CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CAPONE
I kill the engine on my bike and stare up at the aluminum sign hanging over the entrance of my father’s yard. My gaze hones on our family name. I try to picture what my life would be like if I had followed the path my father laid for me. He’d probably be retired, and I’d be the one sitting in the trailer ordering sod. Maybe I’d have a wife and Nonna’s wish for an heir might even be granted or at the very least a strong possibility.
Instead, I sit here stalling with a blank check burning a hole through my kutte. I’ve always been straight with my father. When he offered me partnership in his business, I turned it down, reciting the infamous line from A Bronx Tale— the working man is a sucker .
It wasn’t meant as an insult to him. He was no sucker. He woke up every day and provided for his family. He never had to worry if he’d be killed doing the Devil’s work. I respected the fuck out of my old man, I just didn’t want to be him.
I wanted to pave my own way and make my own money.
Live by my rules and leave my own legacy.
And for the most part I did.
My dad didn’t have to take a mortgage on the family home to put me through medical school or work two jobs to give me a down payment on a house. I didn’t ask him to dip into his savings to throw me a wedding or haggle him to pave my driveway for free.
I was my own man and I’d die my own man.
But you don’t think about your regrets until the clock ticks and times run out. Then you start to wonder if you made the right choices. If I die tomorrow, will my parents be proud of me?
Probably not.
I toe the kickstand down on my bike and dismount, making my way past the rolling gate. My dad’s trailer is on the other end of the yard and as my boots crunch down on the gravel I bypass the equipment he has parked to the left—the same equipment I’m going to rent from him to dig the graves of men who want me and my brothers dead.
Men, and probably a few women too.
I shake my head, dismissing the thought. I liked it better when stressing over my attraction toward Tara was the only thing on my mind. Now my head was all over the place.
After I left the clubhouse, I rode up and down the highway, struggling to keep myself in check. On one hand I was preoccupied with thoughts of the impending war, and on the other, I was worried about Tara. I wanted to hear her voice more than anything, but I didn’t have her number, and even if I did, calling her in the middle of the night would only shorten my already diminishing lifespan.
Eventually I made it home to my apartment, but the second my head hit the mattress, I closed my eyes and all I could envision was her smile and those fucking freckles. Those little dots are going to be my undoing, something I realized somewhere between four in the morning and five.
Some men have dirty dreams and wake up fisting their cocks. They jerk themselves off to the memory their subconscious self conjured up. I was one of those men until I woke up sweating, my dick flaccid, the image of me and Tara laying on the floor very much alive in my head.
I waited for shame to fill me.
For disgust to twist inside my gut.
But I felt nothing except a deep sense of longing.
The crime ain’t in the attraction, brother. It’s in the execution.
One day those words are going to be my saving grace.
Reaching the trailer, I climb the three steps and open the door. Elvis Presley’s voice fills the tiny space as the door closes behind me. I spot my dad standing by the filing cabinet. His back faces me as he sings along with the King himself.
My lips quirk slightly as I cross my arms against my chest and lean against the door frame.
“Caught in a trap, I can’t walk out,” he sings loudly and out of tune as he taps the sole of his work boots to the beat of the chorus. He slams the filing cabinet shut and lifts his arms over his head, swaying his hips as he continues to croon. “Because I love you too much baby. Why can’t you see, what you’re doing to me when you don’t believe a word I say…”
This goes on until the song ends, then he turns around and his eyes connect with mine. There is no shame in my father’s game as he grins at me.
“They don’t make music like that anymore.”
I push off the door and make my way toward his desk. “No, they don’t.”
He turns off his radio, which is probably than me, and lowers himself into the chair behind his desk, motioning for me to take the seat across from him.
“You want a cup of coffee? Your sister bought me this single serve thing. You stick some sort of pod in the top, and it brews one cup at a time. If you can figure out how to work the damn thing, help yourself.”
I laugh.
“You still haven’t figured out how to work your Keurig?”
He waves me off and points to the electric percolator propped on top of the filing cabinet. Now that is one hundred percent older than me. It might even be older than him.
“That works just fine,” he says as he reaches for his mug. Lifting it to his lips, he takes a sip. “Delicious.”
Again, I laugh. I give my family a lot of flak. They’re overbearing, and love to nag me, but I couldn’t imagine life without them. My dad especially.
He’s a rare breed.
A relic if you will.
“You never visit me,” he says as he sets his mug down on the desk blotter from two years ago. The thing serves more as a coaster than it does a calendar. “What brings you by?”
“I have a business proposition for you.”
Intrigued, he quirks an eyebrow as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms against his chest. The thick gold chain my mom bought him after they got married hangs low and the crucifix that dangles from it taunts me. Years ago, he had a similar one made for me. It sits in the bottom of the only coffee cup I own.
I tear my gaze away from the cross and stare at my dad.
“The club has some construction going on and we need equipment.”
“What kind of construction?”
“Nothing too crazy. We’re looking to clear some rubbish and move the trailer at Booker & Mann onto a concrete slab. It will give Hawk more room to train the dogs.” I reach into my kutte and pull out the blank check. “I need some excavation machinery and a cement truck. Whatever your rate is, tack on an additional twenty percent,” I say as I push the check across the desk.
He glances at it for a moment, then lifts his eyes back to me.
“I suppose that twenty percent is supposed to buy you no questions.”
My dad may have chosen to make an honest living, but that doesn’t mean he can’t detect a crooked operation from a mile away.
“It will help pay for the wedding.”
“I don’t need help paying for your sister’s wedding.”
“Then consider it found money. You and mom could use a vacation and I know she’s been on your case to take a trip to the mother country.” It’s been my mom’s dream to eat her way through Italy. They keep putting it off because there is always a wedding or a baby on the way. “Twenty percent is a nice chunk of change, pop.”
He nods. “It is. It’s also enough to pay for a decent funeral. What the hell are you doing, Gianluca?”
I shake my head. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“Am I?”
I fucking hate lying to the man, yet it’s something that comes so naturally to me.
“You are. You can give me back the check and I’ll go somewhere else. I just figured?—”
He cuts me off. “One son.”
“What?”
“Four daughters, one son. Love my girls, but you…” His voice trails and he shakes his head. “I hope you know what the fuck you’re doing, Gianluca.”
I force a swallow. “I’m just digging up some dirt and laying some cement.”
He stares at me for a moment, then glances back at the check.
“You know everyone in the family wants you to settle down. We get on your case about having children of your own, but it has nothing to do with carrying on the family name.” He lifts his head. “I don’t care if you have a boy or ten girls. I just want you to know what it’s like to feel your heart beat outside your chest. Maybe, then you’ll realize how precious life is.” He slides the blank check back to me. “You can take whatever equipment you need, but I don’t want your blood money. When you’re done doing whatever it is you’re doing, take that check to the hospital and donate it to the pediatric cancer wing. Your mother has been volunteering her time since Lucia started working there. Those kids need toys and books, things to occupy them while they fight to live.” He leans back in his chair. “And while you’re there, you should take a good look around.”
The working man ain’t a sucker.
He’s full of heart.
I take the check and shove it back inside my pocket. Holding his gaze, I rise from the chair, and he does the same. We stare at one another quietly for a moment, then I tell him one more lie.
“I will.”
I called Hawk and had him help me remove the equipment from my dad’s yard. We brought it to Booker & Mann, but instead of getting to work on digging out the trench, we spent the whole afternoon relocating the dogs to the compound. The easiest part was loading them into the trucks and bringing them over, getting them situated and finding a place for all the kennels—that was a nightmare, one I happily left Hawk to deal with on his own.
I was on my way back to Poplar Creek, fully prepared to start the excavation process myself when Maverick’s voice popped into my head.
Go be with the people you most want to spend time with because I can’t guarantee you’ll get any time at all with them after tomorrow.
At the time he said them, I hadn’t given his words much thought, but as my Harley tore down the highway, it’s all I could think about. I went through the list of people in my life and when I reached my nieces and nephews, I felt my chest tighten. If I died tomorrow there would be no more Nerf gun battles. I’d never fit a tiara to my head and snuggle with my niece as she sang all the songs from The Little Mermaid . No one would stick a baby in my arms and call me the baby whisperer.
That didn’t sit well with me.
My mind trailed back to yesterday, and I tried to convince myself that it was enough. That I spent enough time with them and made enough memories. Our time together ended on a high note so why did I want more?
And why did I want Tara right beside me?
We promised Sophia and the boys they could come over again next week, but I wasn’t so sure if that was a possibility anymore. If Tara and I weren’t holed up at the clubhouse, I’d be too busy slaughtering drug dealers and filling graves.
That realization had me pulling off the side of the road, but before I called my sister, Carmela, like I intended, I remembered another promise I made. One that involved homemade pizza and the girl I spent the better part of last night dreaming about.
This morning, before I left for my dad’s, Holly called me to let me know Tara’s fever had broke, but instead of going to school, she was going to hang around the clubhouse and rest. The kitchen over there wasn’t the best, but I decided if it worked for Leftie, I’d make it work for me.
So here I am now, filling a basket at Kroeger with all the ingredients I need to make pizza.
Go be with the people you most want to spend time with because I can’t guarantee you’ll get any time at all with them after tomorrow.
Those fucking words.
Why did he have to say them?