Aedan
Two weeks, I think, as I walk down the street toward the restaurant where I’m meeting Bruno for lunch. The business with the Mexicans is still going on, Carlos Rio like a goddamned shadow, striking and then disappearing before anyone can react. But as I walk, it’s not the Mexicans which cause me to clench my fists. It’s Livia. Two weeks ago, we had what was easily the best sex of my life, steamy, hot, crazy. I close my eyes and all I can see is the way her body vibrated when she squirted all over me, the way her eyelids fluttered, the way she gave herself completely to me. And now, two weeks later, we’ve barely seen each other. I go to the bar, she’s not there. Or, if she is there, she quickly makes an excuse and leaves. To say I feel like I’ve got a goddamned knife in my gut would be selling it short.
I must look as annoyed as I feel, because the other pedestrians give me a wide berth, skirting around me, glancing at me with eyes full of fear. Good, I think, bitter and hating it. Get the hell out of my way. Part of me wishes Livia would just scream at me, or stab me with that fancy Mont Blanc pen of hers. Just something to tell me she still knows I exist. But at the moment, I might as well be a ghost, the way she treats me.
When I get to the restaurant, a high-class place with a doorman and a valet, I’m approached by the doorman. He reminds me of one of those English butlers you sometimes see in movies, all prim and proper with a fine-haired moustache. “Sir,” he says. “Are you Aedan O’Rourke?”
“Yeah,” I say, and I must sound pretty damn dark judging by the way he looks at me.
“Your companion has already arrived,” the man says, with a small bow. “If you would follow me…”
“Alright.”
There’s a line of people outside the restaurant, all of ’em looking a hell of a lot fancier than me, the men wearing suits and the women wearing sparkly dresses. A couple of the men look like they might kick up a fuss that this red-haired t-shirt and jeans man is getting in before them, but when I glance in their direction, they all decide their shoes are more interesting than causing any trouble.
The butler-looking man leads me to a booth in the back, up a flight of stairs. The restaurant is the sort of place I’d never go in a million years, all polished silverware and paintings on the walls and glittering glasses and patterned plates. I feel out of place, is the truth, but the feeling is nothing compared with Livia, always lurking at the periphery of my mind. I wonder if she’ll be here, I think, but then Bruno’s greeting me and Livia’s nowhere in sight.
“Aedan, son,” he says, patting me on the back. “They didn’t turn you away, then.” He smiles and gestures at the seat opposite his.
“No, but they tried to,” I say. “They told me the kitchen staff normally uses the back door; they said a dishwasher had no business using the main door.”
“They did?” Bruno puffs up.
I laugh, but it’s forced. Livia.
“Nah, I’m just playing.”
He shakes his head at me.
“You’re an evil man, Aedan.”
Is that why your daughter’s ignoring me even after we had the best night of either of our lives, Bruno?
But I can’t say anything like that. I’m not about to start snivelling and crying to the woman’s father. No, whatever’s happening between us—if there even still is something between us—it’s just that, between us. I’m not about to go behind her back and start begging to her father. Though, I have to admit, the temptation just to get some answers is there.
“I try to be.” I smile, and then the waiter brings me a beer. I drink down half of it in one swig, welcoming the distraction. “I’ll have another. Actually, bring three.”
The waiter nods, and then leaves.
“Hard day?” Bruno asks.
“Not really,” I say. “Just a little business down at the warehouses.”
“Mexicans?”
“Yeah, but you’ve heard about it, I reckon.”
Bruno nods. “You got three of them.”
“Yeah, and double that got away. I swear, with Carlos leading them, the Mexicans are like a proper army. I’ve never seen it before. Like the fuckin’ wind. Everywhere all at once.”
Bruno runs his forefinger along the rim of his glass. “It is a change,” he says. He looks off to the distance, at nowhere in particular, and I sense he’s really looking inside himself. “It makes me wonder, all this fighting, if anyone really comes out on top. All it does is attract the police. All it does is get people killed. Ah—” He drains his glass. “What am I saying? That’s the life.”
“That’s the life,” I agree.
“But look at this truce of ours, Aedan. It’s been months now without our people killing each other, and how’s the money? I’m still buying rubber bands by the crate to hold my bills together, and I’m sure it’s the same with you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Money’s good.” But never good enough for Patty, never good enough for the man who wants me to slit your throat.
“Then why all this fighting?”
“You said it, Bruno. That’s the life. You can’t expect the hard bastards who get into the life to go about it like the soft bastards who get into any other kind of business. If someone can take something from you, they will, without question. That’s just the way it is with men like this. The thing is, you’ve gotta be harder than them and never let them make you look weak. That’s all. And the best way not to look weak, I reckon, is not to be weak.”
“Those are true words,” Bruno mutters, nodding. “You’re not just a gun, are you, Aedan? There’s more to you.”
I laugh grimly. “Nah, I’m just one of those pricks who thinks he’s a philosopher after a couple of beers, is all.”
“Perhaps,” Bruno says. “But I don’t think so. You know, you remind me of my son, Luca.”
I flinch, because this means a lot to me. All my life, I’ve wanted my father’s approval, I’ve wanted him to show me some semblance of real appreciation, I’ve wanted to feel like I matter when I stand in front of him. And now here’s Bruno, a man I’ll have to kill one day soon, giving me that on a platter. I flinch because it hits me hard and takes me by surprise. I flinch because I don’t know if I can handle it. I flinch because I’ve been waiting for this for years. But I can’t let it show. You can never let stuff like this show. So I take a long sip of my beer and Bruno doesn’t seem to notice the effect he’s having on me.
“I do?” I ask, keeping my voice as casual as I can.
“Yes, you do,” Bruno says, watching me with eyes full of paternal pride.
It kills me, the way he’s looking at me right now. Patty wants me to stab those eyes. Patty wants me to make this man a corpse. Patty wants me to ruin him. Patty wants... Patty wants... but what about what I want? As soon as this thought enters my mind, Mom screams at me: Traitor! You let me die unhappy! Don’t betray your father as well! I swallow, glancing down at the table. Bruno’s so caught up in his own thoughts he barely sees me. Good, I think, because if he could really see me, I’m sure he’d realize that the events of these past months—the combination of his friendship and Livia’s constant presence in my mind—is twisting me all out of shape.
“But Luca was more cerebral than you. You’re a thinker, I’m sure of that, much more of a thinker than you pretend to be. But Luca was too much of a thinker, and never enough of a doer. Luca was the sort of man—ha, man, boy, really—the sort of boy to sit and ponder on whether or not the man who’s just smacked him about deserved to be hit back. I loved the boy, of course, of course I did, but sometimes I think the boy didn’t have it in him to live this life. He was...” He massages his forehead. “He was weak,” he goes on, wincing. “A rotten thing for me to say, perhaps, but it’s the truth.”
“Livia’s not weak,” I say, smiling at him, trying to bring him out of his funk. “Livia’s about the furthest thing from weak there is.”
Bruno returns my smile, but it’s tinged with sadness. It’s like his dead son is lurking somewhere behind his eyes. He shakes his head and after a moment he’s himself again. “Yes, my daughter is a strong woman, that’s for sure. It’s very strange. One moment, she’s in pigtails and holding onto her dolls. The next, she’s a fully grown woman. Very, very strange. Well, she better be strong; I’m going to make her my heir. One day—maybe one day soon—she’ll lead this family. And if the men have a problem with being led by a woman, they can answer to me.”
“Livia’s going to be your...”
“Ah, here are your drinks.”
The waiter places them down and we order, but I keep thinking about Livia, Livia running the family, Livia replacing Bruno. If Livia replaces Bruno, Patty will want me to kill Livia—or, at least, he’ll want her dead.
Please, God, no, this can’t be goddamned true.
“Aedan,” Bruno says, “are you okay?”
“I just... Livia will make a good leader.”
“Oh, yes, of course she will.” He squints at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod, feeling numb, imagining a future in which I’m forced to kill Livia. I have no doubt that Patty would order it and I have no doubt he’d make me do it. Even if he knew how much I cared for her, he’d make he do it. Maybe that would prompt him to give the order with even more malice, because, when you get down to it, Patty has never been the sympathetic type. He’d see my affection for her as a weakness, and he’d consider it his duty, as my father, to stamp out that weakness.
He’ll order me to kill Livia, the woman who’s been in my thoughts every second of every day for months now, the woman I wanted as soon as I saw her, the woman I’ll always want. The man’s going to make me do it, isn’t he?
I tip my head back, emptying the beer down my throat, and then tip my head back and drain half of another.
“I’m okay,” I say, realizing it’s been a while since he asked me the question. “I’m fine. Just got a thirst, is all.”
Which is the truth, but the thirst is for Livia, only Livia; the thirst is for the feel of her body against mine, the sound of her sighing breath, the tingle of her lips.
“Life is never simple, eh, Bruno?” I say.
He smiles at me, bemused. “No, it is not,” he says, lifting his glass.