Page 21 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)
Chapter
Twenty
Gavin
I search through my lock pick toolkit, selecting a rake and tension wrench to take care of this pin tumbler. The lock pops open, and I enter the kitchen, taking a cursory look around. Minimalist in style, with a potted cactus on the windowsill.
Prickly Taylor. It’s fitting.
I snoop through the cabinets, making sure not to touch a thing. The woman’s got her pantry organized to a T. Same with her fridge.
Entering the living room, I take in the framed photos displayed on a bookcase. A high school graduation photo of Taylor and Kat. Taylor looks different; she’s younger here, yes, but she also has a thinner face and frame, and much happier eyes.
The next one, a picture of Taylor with her arms around an old woman, both women smiling. Needing to do a little digging, I snap a pic with my phone before returning the frame to its position.
No photos of parents or siblings.
I slink up the stairs, reaching her bedroom and flipping on the light. Entering, I can’t help myself, lying down on her bed and inhaling deeply. Smells faintly of cinnamon, like the woman.
A search of the nightstand has my dick swelling in my shorts. I grab the vibrator and run it under my nose; sadly, there’s no trace of Taylor’s sweet-smelling pussy.
Darting out my tongue, I lick all around the tip before returning it to the drawer. The next time she’s touching that greedy little cunt of hers, so will I.
Liking that thought a little too much, I hop out of bed and search her closet. What I find next has my dick confused.
Am I turned on, or am I terrified?
The leather harness and purple dildo dangle from my finger.
I bet Taylor fucked Mia with this.
My dick’s even more confused.
Am I turned on, or am I pissed off?
Not having the emotional bandwidth to decipher any of these feelings, I return the sex toys where I found them.
Leaving my gift on Taylor’s bed, I hustle down the stairs and out the back door, making sure to lock up behind me. I hurry around to the front of the house and dart across the street to my car.
“Hold it right there.” An old woman wearing a bathrobe and slippers points a water hose at me.
“Don’t shoot.” I playfully hold up my arms.
“I saw you prowling around. This neighborhood has a crime watch—”
“So glad to hear it. I was just leaving a surprise for my girlfriend.” Huh. Now that the word girlfriend is out of my mouth, I don’t hate it. “Unless you decide to run away with me, in which case, I’d have to break the sad news to Taylor.” I wink at her.
She falls all over herself, her cheeks flush. “Aren’t you the charmer?”
“I try, ma’am. Glad to know you’re keeping this neighborhood safe. Have a good day.” I flash a smile before hopping in my car and driving away.
My phone rings, and I groan when I see who’s calling. “What’s up?”
“Mandatory meeting at Inferno’s office.” John ends the call.
I’m being called to the principal’s office. Story of my youth.
Gavin
Twelve-years-old
One class to go, and I’ve officially survived my first week of middle school.
I close my locker and turn around, only to have my folder smacked out of my hands; it, along with my papers, goes flying across the hallway.
“Dropped your shit, polock.” An older boy gets in my face. He’s been trying to stir up trouble all week.
“Is he a polock, or is he a guido? I’m confused.” His buddy chimes in.
My lips curl. I’m getting ready to lay into both of these fuckfaces, but a teacher appears. “Boys, run along to class.”
What sucks is that we all have the same class. I keep my eye on the duo, refusing to allow them my back.
We arrive at class at the same time, none of us wanting to walk in first.
The bell rings, with the three of us lingering in the doorway.
“Boys, I don’t know what you’re doing, but get in your seats. Rocco, you first.”
The class snickers as I walk in first, the teacher writing something on the board. My leg’s kicked from behind at the calf. It buckles, with me nearly falling on my ass.
More snickers as I drop into my seat.
A note’s passed to me, and I hide the folded paper under my desk, opening it.
Is your mom a big whore like everyone says?
A pencil hits the back of my head, and I turn around to find the shitstirrer and his dumb face smirking.
A dangerous calm washes over me as I fold the note and stick it in my back pocket, counting down the seconds until the bell rings.
The day goes by in a blur, with P.E. up next. I don’t bother going into the locker room and changing; I’ll be getting my exercise in, but not with gym drills.
Lurking underneath the bleachers, I wait until shitstirrer exits the locker room, and I slink up behind him.
I kick his leg at the bend, and he stumbles forward.
He spins around, about to talk shit, but my fist’s already flying at his face. It connects with his jaw, a satisfying crunch as his head jerks to the side. Blood sprays my face as I tackle him to the ground and lay into him.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The chants barely register over the pounding of blood in my ears as I pin him with my knees and begin to pummel his face.
“Stop that right now!” The P.E. teacher shouts as he tries to pull me off the shitstirrer, but I’m so amped up, he can’t.
There’s a commotion, and multiple teachers are now ripping me away from his bloody face.
“Say fucking something else, you little pussy.” I spit.
I fidget in my chair as the headmaster behind his desk pretends to be busy on his computer. My mama bursts through the door in a skin-tight dress, her cleavage at risk of spilling out.
God, I hate that she has to dress this way at school. The note, still in my pocket, feels like it’s burning a hole through it.
“Headmaster,” she says before giving me the eye. “Rocco here looks perfectly fine. Are we sure that this other boy is in as bad a shape as you claimed on the phone?’
“Quite sure, Ms. Kowalski. Your son broke the jaw of another student.”
Glancing at my right knuckles, I lift the ice pack. They’re way bigger than they should be.
“What can I do to make this little problem go away?” She bats her eyelashes, and I cringe.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but your son has been expelled from our school. Whether charges will be filed depends upon the victim and his parents.”
My mother rises, slamming her hands on the headmaster’s desk and leaning over. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.” She straightens, jerking her head toward the door. “Let’s go, Rocco.”
I grab my backpack, trailing along behind the angry click-clack of her sky-high heels.
She gets behind the wheel of her new luxury vehicle, and I climb in the passenger seat.
“Mama, I’m sorry—”
Holding up a manicured finger, she silences me. “Your father will be livid when he learns you’ve been kicked out of school! I had to beg that man to get you into the best private school in the city, and this is how you repay me! Really, Rocco, how could you do this to me?” Mama shrieks.
Do this to her. Always about her.
She gives me the silent treatment for the ride home, and I spend the rest of the day hiding in my room.
Daring to come out around dinnertime, I peek around the corner, finding my brothers at the kitchen table doing their homework.
Mama’s in the kitchen. Not cooking, of course; it’s fend for yourself around here. Shooting me a death glare, she opens the fridge and grabs a package, peeling those weird, gold strip thingies and placing them under her eyes.
“Did you win the fight?” Dante asks me.
I smirk. “Broke his jaw, so I’d say so.”
“See, Mama, Papà will be proud that Rocco stood up for himself,” Dante tries to spin this for me.
“Yeah, Mama, why don’t we ask Papà if Rocco can get into boxing?” Luciano suggests, my eldest brother always with a plan. “It’d make him proud,” he continues, even though I’m not so sure anything I do could ever make that man proud.
The sound of a key jangling the front door lock has Mama ripping off the eye patches and tossing them in the trash. “That’s your papà. We’ll be out late. Get yourselves to school tomorrow. Except you, Rocco.” She sighs heavily before scurrying to the door.
“Amore mio,” she coos.
All three of us roll our eyes.
Our mother is Polish, not Italian, and yet she bestowed upon all of her boys the most Italian-sounding names she could come up with.
“Boys, come say hello to your papà before we go.” She calls.
We dutifully move to the living room, and my older brothers give our papà a double cheek kiss, and then it’s my turn.
“What happened to your fist?” Papà’s cold eyes don’t miss a thing.
My chest puffs. “Broke a boy’s jaw who was disrespecting Mama.”
“And what did he break of yours?”
“Nothing. I laid out in three seconds flat.”
Papà slices his head, the closest thing to praise I’ve ever gotten from the man.
“Amore mio, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Mama pounces. “Rocco here would like to get into boxing.”
After a beat, Papà says, “The boy can train with Gus at the boxing club. Tell ‘em I sent you.”
Little did I know this was the strike of the match that would burn our entire world to the ground.