Target on Our Backs by J. M. Darhower
He's twisting shit, trying to manipulate me. "It's different."
"As far as I'm concerned, Vitale, it's all the same. It's all love, and respect, and family. You make a vow to a piece of pussy to worship it forever, but you never were man enough to take a vow to commit yourself to the brotherhood with us. After all Angelo did for you, after all he lost… gotta say, that always rubbed me the wrong way."
I can hear the anger in his words, the deep-seeded resentment I always suspected he felt. I declined their sacred invitation, probably the only one who ever did it.
The only one who lived to tell about it.
I got a pass for the rejection because of who I am.
Or rather, who I was.
But I'm not that person anymore.
I'm no longer Angelo's golden boy, the bloodthirsty son-in-law eager to take on the entire world for the cause. I've said it before… there are no friends in this business. There are just people who need you until they don't need you anymore. Either you're on their side or you're standing in their way, and the last place you want to be is in the way of a war.
And I'm standing in the middle of the battleground with nowhere to go.
Pick a side, they're all screaming.
It's a tug-of-war I can't win.
"What would you do now?" he asks. "If I invited you to join us, to be one of us, to vow your loyalty to us after all these years, would you deny the family again?"
"I'm not your enemy," I tell him, evading that question, because he wouldn't like my answer to it. I'm not joining.
"You're not my friend either," he says, "not if you turn your back on us."
Silence permeates the room then. Guards stand in the corners of the space, falling into the darkened shadows, watching, waiting, protecting the man they swore themselves to, a man I'm very clearly pissing off by refusing to join them. But that just wasn't me, despite what they all might've thought. I wasn't made to be a street soldier. I wasn't built to follow orders. I'm not afraid of a man with a gun. Giuseppe Vitale's blood pumps through my veins. As much as the man might hate it, that's an undeniable fact. There's nothing coded in my DNA that makes me a passive pushover… nothing that makes me one of his brainwashed monkeys.
"I knew him," I say.
Genova stares at me. "Who?"
"Scar." I stare back at the man, waiting for a reaction, to see if he knew that. His expression remains blank. I'm not sure if he's just that damn good at wearing a mask to hide his surprise or if he did his homework, too, if he made the connection. It couldn't have been that hard. You see, while Lorenzo's blood came straight from the Gambini family, an Accardi raised him, and the Accardis were always loyal to Genova. That's got to burn. This is personal. "I knew him, long ago. I knew him, and I saw something in him, something that reminded me of myself."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because it won't be easy to squash him, Genova," I say, "not when I helped make him the monster he is."
Genova nods.
No, he's not surprised at all.
"That's why I'm asking for your help, Vitale." He leans toward me, flicking even more ashes onto the floor. "Join us. Help us. Let's put all of this animosity behind us, and let's finally embrace each other as friends."
I stare at him for a moment, considering how to answer, before I just say the words. "I have no friends."
* * *
There's somebody at my front door.
Scratch that. Two somebodies—a woman and a little girl. The woman is dressed in a pantsuit with heels, tall and blonde and too attractive to be natural. The child, maybe seven, is pulling a red wagon, wearing a green vest.
A Girl Scout.
They're easily recognizable.
I whip my car into my driveway and pause for a moment, watching as they talk to Karissa. She stands on the porch with them, the front door wide open behind her, Killer wagging his tail excitedly in the yard, being doted on by the little girl.
I'm not sure how long they've been here, but I'm guessing a while.
They all look so comfortable.
The moment I step out of the car, though, that changes. The visitors quickly depart, heading the opposite direction, while Killer's stance turns defensive.
Karissa turns my way. "Where'd you run off to this morning?"
It's afternoon already.
She's still in her pajamas.
It's obvious she hasn't gone anywhere.
Huh. "Didn't you have class today?"
"I asked you first."
"Had stuff to do."
"Well, me, too," she says, waving behind her, into the open house. "Lots to do like… sleep."
I laugh at that, stepping up onto the porch with her. My gaze drifts down the street in the direction the people scurried off. "So you had some visitors today?"
"Uh, yeah… they were selling cookies. I bought a few boxes."
Shaking my head, I step past her into the foyer and freeze. At least a dozen boxes of cookies are stacked up right inside the front door.
"A few boxes," I repeat as Karissa joins me inside, ushering Killer in.
She shuts the door. "Yeah, I mean, I would've gotten more, but this was all they had left."
"More?" I ask incredulously. "You bought them out."
She pushes past me, grabbing the box from on top, and rolls her eyes dramatically, making sure I see it. Opening the box, she tears into it, pulling out one of the peanut butter Tagalongs, not even hesitating before eating the thing. "You know these things are hot commodities, and they only sell them, like, once a year. We need to be stockpiling them like it's the fucking apocalypse."
I glance at her, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think they're that serious."
"Come on, don't even act like those people on The Walking Dead wouldn't be a billion times happier if they had some Thin Mints."
"I think they'd rather have showers, and clean clothing, and maybe even the occasional steak to eat."
"Well, then, they're stupid," she says, pulling out another cookie and pointing at me with it. "These things are the key to survival. Mark my words... the Girl Scouts are geniuses. They're saving the world, one Samoa at a time."
Grabbing some boxes, I take them into the kitchen, finding room in a cabinet to shove them in. Karissa follows me, carrying the rest of the boxes, but she doesn't bother trying to help me put them away. She guards the open box, devouring the things, as she hops up on the counter beside me, just sitting there, swinging her legs.
"I always wanted to be a Girl Scout," she says. "Really, I think it was just for the damn cookies, but still... it's as good a reason as any.
"Why didn't you do it?"
"My mom wouldn't let me."
"Huh."
"Yeah, something about it being too dangerous," she says. "Guess she thought the boogeyman might've found me easier if I wore that green vest."
"He might've," I offer, not sure if my honesty will make her feel better about that. "Would've been another piece in a paper trail."
"So basically, what you're saying is, it's your fault I'm hoarding cookies."
I close the cabinet and look at her. She's being playful about it. There's nothing accusatory in her tone. "You seem to be in a good mood today."
"Yeah, I'm feeling better," she says. "I think I was burned out, you know? Between school and life and you... it's just been a lot of stress."
"Nice of you to include me."
She kicks her foot out, hitting me with it. "You know what I'm saying."
"I do. And I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Me, too," she says. "And Cherry and Destiny bringing me cookies was just the icing on the cake."
Cherry.
Destiny.
What the hell?
"Cherry and Destiny," I repeat.
"Yeah, the Montgomerys," she says. "They live just down the block. Cherry's a stay-at-home mom. Her husband, David, is an investment banker. Isn't that cool? I told her you do all that stuff, too."
&nb
"Like trade stocks and portfolios or whatever."
"You're thinking of a stockbroker. An investment banker helps companies raise money."
"Same difference," she says, waving me off as she grabs another cookie. "It's all about money, isn't it? You know about money."
"So, you talked about me?"
"Of course," she says, like that's not a big deal at all. "She asked what my husband did for a living."
"And what did you tell her?"
"Same thing you told me."
"Which is?"
"Freelancing."
I laugh. Freelancing. I remember telling her that. It was true, albeit misleading, I'll admit. I left off the part that what I was doing was illegal.
I suppose she left that off, too.
"You know, her husband goes to a club," she says. "One of those men-only, non-stripper kind of clubs that you used to go to. Bunch of rich guys drinking liquor and having pissing contests or something, I don't know... whatever you do at those places. I told her you might be interested—"
"Karissa, just… don't." Stepping to her, I cradle her face in my hands and stare at her pointedly. "I love you, I do, but so help me God, the next person who talks to me about making friends is going to have their tongue ripped out for it. You got me?"
She clamps her lips closed.
"I'm not interested in hanging out with investment bankers," I say, letting go of her. "I'd rather spend my time with you."
She opens her mouth, like she's going to say something to that, but instead she just shrugs and finishes her cookie.
Once it's gone, she closes the box up and sets it aside before hopping down onto her feet. "Ugh, I'm starving... you want to head into the city and grab something to eat?"
I grab her hips, pulling her to me. "I've had a long day and I'm tired. Why don't we just order some delivery, instead?" My hands travel down the curve of her ass as I press myself against her. Dipping my head, my lips find her neck. Her skin is soft and warm, slightly tangy, as my tongue makes its way along her throat. "We can eat and then I can... eat."
My teeth nip the base of her throat, and she hisses, pushing away from me. "Thought you were tired?"
"Never too tired for you, sweetheart."
As soon as those words are out, I'm yawning.
"Ugh, as great as that sounds, I've got a meeting with my advisor a little later, so I've got no choice but to head to the city."
I sigh, letting go of her. "You can't skip it?"
"Afraid not," she says. "The time has come to declare a major finally."
Huh.
I'm not exactly surprised. She's been in school for quite a while now and she's running out of time. But she hasn't mentioned it before this moment.
Hasn't brought it up at all.
"So what are you declaring?"
"Dunno."
"You don't know."
"Nope."
"No idea at all?"
She shakes her head. "Thinking about playing eeny-meeny-miny-moe at this point."
I don't know what to tell her.
She's been indecisive for as long as I've known her.
"You shouldn't do something just for the sake of doing something," I tell her.
"Says the guy who just a few weeks ago told me he needed a hobby for something to do."
I guess she got me there.
I'm still trying to figure out my something.
Because this life? This tug-of-war? It isn't it.
"Get dressed and I'll drive you into the city," I say, motioning toward the stairs.
She heads upstairs, to the bedroom, and I make my way to the den, taking a seat on the couch to wait. My chest is still tight from my visit to Genova's. My lungs feel like flames have charred them. Someone punched holes in me before setting my insides on fire, making sure that every inch of me burns.
I'm in a daze, staring at the wall, going over the conversation this morning, again and again stewing over his words. My eyes sting, and I close them as I lay my head back, stealing a moment of darkness to try to find some peace.
Peace.
Peace.
All I fucking want is some peace.
"Naz?"
My eyes open at the sound of my name, meeting Karissa's gaze. She stands right in front of me, already dressed, her hair fixed and a bit of makeup on her face.
Sitting up, I groan, rubbing my eyes. "That was quick."
"Uh, not really... it took me like forty-five minutes."
I look at her with confusion. Forty-five minutes? "I must've dozed off."
I start to stand up when she presses her hands to my chest, shoving me back against the couch. "Why don't you just get some sleep?"
"What about lunch?"
She scoffs. "I can feed myself."
"I told you I'd give you a ride to the city."
"I can find my own way there."
I debate that, and almost refute it, but truth is, I'm exhausted and could use some rest. "Call a car."
"I will," she says. "I'll look both ways before I cross the street, and I won't even take candy from strangers, even if it's chocolate."
Grabbing her, I pull her down toward me, giving her a kiss. "Good girl."
The moment I open the door to the deli, I'm greeted by a sound.
Whistling.
It's loud and enthusiastic, downright cheerful, echoing overtop of the usual chatter. The sound makes me pause, my eyes seeking out the source over behind the long counter.
Giuseppe.
He's cutting meat at the slicer, his back to everyone. It's like he's in his own world... a world full of rainbows, and sunshine, and whatever else makes people happy.
Puppies?
I don't know.
Happiness to me these days is orgasms.
Weeks have passed since the last time I came here, since the day gunfire tried to rain on the man's parade. I'm not sure when Giuseppe reopened the deli, but my fears of it hurting his business were obviously unfounded.
The place is chaotic.
People pack the tables, eating lunch, as the boy working the cash register helps customers, orders piling up. Giuseppe doesn't at all seem concerned about that, though. He's not rushing in any way.
He's enjoying it.
The cashier glances at me as I approach and smiles warmly. "Your usual?"
I have a usual.
Naz would lecture me about that.
"Sure," I say, pulling out some cash to pay, leaving the change with him at the register, like usual, for them to keep as a tip.
There's only one small table empty, a two-seater along the wall that somebody just vacated, leaving their scraps just lying there. Ugh. I clean it off, throwing the trash in a nearby trashcan, and turn back around to take a seat when one of the chairs pulls out and somebody plops down in it.
Un-fucking-believable.
"Excuse me," I say loudly, approaching the table. "I was sitting there."
The guy looks up, and something inside of me twists. I blanch. It's wrong, I know it, and I feel terrible right away, but I physically recoil.
I don't know him, have never seen him before, but he's got a one-of-a-kind face. A horrid scar cuts down the whole side of it, right through his eye. The color of it is milky, cloudy, the blue sort of like a murky lake. It seems to stare right through me.
Vacant.
He notices my reaction. Ugh, he notices. I can tell it in his expression, the way his lips draw into a hard, thin line. It's like he toughened up in just those few seconds, like he's steeling himself because of my reaction to his face.
God, I suck.
I'm a horrible person.
"Apologies," he says. "There was nowhere else to sit."
He roughly shoves the chair back to stand up, but I stop him as I sit down across from him. "No, wait, it's totally okay."
He pauses, halfway out of the seat, and raises his eyebrows.
"There's no reason you can't sit here, too," I say. "I m
He looks like he might still leave, and just stares at me in silence, his expression strained, before he settles back into the chair.
Digging through my bag, I pull out a beat-up catalogue of NYU. It'll probably be a while before I get my food, so I might as well go through it again and try to make some kind of decision about what I'm doing.
"So, I'm guessing you're a student?"
He says it quietly as he tinkers with a watch on his wrist, running his fingers along the metal band. It looks crazy expensive, like it might even be a Rolex, but he isn't exactly dressed like a wealthy businessman. Jeans, and a t-shirt, with a pair of white sneakers on his feet. He almost looks like he could be a student, except he's a bit older than me.
Thirty, maybe even older... I don't know.
I'm not good at judging age.
"Yeah, I am."
"What are you studying?"
"Uh, I'm not sure. I've just been kind of taking whatever. I'm actually supposed to declare a major in like, two hours, and I still have no idea what I want to do."
He laughs, the sound low and casual, like that genuinely amuses him. "Not easy deciding your future, is it?"
"Not in the least," I mutter, flipping through the pages of majors. "I've always sucked at making decisions, though, so this really is nothing new. It's just... I guess I have a hard time imagining myself doing any of this forever."
"That's because forever could be a very long time," he says. "Nobody wants to do the same thing forever. Nobody I know, anyway."
"That's what worries me," I say. "I like going to school, and learning, but I'm just not sure where it's going, and if I don't know where it's going, I'm worried there's no point, you know?"
Does he know?
I don't even know this guy and I'm asking him personal existential questions.
"Nah, there's always a point," he says. "So what if you don't do it forever? That's what's great about life... you can always change your mind and do something else instead. So don't think about forever. Think about today. Today might be all the forever you get, anyway."
"Is that how you decided a major?"