Chapter Sixteen
Alessio
Silvio thought I was losing my mind when I told him what I’d worked out with Beth.
“Are you fucking nuts?” Silvio threw his hands up in the air and groaned. “You’re fucking losing your goddamned mind, Alessio! You think your father would have pulled a stunt like this?”
I leaned back in my desk chair and plucked a cigar from the small humidor I kept handy.
“I’m not my father,” I said. I raised my eyebrows. “I thought you woulda figured that out by now, Sil.”
Silvio narrowed his eyes and glared. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I know,” he snarled. “You think this is funny, Alessio? You think this is some kind of prank? Some kind of game?”
“Not at all.” I clipped the end of my cigar and lit it. “It’s not a joke, Silvio. I was being serious.”
Silvio shook his head. “This is gonna ruin the business,” he said angrily. “What the fuck do I have to do to get your dumb ass to understand that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Strangely, I felt calm. In the past, confrontations with Silvio had always made me so uncomfortable. But right now, I felt confident and sure of myself. I was doing the right thing – maybe for the first time in my life.
“It does matter!” Silvio’s face was red with anger as he leaned over my desk and shoved his face close to mine. “You’re gonna ruin fucking everything, you idiot!”
I blew a cloud of blue smoke in Silvio’s face. “Last time I checked,” I said idly. “You don’t get to speak to your boss like that.”
Silvio colored and finally walked away. “I’m just saying,” he said through gritted teeth. “This ain’t the way to go, Alessio. You gotta show that little bitch that we’ll kill her if she tries anything. How the fuck do you think you’re gonna win her over? You killed her fucking fiancé!”
“I killed her fucking fiancé because you failed!” I yelled loudly, making a fist and slamming it down on the desk. “I had to do it, Silvio! You didn’t leave me with any choice!”
Silvio bristled, but his silence told me that I’d finally won. He threw his arms in the air and shook his head.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I give the fuck up, Alessio. I ain’t gonna stand around while Rome burns down to the ground, you get my meaning?”
I snickered. “Yeah,” I said. “I get your meaning. But you’re gonna feel awful stupid when this works and you look like a paranoid cocksucker.”
“Whatever, Alessio,” Silvio said. He yawned. “I’m leaving. I’ll call you later.”
I nodded. Just as Silvio was about to leave the room, something sparked in my brain.
“Hey,” I said. “Mind giving me a ride downtown?”
“Why?” Silvio narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you getting into now, asshole?”
I smirked. “It’s a secret,” I said. “Come on, just give me a ride.”
Silvio stared at me for a long time. “Fine,” he said after a pregnant pause. “Come on. Let’s go.”
--
An hour later, I was standing behind the counter of Helpful Friends Food Pantry & Kitchen. It was a dingy, musty basement in a bad part of Harlem, with fluorescent lights, crammed full of smelly, obviously impoverished people.
“It’s always so good to have a new volunteer!” A round woman wearing a nametag that read ‘Karen’ squeezed my shoulder tightly. “We’ve really been struggling lately!”
“Uh, yeah,” I said. I looked around, overwhelmed by the disgusting stench of shit, piss, and dried sweat. “Is it always this crowded?”
Karen threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, no!” She tittered loudly. “This is very light, Mr. Amoruso!” She squinted, staring at my face as if seeing me for the first time. “Say, you’re not related to the Amorusos, are you? That restaurant family?”
I chuckled. “Actually, I’m the CEO,” I said. I smiled genuinely.
Karen’s cheeks flushed. “Oh my,” she said. “I had no idea we had such a celebrity in our midst!” She led me past a group of homeless people eating a disgusting, lumpy stew out of tin bowls. “I’m sure you’re not used to the likes of this!”
I chuckled. “No,” I said, looking around in disgust. “I certainly am not.”
Karen pulled me behind the counter and handed me an apron. “This isn’t fancy cooking,” she said. “Just forget all about that chichi Italian stuff! Just hand each person some soup, some bread, and a piece of fruit.” Karen pointed to a pile of apples that already looked rotten. “It’s not very difficult,” she said with a smile.
I tried to disguise the rampant disgust I felt. They call this food, I thought I as I glanced down at the gluey, grey stew. This is disgusting! I wouldn’t eat this if I were starving!
I looked at my phone. It felt like hours had passed, but I groaned quietly when I realized I’d only been Helpful Friends for less than a half hour. The windowless basement was the antithesis of beauty, and I couldn’t wait until I was back in the relative splendor and comfort of my own home.
A loud bell rang and a crowd of homeless people in tattered, smelly clothing lined up. I tried not to look into their dirty faces as I landed stew into their bowls and handed them bread and fruit. Some of them stared down at their feet – I guessed they were ashamed – but some beamed into my face and thanked me with heartfelt kindness. I knew that I shouldn’t be feeling as disgusted as I was, but I couldn’t help it. I’d never been around people this poor in my whole life, and it made me feel uncomfortable.
A camera flashed in my face and I looked up, dazed. “What the hell?” I frowned as I saw a reporter making his way through the building.
“Mr. Amoruso! Mr. Amoruso! How long have you been helping the homeless?”
I gritted my teeth and forced a smile. “I’ve just begun helping,” I said. “I’m trying to change this city from the ground up, and I realized that in order to make that happen, I’ve got to get in myself. I can’t just keep expecting people to support the Amoruso family unless they know what we really stand for.”
The reporter nodded, scribbling notes on a pad as he filmed me. I smiled and mugged for the camera, wondering who had tipped a news crew off about my presence at the soup kitchen.
Silvio, I realized with a touch of pride. He may disagree, but damn if that man doesn’t know how to help promote with the best of them.
The reporter clicked a few more pictures. For the last one, I pulled a couple of homeless people out of line and wrapped my arms around their skinny, shaking shoulders.
When Karen saw, she shook her head and clicked her teeth. “Mr. Amoruso, we typically frown on news personnel here,” she said sternly.
I shrugged and grinned. “I didn’t call ‘em,” I said lazily. “Why the hell would I do something like that?”