Awakening the Mobster
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2012
Amy Rachiele
Edited by Summer Marston
Cover Art and Formatting by
Indie Designz
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.
Mafia is a process, not a thing. Mafia is a form of clan-cooperation to which its individual members pledge lifelong loyalty. Friendship, connections, family ties, trust, loyalty, obedience—this was the glue that held us together.
Joseph Bonnano, Mob Boss
Chapter 1
Scumbati (scoom-bah-dee): Messed Up!
Megan:
The airport is crowded. Travelers rush to and fro with a solid purpose, to get somewhere. The wheels of their bags make whirling sounds across the floor. A monotonous female voice echoes through the terminal giving instructions for lost bags and gate changes.
Antonio is beside me holding our carry-on bags. I can feel his free hand caressing the small of my back as he guides me and my sister, Erin, towards security. I look up into his dark brown eyes to reassure myself that this is all real. That we are running away. He glances down at me, and it is powerful. His eyes shine with strength and confidence.
With my sister’s hand clutching mine, I take my place in line...a line that will take us away from Palmetto, New Jersey. I face forward to stare at the backs of heads. There are so many different types. Long flowing hair, short crew cuts, even bald spots. Each person has their own destination. Each person has their own hopes and dreams.
My hopes and dreams were simple up until a couple of weeks ago. Finish my senior year at Palmetto High and start college at Notre Dame. Simple. Normal.
Antonio’s strong hand rubs my back with small circles.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Trying to sound normal or unaffected is hard. Antonio’s question sparks me to turn to look at my sister. Her typical pale complexion is almost gray. It’s like her soul has been sucked out of her. Her once consistently bright blue eyes are outlined in red and bloodshot.
I release her hand and put my arm around her shoulders holding her to me. This close up, I gaze down at her again to see our fiery red hair mingle together. Despair coats her face.
In less than twenty-four hours, our world has fallen apart. My family was held hostage in our kitchen. A man died on our back steps at the hand of our father. The man would have killed us all.
My father’s hidden life—assassin, murderer, and, what the mob calls him, the cleaner—surfaced and rattled our lives. For my entire existence‚ I never suspected anything. My father went to work every day. We never owned anything flamboyant or ritzy. No expensive vacations or a big fancy house. We only have one car, for God’s sake, and it’s a mini-van.
The mini-van fit my harp. I really need my harp right now. If I could step out of this insanely slow moving line and sit on a bench and strum my fingers across the strings, I’d feel at home.
Just the thought of home...it’s a strange place to me. More foreign now than ever. An all Italian city with a subculture that I never fit into until I started spending time with Antonio Delisi, Jr.—the Palmetto mob boss’s son.
The breath takingly beautiful man is standing right next to me—holding me, reassuring me, protecting me. Antonio is my savior. Having him with me makes the
ickiness
that is stuck in my stomach tolerable. He’s smart and strong. I know because I have witnessed it first-hand on more than one unpleasant occasion. My father arranged this escape, or whatever you want to call it. He is sending us away hoping to protect us.
I was supposed to be visiting Notre Dame at the end of the week anyway. I am going to college there next fall. My father had wanted me far away from Antonio, but recent events sped up the trip...and I have three additional passengers with me—Antonio, Erin, and Vito, Antonio’s friend. I bet my father never saw this coming.
Dad sees Antonio as dangerous because of his lifestyle and who he is. I lay comatose on my bed for a week suffering with the images of Antonio’s brutal attack on someone who owed his father money.
Antonio didn’t put that in my head, my father did. He wanted me to see Antonio for what he really is. My father is the one who gave me a front row seat to the ugliness. I did witness it. A cold and cruel beating, but I don’t see what my father thought I would see. I see Antonio as a man raised to be what he is. He is what he was taught and trained to be.
“We’re next,” Antonio says softly to Erin and me, as if we are fragile and much too breakable.
I remove my shoes and place them in the blue bin, gliding it over the rollers. Erin follows. A security officer waves a wand up and down my body, checking to see if I’m dangerous.
Leaning against a cement pillar and watching us navigate through security is Vito. His dark hair brushes the top of his collar, and a leather shoulder bag is hanging on his side. His face is impassive. It has only been a couple of hours since Antonio called him and asked him to join us. By the sound of the conversation, Vito didn’t even hesitate to agree. He is a large, intimidating guy.
Erin’s eyes are glued to the floor as she walks with effort towards the gate entrances. I caress her shoulder again as Antonio and Vito say their hellos.
“Hey man,” Antonio says, slapping Vito on the back. “Thanks for doing this.”
I observe Vito. The hard slab of muscle underneath his shirt shifts when he moves towards us. I think he is looking at me, but he’s not. His focus is solely on my sister.
“Hi,” I choke out around the dryness and misery lodged in my throat. Vito nods at me.
Erin moves with automatic motions, not acknowledging anyone. She hasn’t spoken since we left the O’Connell’s house and her cheating ex-boyfriend, Connor. I clutch her hand. I’m worried.
We make our way through the long passageway to the gates. I study the large blue numbers jutting out above our heads, searching for gate twenty-nine.
Antonio is attached to my other side while Vito trails behind.
“Over here, honey,” Antonio says, the endearment surprising me. I allow him to lead us over to a seating area.
A sea of fake black leather chairs faces the large glass windows. Airplanes line up outside. Sprinklings of people take up space in some of the chairs. Erin releases my hand and lies down across an empty row of three.
I hear Vito whisper to Antonio as I sit across from her.
“What the fuck is wrong with her?”
“A lot of shit,” Antonio says in a low voice. Then he sits down next to me and takes my hand. We both stare at Erin who seems lifeless while lying down, her face covered with her arms.
“I’m going to get a coffee,” Vito says. “You guys want anything?”
“Yeah, I’ll have a coffee,” I say. “Cream and sugar.”
“Me too,” Antonio responds. “Black.”
“What about her?” Vito asks.
“Her name is Erin,” I say crossly.
“I know her name, Red,” Vito states. “Does she want anything?” Antonio stiffens at Vito’s words. He always calls me Red, and apparently Antonio doesn’t like it.
“An orange juice would be great.” It is the only thing I can think of. When we’re sick, my mom always gives us orange juice. It’s the electrolytes, I guess.
I take my bag from Antonio and rifle through it looking for a hair tie. I find one. I lean over my sister and gather up the hair that has spilled all around her threatening to knot up. I gently pull her hair through the elastic. Erin doesn’t budge.
Sighing, I sit back down with Antonio. We both stare at her, probably thinking the same thing. What’s wrong with her?
Antonio leans in and kisses my temple. Electricity jolts through my body. “She’ll be better when we’re away from here.”
“I hope so,” I say, trying to believe it.
Seemingly from nowhere, Vito hands me a cup.
“Thanks,” I say, taking it. The warmth of the coffee through the paper cup feels heavenly. A gloomy coldness has been fighting to consume me since yesterday.
He hands a coffee to Antonio, too.
Unexpectedly, Vito takes two short strides over to Erin. He squats down with his back to us.
He is talking to her. Erin leans up on her elbows. Her face is splotchy and red. Lines have formed across her cheeks where she was leaning on her arms.
Vito pops the top off some high-priced organic juice and hands it to her. Erin sips it slowly and hands it back to him. He takes it and brushes some loose strands of hair I missed from her face.
“Flight four-thirty-two to Indiana is now ready for boarding.”
“That’s us,” Antonio says. We gather up our stuff. Vito helps Erin to stand.
My legs are like lead. I’m so tired and numb. It’s as if a four-hundred-pound boulder is resting on my shoulders. I ignore my discomfort, and head towards Erin. I pull her to me, my arm around her shoulder, as we make our way to the gate.
A crowd quickly forms in the small area in front of the catwalk entrance. Kids, bags, and people huddle around us. It’s hard to breath with everyone so nearby. A tickle of anxiety crawls its way into my chest.
Antonio and Vito are close, right behind us. They’re talking softly to each other. They are examining our plane tickets when Erin is pushed from behind. The blow affects me as well since I am holding her. We stumble forward a few steps. Antonio steadies us.
Vito’s arm immediately flies out and shoves a tall guy with glasses. I assume he is the culprit. He is just as startled by Vito’s reaction as I am. The guy, obviously intimidated, mumbles an apology.
It was clearly an accident. I shift my sister and myself over a bit towards Antonio. His arm snakes around my waist. Antonio shoots Vito a knowing look.
Maybe asking Vito wasn’t such a good idea. I gaze down at my sister who is still unresponsive. Vito acts as a wall and moves directly in front of the pusher, blocking him from our view.
Thankfully, the line starts to dissipate as passengers start loading the plane. Antonio hands four tickets to the flight attendant.
