, jaws tense. My heart thumps. I crack my neck from left to right, relieving the tension before moving to my knuckles.
“Finish ‘em.” The order leaves my father’s lips as easily as if he were telling me to take out the trash.
I’ve beaten up plenty of guys in the past, but killing—this is something new to me. I neatly pull off my suit jacket and hand it to my father, as if I have all the time in the world. I look around the room again. If the family wants these men dead, they must have done something deserving of this ending. Borignone mafia doesn’t kill for nothing. But if you fuck with one of ours, payment will be due.
I nod at the ten Capos around me, giving my respect. And then I turn to the two men seated in front of me. Before I can question myself further, I pull out my gun and steady my hands, shooting each of them directly in the head. Their brain matter splatters around them, black and red, like some fucked-up Jackson Pollock painting.
My father places his hand on my shoulder, letting me know without words, that I completed the duty. I immediately turn the safety of my gun back on, sliding it into my holster. The men’s faces register pride.
“These two gangbanged Sammy’s daughter out in Central Islip a few weeks ago.” I open and close my fists a few times. Sammy is an associate who we all love. He isn’t here tonight, of course. But I know his daughter, Allison, well. She’s a thirteen-year-old girl who I would guess is on the Autism spectrum. No one talks about it since weakness isn’t ever discussed within the family. Here, we only strengthen our strengths. But she and I play math games together during Sunday night dinners. I’ve told my father already that when she’s of age, we need to get her to help us manipulate some numbers; her ability is off the damn charts. And these motherfuckers hurt her? Took advantage of a disabled child?
I pull my gun out again, shooting each of these bastards again, and again, picturing sweet Allison in my head. I wish I could revive them just to kill them again. When I’m finished, I see the back of my father’s suit as he walks over to the bodies, his shiny black Ferragamos clapping against the gray concrete. He leans over the dead men, spitting on them.
“Chop ‘em up before you burn the bodies,” he demands. One by one, each man in the family steps up to me, shaking my hand.
Single file, we walk toward another door in the back, entering a new room. It’s small and completely wood-paneled, smelling distinctly of cedar. The table in the center is huge, taking up most of the space. My father pulls out a large knife with a jewel-encrusted handle and turns to me. “This part of your induction will represent sharing of blood. This is the Family,” he says, gesturing to the men around us. “Nothing else comes before it. Leaving is only possible in a coffin.”
He lifts my hand, slowly slicing the center of my palm with the knife. Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt at all; my adrenaline is so high right now; I can’t feel a thing. My blood beads up to the surface of my skin. Taking a piece of white parchment paper from the table, he turns my hand over, letting it drip onto the sheet. The paper is then passed from man to man until reaching my father again.
He lights a match, setting the bloodied paper aflame. “Repeat after me,” he says with a nod. “Honor. Allegiance. Family.” With a steady voice, I repeat the oath, sealing my fate.
“There’s still a little more, Vincent.” He taps my back, motioning for me to follow him again. He brings me into another room, crates piled low to the ground. The men circle me.
“We all know how fuckin’ smart you are. You all know that my son graduated Tri-Prep tonight? Columbia is coming this fall.” They do a slow clap at first, which turns into whistles and hollers. “Sound mind, sound body. Now, show us what you can do in the ring.”
I turn my head left and right. A few men wearing ski masks walk inside the circle. I can tell by the way they move their feet that they are trained fighters. Luckily for me, I’m a machine.
The family doctor stitches me up before sending me back to the townhouse. I walk up a few floors until I get to my bathroom. Dropping to my white tile floor, I vomit into the toilet bowl.
“What have I done?” I sit up against the cold marble wall, willing my body to stop shaking. I feel my teeth chattering in my mouth, but I can’t will them to stop.
Dropping my head in my hands, I roughly grab my hair. The night’s events need to be compartmentalized. I’m not a pussy. I can handle this. Somehow, I force myself up to stand in front of the mirror.
I grip the sink hard, my knuckles shaking with the pressure. “I’m a made man. This is my destiny.” My voice is quiet. I look at myself harder, moving closer to the glass and repeating the words. I need my brain to believe! “I’m a made man. This is my mother-fucking DESTINY!” I scream, punching the glass with my fist, shattering the mirror to pieces.
***
A taxi honks his horn and I’m brought back to the present. Shit, I need to calm the fuck down. I let an image of Eve float into my head and somehow, I exhale the tightness in my chest. It’s not just how stunning she is. It’s more. It’s the way she moves. Thinks. Breathes. How she sees more than just the sum of my parts. When people look at me—with the family or during my fights—they see the muscles and the anger and a good-looking face. When people look at me in school, they see an image that Daniela projects. Somehow, my life has become increasingly fragmented. But with Eve? I’m whole. She’s someone I can’t afford to lose.
I lean against the railing when the balcony door opens It’s Tom. He moves next to me, lighting up his cigarette. “Fuck, it’s getting cold,” he mumbles, rubbing his hands together like we’re on the Titanic.
“Why don’t you bring yourself a sweater from inside? Maybe make a hot chamomile tea while you’re at it?”
He laughs. “Erez is coming in from Israel next week. How many men of his do you think we’ll need? They’ll have to be ready by spring.”
“I expect things to be pretty tense when we get there. I already know the Tribal Council isn’t down with us partnering up with them. We may need around fifty guys to convince them otherwise.”
Tom exhales smoke. “Fuck, yeah. It’s time to take what’s ours.” He spits off the balcony. “Don’t let that bitch derail us now, true? You’ve gotta keep your head on the prize. You’ve got to be all about your girl right now. And I don’t mean the tiny one with the big brown eyes. I mean the snake with red hair and claws.”
“Yeah.” I flick some ash off the balcony. The lie burning my throat. There’s no way in hell I’m going to have Eve near me and not make her mine.
“So, you won’t talk to her anymore?” He drops his cigarette on the concrete balcony floor, stepping on it with his shoe. “I know your vague answers. You say ‘yeah yeah yeah,’ but in the end, you always do whatever the fuck you wanna do.” His voice is harder now.
“Think before you speak, brother,” I reply firmly, daring him with my eyes to spew more bullshit at me. We stare at each other wordlessly, aggression fueling our stances.
“Fuck, Vince!” he seethes, stepping closer to me. “Swear to me you’ll stay away from her! We’ve got plans. The family needs you to stay on the path. Shit between you and Eve almost ruined everything for us last year. Since that bitch, you can’t even be with another girl! You know I’ve been telling you that it feels like a storm is brewing at the ports. On top of that, we can’t be left with this much dirty cash. It’s a bad recipe.”
I grab his shirt, lifting him to my face. “Don’t call her a bitch.”
“Calm the fuck down,” he yells. “I’m not the enemy!”
I try to blink the rage out of my vision. When I finally let go, he shakes out his shoulders, still fuming.
“She’s turned you inside out. You don’t want any pussy other than hers? Fine. Keep being a damn monk. You used to fuck a different girl every night!”
“Who I fuck is none of your goddamn business!”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He steps up. “That fake relationship you’ve got going on with Daniela directly affects all of us. We aren’t done with her yet. And we both know that if you cut shit off with her too soon, we’ll be up in a shit storm. You know how long they could put us away for?” His voice tempers at the end, but it does nothing to chill my anger.
My lips curl in fury. “Don’t fuckin’ lecture me. You think I don’t know every detail of what you’re talking about? I’ve got it under control. Whatever is going on with Eve has nothing to do with this!” I breathe heavily.
His eyes widen and he lets out a cackle. “Control? You find a girl with a face wars are fought over, and you think you can pull off control?”
“Yes. For her, I will do whatever it takes. Once I get this shit off the ground in Nevada—”
“You know what? You aren’t thinking.” He starts breathing hard, gripping the railing in rage. “Eve will cause a clusterfuck for the family. Let. Her. Go. You think you can keep a relationship alive with Daniela while having Eve? It’s hard enough for you to be fake with Daniela right now, despite the fact that you haven’t fucked her in ages. Your temper with her is borderline abusive. Three weeks ago at that charity event? The photos of the two of you don’t look fucking convincing. Daniela will catch wind of another woman, brother. And when she does, there will be hell to pay for all of us.”
“I’ll talk to Eve. I’ll explain everything, and she’ll get it.”
“That girl’s got her finger hooked into your heart, and getting reacquainted with her again after working so hard on trying to move on, is going to fuck. You. Up.” He looks at me with an incensed expression and I turn to him with an even angrier one.
“Don’t talk to me like that, motherfucker. Not now, and not ever!” I take a heavy step toward him, and Tom immediately shuffles back. Instead of hitting him like I ache to do, I pull out another cigarette and light up.
“You don’t give a fuck about anything but that girl. That much is clear.”
I stare at his ashen face, taking another step closer until we’re barely an inch apart. I use my height to my advantage, staring down at him.
“The family always comes first, but I’ll never be fucking done with her. Understand? Never. I will walk through fire to keep her. And the next time you question me and my authority, I’ll break your fucking face.” My voice is quiet, but the rage simmers beneath my skin.
“Well, you’ll have to walk through shit worse than fire in prison, ‘cause that’s where you’ll be if you can’t keep your dick in your pants and eye on the prize. Until we get our new business running, there are no other options.”
The doorbell rings. Tom turns from me, stepping back into the apartment and sliding the balcony door shut behind him. I watch as he opens the front door and hands the delivery guy some cash from his back pocket. Dropping the pie on the coffee table, he opens the door and pops his head into the balcony again. “Hey fucker, come in and let’s eat.”
I walk back inside and we dig in, our conversation shelved for now. I’m biting into a hot slice, my mind running rampant when his phone pings. He lifts it off the coffee table to read the text. “Wanna fight tonight?” He looks me up and down, my posture rigid. “Looks like you could let out some steam.” He raises his brows and leans back on the couch, crossing his feet on the coffee table and biting into his pizza.
I nod my head. “Fuck yeah.”
Three hours later, I’m in the basement of some underground warehouse, kicking the shit out of some faceless guy. And man, does it feel good.