Page 2 of Deliverance

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As I watched daytime soaps with my momma and surfed the internet on my phone, my uncle Marco walked through the front door. He was my momma's brother, and after my father died in a carjacking gone wrong when I was five, he had been the one to take care of us—at least until I was old enough to get a job to help out. Ironic, given I was now twenty-six and couldn't get the energy, drive, or courage to find myself another one.

Uncle Marco still came over every day to see Momma. I appreciated it while I was in the Navy. "Yous still here, kid?" he questioned in his Long Island accent.

"Nowhere else to be," I replied, still lying down and not looking at him.

"How about yous get a job?"

"Leave him alone," Momma scolded as she stood from her recliner.

"Are yous gonna let him rot on your couch?"

I rolled my brown eyes as Momma said again, "Leave him alone. He was shot."

"A fucking year ago," Uncle Marco stated as he and Momma walked into the kitchen.

"How about I shoot you, and you see how you like it?" I countered. I didn't care if he was my uncle. I didn't need his bullshit.

He came back into the room. "Yous can try, but I'd kill ya first."

When I was younger, my uncle worked for a man known around New York and the surrounding areas as "The King of New York." I didn't know exactly what my uncle did for Giovanni Russo before he died, but I knew not to get on any of the Russos' bad sides. Giovanni died several years ago, and his two sons ran the business until Dominic Russo was killed. Now Frank Russo was the king.

"You two stop," Momma snapped. I was half Italian and half Hispanic, but Momma and Uncle Marco were full-blooded Italian, and bickering was how our family communicated and showed love.

"How's about this?" Uncle Marco proposed as he grinned. "I'll get you a job."

"No, thanks," I muttered.

"Yous need to get a job, Ric. Yous need to be a man since you're capable of working."

I sat up. "I am a fucking man," I spat.

"Yous know what I mean."

"Fine, where?" Even though I knew I needed to get my act together, I still didn't feel right in the head. I didn't want to do anything except watch TV and eat Momma's cooking. Maybe getting out of the house and getting a job would make me feel differently. Plus, it would get him off my back.

"I know the owner of Lock. Yous can be his door guy or something."

"No," Momma breathed. She held her hand over her chest and leaned on the door jamb to the kitchen.

I racked my brain. "Lock? In Midtown?"

"Yeah. Seeing as yous can walk, and yous used to be a SEAL, yous can man the door."

"Marco, no," Momma said again.

"He'll be fine. The kid can handle himself."

I wasn't sure I wanted to be some bouncer at a nightclub. That wasn't what I thought my life would turn out to be like. I wanted to do good for my country, make a difference, be a hero.

"Get dressed," he continued. "I'll take you there."

"Now?" I questioned. I was in no position to interview for a job. I hadn't shaved in a week, my hair was longer than I usually wore it, and I had no clue what to wear to interview for a bouncer position.

"Marco, no," Momma continued to protest.

"It'll be fine, Vicky. Frank won't let anything happen to the kid. Go get cleaned up," Uncle Marco continued. "I'll call Frank and tell him we're coming."