Ice Thug

Capitolo Ventidue

Is it just me, or is this ride depressingly slow? Trey and I have made the trip to Sienna Avenue at least twice now, and I can boldly declare it didn't take this long, not even when we were coming back in a decrepit car.

It's almost as if the air is cold with the promise of blood that is about to be shed, and even the drivers know it. Hence, they're trying to give us enough time to settle all our affairs. I have none to settle.

My father knows I love him more than life itself, and Angelo is beside me now. Trey...well, he's my boyfriend. I can proudly say I've left no stone unturned.

I'm ready to die, but more so ready to kill.

We stop just a few kilometers away from Sienna Ave, and after a few minutes, I get concerned. Trey is in the front seat with Bobby, who is the one at the wheel. His dark braids must have gotten a retouch because they look neat and fresh to death. However, there's this way some loose strands fall in front and beside his face that adds this menace to him, especially under dim light.

That's excluding his natural disposition of apathy, which chills me to the bones, considering this might be the biggest battle of the year...maybe even a few years. He's always too calm for comfort. If I were the opposition, seeing him would be my ticket to turn back and run to the nearest cliff from which to cast myself to save me from his grip.

Alas, I'm not his foe. I'm his friend. His fidanzata. Far from scared, I'm enchanted, hooked, mesmerized, and drawn by the luster of his masculine scent, by the promise of danger and death that follows him.

I must say, it does look safer to be on the enemy's side because, with my wisdom, I might know to run. Being his girl means I'm stuck with him, no matter what. Through the danger, through the heat.

Trey Lockheart would be the death of Nova Giovanni. It's a death she sees, and yet she welcomes it.

All this poeticism because I wanted to ask a question. I tap him on the shoulder, "Um...why have we stopped?"

"Two of our men are in right now, running prepositions."

"Huh?"

"They're scanning," Angelo buttresses. "When they come back, they'll tell us whether or not we're walking into an ambush. You can never trust that there's no inside man to make a warning."

"Fottute talpe." Trey spits.

Every mafia is riddled with its own fair share of moles, people that pretend like they're with us, existing for the sole purpose of relaying information to our enemies. It's how the assassins got in a while back. There were people who gave them directions on things like shift changes as well as entrance and exit points.

Their motive? You'll only know by asking them. Some, you never will.

"There's also the benefits that come with knowing where exactly your enemies are." Angelo shrugs. "It's not 100% accurate, and their reactions might be quicker than we plan for, but...it helps."

I crash back into my seat. This body armor is starting to itch. "How long do we have to wait?"

"Mmh. I'd say about thirty minutes. Could be more." Angelo hums.

"Cazzo."

Thirty minutes is quite a while, enough time for Trey and I to have a proper make out session in the back seat. Enough for him to take off my armor and touch my skin that craves him. Enough for his tongue to...

'Nova!' my brain calls me together. I shake my head off the thought. It was a good one, though.

We idle for a bit, and the air even begins to seem casual and way less tense. Angelo and Bobby throw jokes back and forth, and Trey simply plays with his gun. There's nothing for me to do, and I turn my fingers into action figures, pitting the left as an opposition to the right.