I slammed the steering wheel at the red light. What the fuck was I thinking? I told myself over and over again that I wouldn't touch Lexi Petrov ever again. And what did I go and do? Fuck her against the safehouse wall. I couldn't stand it. That thick tension and burning for her touch. I needed to be inside her, kiss her, taste her.
One last time I'd told myself. But that's what I said in the stairwell the day we talked and sorted things out. Not only do I feel guilty for touching my cousins girl, I feel stupid for putting us both at unnecessary risk.
I know Vitaly's reputation and I know his son's reputation too. They're ruthless men. What would they do if they found out I compromised their prized virgin? They'd kill me I'm sure, but what would they do to her? I'm not willing to find out.
I slammed the wheel again and shot off once the light turned green. I have bigger things to worry about. The war with the Irish is officially underway and we have men we lost already in the process. I need to smooth relations with the Russians and help carry out the attacks with the Italians. It's an all hands on deck kind of assignment.
Dom wants us to hit them hard to show our strength to not only the O' Reily's, but the Petrov's as well. We can't look weak in our allies' eyes.
I've been wracking my brain about the shootout that occurred at our other safe house. There should have been no way that that location could have been compromised. We were careful. Very careful and we aren't rookies at this. Yet they found the girls easily and hit us skillfully. And something in my gut is telling me they had help with that.
A rat somewhere in our guardsmen. I don't have proof but I'll find it. And if I do I'll kill the mother fucker myself.
-
I was on the line waiting for the call to connect through the prison system. When my father was clicked in his voice was the same rasp I remember from 11 years ago when he'd be teaching me a thing or two about the business. Right before he got pinched.
Even before then, but I do remember the final days before all hell broke loose in my family most clearly.
Yeah, I remember young Anthony Rizzo 16-17 years old dropping my backpack down harshly at the front door when I called out for my father. "Ma never showed up at the school" I gritted out. "For what?" My father was oblivious. "I got suspended. For fighting. I needed a parent to sign me out" I rolled my eyes.
"Fighting?" Was all he said about it. He knew my mother didn't come home last night and he doesn't give a single fuck about it.
My Pops is a character straight outta a movie. Hairy chest, open cut shirt that shows it, and his gold chain necklace. He always had a thick gold pinky ring.
"Enzo started it. I finished it" I told him. He knew my cousin was a hot head. He was causing trouble with some guys at our school and it ended in a few blows out in the parking lot. Thing is, the school still considered the parking lot 'school grounds', so I was suspended along with the other two chumps and Enzo.
Enzo's mother actually showed up to grab him, but my mother was a no show. After some convincing my aunt got the front desk to let her just sign me out instead. She's family anyway and all that.
"Anthony, you know your mother. Don't make it a thing, huh?" His accent was heavier than most. A New York Italian through and through. Just then the front door opened and in came my mother, cigarette dangling from her lips. She stopped short at the door and looked between the two of us.
"What?" She asked, makeup from last night sitting as a smudge under her eyes. "The kid was waiting at the school for you. Where were you? Whoring around?" My father's rasp of a voice asked her.
My mother tipped her head back and let out a sarcastic laugh. "Like you don't go around screwing sluts all up and down little Italy right under my nose. Anthony baby, you have a lighter on you?" She shifted her sights to me. I just left the front hall without a word.
"Hey!?" I heard her shout after me. The whole house smelt like a goddamn ashtray. I don't smoke because I can't stand the smell of it, and yet she asks me for a lighter all the time like I ever give her one.
I heard my parents arguing and then I heard my mothers stomping feet all the way up the stairs. "Nobody appreciates me in this fucking house! The both of yous!" I heard her go on in some rant. Same old shit.
Then there was the sudden banging. BANG BANG BANG. For a split second I thought my father might've knocked her around or something. Then I heard the voices.
"SALVATORE RIZZO, THIS IS THE POLICE. OPEN UP!"
I came skidding back into the front hall as my father cursed and punched the wall. "Pops, what's going on?" I asked him. He hollered, "FUCK YOU" to the cops outside the door and started in the opposite direction.
"Listen, son, I've gotten into a bit of a tight situation. I'm gonna skip out for a while. You hold things down here. Your uncle will help you" my father started grabbing at some things on the hall table where he keeps wallets and keys and all that. He pulled the short drawer open and pulled out a wad of cash.
"OPEN UP OR WE'LL COME IN BY FORCE" the officer shouted from the still closed front door. My father palmed my head and forced me to bow it down enough for him to plant a heavy peck on the side of it. "Be good to your mother" he told me, patting my cheek and rushing for the back of the house.
At the same time the front door burst open and a swarm of cops came flooding in.
"GET DOWN! DOWN NOW! HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD" they all started shouting, pointing guns at me, and around corners of walls to be sure no one else was in the house. Dad started to run for the backdoor but they tackled him down.
"FUCK YOU" I kept hearing him shout. I had my cheek pressed to the floor, hands above my head while two cops pointed guns at my back for no reason at all. The third started patting me down for weapons.
I was 16 and just got home from school. I had no fucking weapons.
"Take cock" I heard my dad spat as they started reading him his rights. "Mr. Rizzo, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law..." I couldn't hear all of it because my mother started screaming like a banshee from upstairs when the cops busted into her room.
"NO NO NO" I heard my mother getting agitated and overwhelmed. "MA" I shouted so she'd know I'm right here.
When my eyes casted up I could still see my father's feet spread on the ground before they hoisted him up. I was being cuffed and lifted myself. "Leave the kid out of it" my father spit on the ground in front of him.
"He'll be let go just as soon as you cooperate" the cop elbowed him in the ribs and my father grunted. "What's ya name? Officer Grant...I'll remember that ,Officer Grant, when I'm let outta the cage. You can't stick shit to me" the threat was clear as he was being dragged out.
"Dad," I said for no reason. I was just shocked that this was happening. Dad in cuffs being taken out. My mom being dragged down the stairs in tears. Me cuffed behind my back with gunned law enforcement keeping their sights on me.
"She had lines of coke drawn out over the vanity. Second door on the left. Bag it" the officer handling my mother told another young rookie looking cop. I shut my eyes and flared my nostrils. Oh mom...idiot.
...Yeah, I remember all that. The last raspy words I heard my father say in passing was 'you can't stick shit to me', and then four months later he was sentenced to twenty to life.
Mom was let out on a misdemeanor by the next afternoon, but I remember the deafening silence that followed when the cops uncuffed me and drove away with both my parents. Leaving me alone in the house.
Now all these years later I don't let that shit touch me anymore. I was on the phone with my father simply to tell him 'keep the chickens in the coop', which meant 'tighten your reins, we're under attack and you could be next in the pen'.
I heard my father grumble in Italian. "And did you leave flowers on your grandfather's grave?" He asked me. "Red roses and a bottle of Jameson for the old man," I told him. Which again was all code. Telling him the level of the issue at hand by the color of the flower, and Jameson is an Irish whiskey. The message was clear.
"God, I could go for a chilled vodka right about now" my dad said. "I have it," I told him. "Ah good good. Have one for your old man" he told me. What he was actually doing was asking if the Russians were backing us on this.
"And how you doing my boy?" He asked me. "Alls well" was all I said. Am I doing alright? God, does he not even know the half of it. It's nothing I'd speak about over the phone either. Or at all really. When your father is gone 11 plus years you don't keep a very tight father/son bond.
Especially when before he was even pinched he was always out doing 'business'. We don't braid each other's hair and talk about our feelings.
We heard the click that signifies the call was about to drop. "Be careful, will ya?" He asked me. "Sure pops. You too" I told him. And the line went dead.
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Author's Note: Anybody else wanna give Rizzo a hug?