PRIVILEGE
RENZO + LUCIA, BOOK 1
Copyright © 2018 by Bethany-Kris. All rights reserved.
PROLOGUE
Understand that the right to choose your own path is a sacred privilege.
— Oprah Winfrey
Lucia Marcello
The baby hadn’t been planned or expected, not when her oldest sibling had over a decade of years on her, and her parents had believed undoubtedly that they would not have any more children after their last daughter.
But here she was.
And God knew she was loved.
Maybe she hadn’t been planned, but she had been most wanted.
Born in the early morning inside a private suite, the baby girl was wrapped in the softest muslin wrap after being warmed, and washed of any remnants of the birth. Tucked away in a Labor and Delivery Ward of a hospital where there was a doctor for every few patients, and three nurses to every laboring woman, her parents made calls to people who were probably still sleeping, and had their own children to care for.
Aunts, uncles, grandparents …
Despite sleeping, those people would still come.
They would come to welcome a new principessa to the Marcello family. They would come to congratulate her parents. They would bring her oldest brother, and two older sisters to say hello for the first time. They would bring gifts, and beautiful things to say thank you for being ours.
They would all hear her name.
Lucia.
And they would love her simply because she was alive. They would love her because she was born a Marcello.
Born rich, to a family that was both adored and feared, her parents would make sure she wanted for nothing.
That was the privilege of Lucia Marcello.
Simply because she had been born.
• • •
Renzo Zulla
The baby hadn’t been planned or expected, not when his mother was barely past her sixteenth birthday and hadn’t slept on a mattress with a sheet since before she found out she was pregnant.
But here he was.
And God knew he wasn’t wanted.
Maybe he hadn’t been planned or wanted, but his mother couldn’t find it in herself to give him up, either.
Born on a warm evening in an Emergency Room triage bed because his mother had waited too long to go to the hospital, and the Labor and Delivery Ward was full, the baby boy laid wrapped in scratchy cotton. His mother explained tiredly for the third time that she didn’t have an insurance card. With a smear of ruddy blood still staining the floor of a hospital where the hallways were currently full of the sick, and the nurses were overworked, one thought to ask his mother if there was someone she might like to call.
Grandparents, other family … the father, perhaps?
Those people would never come.
They wouldn’t come to welcome a new baby they hadn’t even known the teenager was pregnant with. They wouldn’t come to congratulate his mother. They wouldn’t come to help, or to show his mother how to love him or keep him alive. They wouldn’t bring gifts, or any beautiful things.
They wouldn’t hear his name at all.
Renzo.
Given the name his father hated when his mother told the man the ones she was considering for him in a dank alley months ago. Given a name that would already make his absent father hate him.
Born poor, to a mother who’d only stopped sucking on a pipe long enough to birth a healthy child she refused to give up, and without a home to keep him warm.
That was the misfortune of Renzo Zulla.
Simply because he had been born.
ONE
The one thing a person could never escape once they were born a Marcello?
Love.
Sometimes that love was soft, and supportive, and everything a person needed to propel them into a world that was ready to tear them to bits. And sometimes, that love was suffocating, and heavy, and everything a person wished they could escape from because there was no growth when people were holding you too tight.
Lucia Marcello liked to call that a double-edged sword. Maybe it was because she was the baby, but she was on the receiving end of that love a hell of a lot more than any of her other siblings when it came to her parents. Like they were scared to let her fly, and so they were just going to keep holding onto her until she broke free on her own.
She thought … maybe it was time to do just that.
“Principessa,” Lucian said, placing a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head.
“Hey, Daddy,” Lucia greeted.
She went back to the binder of information that she needed to study. Apparently, volunteering for a women’s and children’s shelter for the summer wasn’t as easy as simply signing up for the job. Lucia had policies to memorize, schedules, and a bunch more.
It was worth it. She wanted to help.
“Where is your mother?”
“Reading in her room.”
Lucian pulled out a chair at the table and sat down beside Lucia. “I was thinking …”
Sighing, Lucia closed her binder and gave her father the attention he wanted. Lucia, being the youngest child of four siblings, had always been the baby. Her parents seemed to think she needed more attention and care than her older siblings simply because there was such a difference in age. Maybe they figured she felt left out. Lucia never had.
Being the family baby at only seventeen, almost eighteen, meant being babied like one. She needed some breathing room, some time away from her family and room to grow. She knew they didn’t understand, and that they would be hurt by her wanting to leave, so she chose her actions in quieter ways. Like volunteering at a woman’s shelter for the summer.
With her father’s past, she knew Lucian wouldn’t put the brakes on Lucia spending eight hours a day, five days a week at a shelter to help. He was more likely to donate a bunch of money, which he already did, and buy her a car to get to and from the location every day. She wanted to volunteer, too, but it was a small step away from her family and their smothering.
“Thinking what?” she asked her father.
“About college in the fall,” Lucian answered. “Couldn’t you pick Columbia instead of a college out of state? It’s a great school, Lucia, and it has all the programs you want for social development.”
Lucia dropped her father’s gaze. If he could see her eyes, he could see her lies. “But I fell in love with that campus when we visited.”
Lucian made a sad noise under his breath. “I know, bella ragazza.”
“I’ll come back, Dad. Holidays, vacation, and some weekends.”
“You’re not making it better, Lucia.”
She smiled. “I’m sorry.”
“I worry about you being alone.”
“Don’t. I’m an adult. I can handle college.”
“Graduating high school and being almost eighteen does not make you an adult, Lucia.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t help but worry. I know you want to grow up, but I’m not sure we’re ready for you to.”
Lucia dropped her hands to the table with a smack and stood from her seat quickly. “That’s the whole problem.”
Lucian glanced up at her with surprise deepening the lines in his face. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re not ready to let me go. You’re not ready for me to grow up. You, Dad, not me.”
“Oh.”
Lucia picked up the binder off the table and said, “I’m choosing the college out of state, not Columbia. It’s already been settled, tuition and first year is paid, plus I was accepted months ago. I have the grades for it, and I want to do this. Let me do it.”
Lucian dropped his head. “Okay.”
Lucia was surprised her father had dropped it that easily. It wasn’t like Lucian at all. Lucia knew exactly where she had gotten her stubbornness and fight from—her father. The man had given her far more than just his namesake when she was brought into the world as her mother and father’s unexpected surprise later in life.
Guilt chewed Lucia up inside.
“I’ll be back, Daddy,” she said softly.
“We have the summer, right?” her father asked.
Well, she did. Her father was a different story. As a Marcello principessa, Lucia knew what her father and the rest of the men in her family were involved with. She wasn’t blind or dumb. She had witnessed more than enough things over the years to know her family might as well be royalty in the world of organized crime. Her father and two uncles held three of the highest seats in the family. Even her brother was mixed up in it all. Thankfully, it kept her father busy. She had the summer off, but Lucian probably didn’t. His job was non-stop.
“Sort of, yes. I have this volunteering thing, too.”
“I’m proud that you took this on,” Lucian said, reaching out to tap the binder. “I’ve always tried to donate to the shelters and organizations for women and children, but it makes me extremely proud that you’ve taken the extra step to do this.”
The guilt flooded Lucia again. She’d done it because she needed the break from her family, and the fact it would look good on a résumé. She also did it for the experience. Lucia came from a ridiculously wealthy family. Her father might have lived some of his early years on the streets, forging for food and trying to survive, but she never had. She never worried about one single thing. Nothing was out of reach if she asked her mother and father for it.
Lucia wondered if she needed a wake-up call from real life.
Maybe this job would do that.
“I think you’ll get something amazing from it,” Lucian added when Lucia stayed quiet.
“I hope so,” she responded.
Standing from the table, her father drew her in for a tight hug that said he still wasn’t quite ready to let Lucia out of his sights. She let him hold on until he was ready to let go, because all too soon, her father wouldn’t have a choice but to let her go.
Lucian was a good father—a great one, actually. But for once, Lucia simply wanted to step out of her family’s shadow and be her own person. She didn’t think her dad would understand.
Would he?
“I love you, Lucia,” her father murmured. “You always were the easy one out of the four. I never had to worry about you getting in to some kind of trouble, or causing us any heartache. My good girl, huh?”
She had always been the good girl.
Lucia didn’t know anything else.
Lucia sighed. “Yeah.”
“Hmm, what was that?”
“I love you, too, Papà.”
Releasing her from his hug, Lucian said, “I should go find your mother. I have news she’ll want to hear.”
“Oh?”
Lucian smiled widely. “Retirement is coming early for me. Your mother has been pestering me for years to do this, and I finally have. It feels good. She will be pissed off like nothing else if I don’t tell her right away.”
Retirement.
Lucia didn’t know what to say.
“So, no more … famiglia?” Lucia asked, choosing her words carefully. Outright asking about the mafia or her father’s involvement would likely get her nowhere. “None at all?”
Lucian shrugged, still happy. “Mostly, no.”
• • •
Lucia poked her head into the state of the art kitchen and found the chef working behind a large stove. The man blinked a couple of times before he finally recognized her.
“Lucia?”
She nodded. “Hi. Is my cousin around?”
“Andino is in his office. I can let Skip know you’re here, if you want.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
“Go find a table. Do you want something to eat?”
“No, I’m okay.”
“Sure,” the chef said. “Go, I’ll let your cousin know you’re here to see him.”
Lucia wasn’t surprised that the man was confused at her presence. It wasn’t often that Lucia went to Andino’s main restaurant in the city because her cousin was known to use the place for the more illegal side of his business. Like the mafia. More than once, Lucian had told his daughter to steer clear.
Quickly, she found a quiet table toward the back and slid into a chair. Resting her bag in the chair beside her, she waited for Andino to come out from the back. It didn’t take him long. Her cousin strolled across the restaurant floor, waving at a couple of patrons as he passed, and then joined Lucia at the table.
“Hey, kid,” Andino said, smiling.
Lucia forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Hey.”
“Didn’t your daddy tell you to stay away from this place?”
“So?”
Andino chuckled. “You should follow the rules, Lucia.”
“I wanted to find out something, and I was in the neighborhood.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
Andino leaned back in the chair and fixed the buttons on his suit jacket as he asked, “Well, what do you need?”
“Where’s Johnathan?”
Lucia had only seen her oldest sibling once since his release from prison. John was her only brother, but besides that, he was also the only person who truly understood Lucia and how suffocating their parents could be. For John, she knew it was an entirely different reason. But honestly, Lucia just needed a break, and John seemed like the right person to go to for it.
“Working today. Why?” Andino asked.
“I want to talk to him.”
Her cousin lifted a single brow. “He’s working, which means you probably shouldn’t be around him, Lucia. I know how your father would feel to find out you were slumming it up with John while he was doing business.”
Frustrated, Lucia grabbed her bag and stood. “Thanks for nothing.”
“Hey, hey.” Andino stood from the table, reaching out to grab Lucia’s wrist.
“What?” she asked, snappier than she intended.
“What is up with you?” he asked.
“I want to see my brother. He doesn’t answer my phone calls, and he never comes around to the house, so I can talk to him there. I figured coming to see you would probably point me in the right direction. I’m not surprised it didn’t. All this family does is take care of business first, right?”
Andino’s gaze flicked away. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m sorry, Andi. I know I’m not allowed to be hanging around here. I shouldn’t have come.”
“It’s fine, kid. Just keep quiet to your dad, huh?”
Lucia nodded. “I will.”
“Where are you going after this?”
“I was going to go sit with Grandpapa while Grandmama ran some errands.”
Cecelia, her grandmother, always felt uncomfortable leaving her husband home alone when she left the house, for whatever reason. Lucia didn’t mind sitting with her grandfather. Then, he had someone watching him and someone to talk to. Antony, her grandfather, never minded.
Andino nodded. “All right. I’ll give John a call. Let him know where you’re going to be.”
Lucia’s anger ebbed away. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
• • •
“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Cecelia asked.
“We’ll be perfect,” Lucia told her grandmother. “I’m sure he’ll get in to his usual trouble.”
Cecelia laughed, the lines around her eyes deepening in her joy. “Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Grandmama.”
“He’s been tired a lot lately,” Cecelia explained quietly. “I can’t help but worry.”
Lucia frowned, saddened over her grandmother’s concerns for her husband’s health. Antony Marcello always seemed to be the strongest, most formidable person in their family, but truth be told, he wasn’t getting any younger. A sharp tongue and a strong soul did not make for a healthy body.
“Just go do your stuff,” Lucia said. “He’ll be okay with me. I’ll put on his music, and he’ll be happy.”
Cecelia smiled. “Okay. Thank you for coming today.”
“I’ll always come, Grandmama.”
Her grandmother’s hand patted her cheek gently. The leathery feel of Cecelia’s palm reminded Lucia that her grandmother wasn’t a young woman, either.
“Our good girl, huh?”
Lucia batted her grandmother’s hand away lightly. “Go. You’re wasting time.”
“Going, going.”
Lucia closed the front door to the large Marcello mansion the moment her grandmother stepped out into the marble entrance. Making her way back through the house, she found her grandfather sitting in the living room in his leather recliner with his feet up, a glass of water beside him, and a remote in his hand as he flicked through the television channels.
“Did she pester you about me again?” Antony asked, his voice raspy with age.
Lucia laughed. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“I only look old, Lucia. I may feel it at times, too, but my mind is the same as it was when I was twenty-five. Sharp, quick, and too smart for everyone else.”
“That’s all that matters, Grandpapa.”
Antony waved a weathered hand high. “They all worry too much.”
“I know what you mean.” Lucia eyed the water her grandfather sipped from. “You didn’t spike that with something when Grandmama wasn’t looking, right?”
Antony smiled slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“No drinking, Grandpapa.”
“Oh, it’s just water. Stop it. She doesn’t even give me wine anymore.”
Lucia fake pouted. “Poor you.”
“She worries too much,” Antony repeated with a sigh. Flicking his wrist at the couch beside his chair, he added, “Sit, or your legs will get tired. Then I’ll have to listen to your father go on about how I don’t take care of you while you babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting you.”
“Same thing.”
Lucia shook her head, knowing better than to argue with her grandfather. Antony, no matter his age, was too stubborn for his own good. The man would choke on his words before he would ever spit out that he might be wrong about something.
Taking a seat on the couch, Lucia asked, “What do you want to do today?”
Antony smiled, reached over, and took his youngest grandchild’s hand in his. “Sit here and enjoy the day with you, Lucia.”
“Okay, Grandpapa. We can do that.”
“Good.” Antony nodded at the television. “They have a true crime marathon on today for the mob and the New York families.”
Lucia couldn’t have stopped her laughter even if she tried. “Really?”
“Yes. They made a show about my rise to power in the eighties and nineties, too.”
“I know, I watched it when I was fifteen,” she admitted.
It was how she learned most of her family’s history and legacy in Cosa Nostra. The conversation that had followed with her father had been interesting, especially since Lucian didn’t hide a thing when Lucia asked about it all. It was the only time they did talk about it.
“The whole show is lies,” Antony said.
Lucia wondered about that. “Is it?”
Antony’s old eyes twinkled with mischief. “No.”
• • •
After saying goodbye to her grandmother, Lucia opened the front door to leave the Marcello mansion and begin her drive home. She froze on the stoop, finding a familiar figure waiting for her in the driveway. Her older brother leaned against the hood of what looked to be a brand-new Mercedes.
“I heard you were looking for me,” John said, grinning.
Lucia took the front steps two at a time until she was close enough to run her hands over the shiny black paint job the Mercedes sported. It was a beautiful, two-door coupe with sharp lines and a hell of a lot of chrome.
She loved cars.
“When did you get this?” Lucia asked.
“Picked it up yesterday. You like?”
“A lot.”
“I should have known what with you being the little car whore and everything.”
Lucia flipped her brother the middle finger. “Don’t call me a whore.”
“I said a car whore, Lucia. It’s a compliment.” John chuckled. “Get in. We’ll go for a drive, and then I’ll bring you back to pick up your car.”
“Okay.”
Lucia didn’t need to be told again. She jumped into the passenger seat, flinging her bag to the floor of the car. John climbed in his side and started the beauty, revving the engine until Lucia was grinning like crazy.
“I sincerely hope whatever man you find realizes that you have expensive taste,” John told her.
“Yeah, I know. I blame it on Dad.”
John smirked. “I blame it on Dad, too.”
Lucia fiddled with the stereo system the car sported while her brother drove them straight back into the heart of the city. She barely noticed time flying them by at all. Despite the fact that there was a thirteen-year age gap between her and Johnathan, she always felt closer to her brother than she had her older sisters.
“So,” John drawled, bringing Lucia out of her thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“Andino was pretty insistent you wanted to see me. What’s up, kiddo?”
“Well, that, for one.”
John’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
“I’m turning eighteen next month. Can we cut out the kid nonsense?”
Chuckling, John said, “Sure. My bad.”
Lucia settled back into the passenger seat, watching the buildings pass them by. “I haven’t had any time with you since you got out. You’re avoiding Mom and Dad, so apparently, that means staying away from me, too.”
“Yeah,” John said, cringing, “I hadn’t thought that one out very well.”
“Obviously.”
“Sorry I missed your graduation.”
Lucia shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. I heard you graduated with high honors.”
“I did,” she said.
“And got an acceptance to every college you applied to.”
“Yep.”
John smiled. “Smartest one of us all, Lucy.”
Lucia scowled. “I hate that nickname.”
“I know, but you’re not tough enough or old enough yet to stop me from using it. I dropped the kid one, but I am not dropping Lucy.”
She whacked her brother hard on the arm. John grinned back.
“They do care about you, John,” Lucia said.
“They do,” he agreed. “Right now, I just want to focus on staying sane and good.”
“Okay.”
“But I’ll be around for you, too.”
“Good,” she whispered, smiling.
“Also, I’ll let Dad know you’re loving hard on my car.”
“Why?”
John made a dismissive noise. “Maybe he’s looking to upgrade your car for your eighteenth.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe,” her brother echoed with a wicked smile.
Lucia did a little dance in the passenger seat. “Yes!”
“Spoiled.”
“Don’t judge me.”
“You make it hard,” John teased.
Sighing, Lucia watched her brother from the side. “Does it feel weird to be out and everything?”
“No, but everyone keeps trying to make it that way.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I feel like a bug being watched as it climbs up a wall. Someone is probably waiting with a shoe to swat me when I get too close. It makes me feel like I’m living in a bubble or something, like I’m going to blink and suddenly go insane.”
Lucia hated that for John. “You’re not crazy.”
John blew out a harsh breath. “Thanks.”
Before Lucia knew it, they were driving through a dirtier part of the city. The shady part of Brooklyn that her father had always made it clear to Lucia that she was not allowed to go. Like the smart girl she was, Lucia always followed those rules because she didn’t want to find out what would happen if she didn’t.
“What are we doing here?” Lucia asked.
“Just keep quiet,” John replied. “I’ve got some business to handle. I knew that you were wanting to chat and see me, or whatever, but I still have work to do all the same. Turn cheek like Dad always told you to do, and we’ll be fine.”
Lucia chose not to respond to her brother on that front. “Working, working?”
“I don’t have any other job, Lucy. I’m a Capo, and nothing more.”
Great.
John parked the Mercedes in front of a shoddy apartment building. He repeated to her to stay put and leave the car locked until he came back. Then, he climbed out of the car, and Lucia watched him disappear into the building. Less than ten minutes later, her brother emerged from the building with a black duffle bag in hand. John unlocked the car and tossed the bag to the back.
Once he was settled back into the driver’s seat, he said, “Just ask.”
Lucia peered into the back seat. “What is in that bag?”
“A couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Money and substance.”
“Um …”
“Coke,” her brother clarified. “I need to pick up some stuff and hand it off to the people who run with it. Do you understand?”
“Not really.”
John shook his head. “Then stop asking.”
Lucia could do that.
“I have a couple of more pickups to do before I can take you back. Is that okay?”
“Perfect, John.”
Her brother pulled out of the parking space. “Good.”
For the next hour, Lucia sat quietly in the car while her brother did whatever it was he did. He often disappeared in and out of buildings with his black bag in hand, and no one ever passed him a second look. Apparently three years in prison really wasn’t affecting her brother’s ability to do his job.
Sticking a spoonful of a hot fudge sundae in her mouth as John drove through what looked to be a park of some sort, Lucia noticed a group of older kids hanging around a convenience store. Well, she didn’t think they were kids, but they were probably around her age or a little older.
John parked his car and beeped the horn once. He flashed his lights twice. Confused, Lucia watched as an older boy broke away from the group and approached John’s car. Since the sky was starting to darken, she really couldn’t see the guy’s face all that well. But the closer he came to John’s window, Lucia had a far better view of him.
Sharp, strong lines shaped the man’s face. Wild black hair, like he’d been tugging on the ends, hung down to his eyes. Dark russet eyes peered into John’s opened window, finding Lucia instantly, while the guy’s lips pulled into a cocky smirk.
Lucia glanced away.
“Hey, Ren,” John greeted.
Ren.
Lucia took the guy’s name in, and chanced another look at him. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but instead, focusing on John.
“Skip,” Ren said.
“You got anything for me today?”
“Always, boss.”
Ren’s hand disappeared inside his coat before he pulled out a white envelope. It passed into John’s hand like nothing was amiss. John opened it up, counted the cash that was inside quickly, and then handed over a stack to the man. Then, Lucia’s brother tossed the envelope onto the backseat.
“Go see, Tucker,” John said. “He’ll get you set up for next week for whatever you need.”
“Will do, Skip.”
Ren’s hand hit the top of the car, but before he turned away, he shot Lucia another look. Lucia fidgeted in her seat as her brother took notice of the stare that was passing between the two.
“Ren,” John snapped.
Clearly, her brother was not playing around today. He’d never been one for boys being around Lucia, anyway.
“Sorry, Skip,” Ren said. “I’m going. Next week?”
“Yeah. Get gone, kid.”
John was backing up before Ren had even moved away.
Once they were back on the road, Lucia’s curiosity ate away at her.
“John?”
“What?” her brother asked.
“Who was that?”
“Renzo?”
Lucia would recognize an Italian name anywhere.
“Yeah, him,” she said.
“A street kid,” John informed like it was nothing. “A solider who probably isn’t going anywhere but right where he is. It sucks, but that’s how it goes.”
Lucia picked at her manicured nails, still curious. “Why?”
“Because that’s what his father did for our father, and his grandfather for our grandfather. It’s a circle, Lucia. It’s vicious. It’s the kind of life they can’t get out of even though they try damned hard. What does it matter?”
She didn’t really know.
“Just wondering,” Lucia settled on saying.
John’s gaze cut in her direction before he said, “Keep wondering. Nothing more.”
“Huh?”
“Stay away from guys like Renzo, Lucia.”
“I didn’t even say—”
“Take it as future advice,” John interrupted. “Remember it.”
She would try.
But …
Marcellos didn’t follow the rules all that well. They were far too filthy for that.
John reached over and turned the radio on. Lucia took in the sight of her brother seemingly happy and carefree. She couldn’t remember a time when John looked like he did right at that moment.
“What is going on with you?” Lucia asked.
John flashed a smile. “Huh?”
“You’re happy.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Lucia shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
John laughed. “My happiness is that confusing for you, huh?”
“No, but usually you’re not as … open about it,” she settled on saying.
“I’ll give you that.”
“So what is up?”
John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel with the beat of the music. “Nothing, Lucy. I just think it’s going to be an interesting few months in this family. Something feels different. Things are beginning to happen. I’m looking forward to the changes.”
She had no idea what her brother was talking about, but he was happy. Lucia took that for what it was, and chose to leave the rest alone.
“Whatever you say, John.”
TWO
Everyone likes to say you can choose your own path. But that would be a lie. No one chooses to be born poor, disenfranchised and struggling before they even know their own name. No one wakes up one day and decides to be born to an addict mother who can’t seem to control her ability to produce children she can’t care for, or love. No one chooses to be a child on the streets, or a child neglected.
No one chooses those things.
So, what did Renzo Zulla choose?
Renzo chose to step up where his mother didn’t. For every bad choice she made, Renzo worked twice as hard to correct it. Not for him necessarily. He had two younger siblings that needed a hell of a lot more than he did.
Everything he did was for them.
It always would be.
“Ren!”
Renzo sucked the last drag from a cigarette, and tossed it to the ground. Glancing up, he found his usual guys waiting at the corner store. Calling them friends might be a little too much. And calling them coworkers would be illegal. Or that’s what Vito always liked to say.
“Are you heading over to do the drop off today?” Noah asked.
Perry and Diesel, the youngest two of the group, continue their conversation like Renzo hadn’t even arrived. Not that he minded. As long as they did what they were told, he didn’t give a shit what they did on their spare time. And since work hadn’t started today, he still considered this their spare time.
Besides, they did behave.
They fucking listened.
Vito let Renzo run the guys whenever he wasn’t on the streets doing business, and these fools knew how this worked. Noah, Perry, and Diesel … well, they came from the same trash Renzo did, in a way. Their home lives weren’t any better than his had been growing up. There was a reason each of them met up at this corner store every single day to take their cut of product, and get it on the streets. They needed cash in their hands.
They all had a reason to be here. They all had reasons for why they did this.
Nobody just decided one day that they wanted to be a drug dealer peddling dope to people who were already too far gone to save. It wasn’t like the money was good enough to justify the whys of it all, either. Sure, Renzo made a ten percent cut on everything he sold, and another five percent cut for handling this small crew of guys who worked under Vito Abati. And for every pickup or drop off he made, he got another handful slapped into his palm for his troubles.
Again, that’s how Vito liked to put it.
As if calling the risks Renzo took to move dope from one end of the city to another troubles was adequate or accurate. He didn’t think it was, but this was his life. And these were the choices he made considering no one was looking at the almost twenty-year-old white boy from the Bronx for fucking anything.
He came from trash.
All he was going to be was trash.
He’d heard it enough times in his life to know it was true, or rather, that it was exactly how everyone else looked at him. All he had to do was slap his address on a job application, and that was enough to make someone look at him like he was the lesser between them. Once they figured out he hadn’t made it far enough in the twelfth grade to get his diploma, as he had to drop out to make sure his brother and sister got fed three times a fucking day, he was already screwed.
This society wasn’t built for people like him. Already poor, and struggling all the damn time. Already marked with stains from circumstances that pushed him to make choices that would affect the rest of his life so that his siblings could have something good in theirs.
But nobody cared about that. Those were details. Nobody liked those.
“Well,” Noah asked again, “are you?”
“Yeah,” Renzo said, his voice coming out gruffer than he intended. “Later.”
He probably should have grabbed something to drink, at the very least, but he was already late taking his little brother, Diego, to the shelter that morning, so he’d be safe for the day. It wasn’t like Renzo could count on his mother to take care of her four-year-old, and the chick on their block who watched him had shit to do today. At least at the shelter, they had a free daycare as long as the spots weren’t filled by the time he got there. He’d much rather have Diego there than walking the streets with him all day, anyway.
“Well, when will we—”
Renzo turned his sharp gaze on Perry. The youngest of all of them at seventeen, Perry was a handful sometimes. Sure, he got the job done, and he was sneaky as fuck when it came to staying out of trouble, but still … a handful.
“You’ll get your packages tomorrow. Don’t you have a bit to carry you through?”
Perry shrugged. “I guess I got enough.”
“Yeah, all right.”
Giving the rest of them a look as if to silently ask, Anyone else? None of them spoke up.
Renzo stuffed his hands in his pockets, and eyed the quiet streets. Across the way, a man slept in the mouth of an alleyway tucked inside a dirty sleeping bag. Every day, that man and his pigeon stayed in the same exact spot. And every fucking day, it was a reminder to Ren.
He’d been there.
More than once.
Shortly after his birth, his mother sucked on a meth pipe, blew a positive, and got kicked out of the shelter where she’d been staying with him. She called it an act of kindness that the shelter hadn’t called CPS for four-week-old Renzo.
He just called it bullshit.
At thirteen, he slept inside the tunnel of a slide at one of the city parks, and used a public bathroom to wash his face every morning.
His sister, Rose, had been around then. She cried all the damn time. She was cold, and hungry. Sometimes, their mother showed up with enough money to keep them warm in a pay-by-the-hour motel but that was just as much a blessing as it was curse.
Especially when they had to step out of the hotel room every so often, and listen to the sounds that slipped out from under the door when each new man would randomly show up.
Renzo made a choice, then. That was the first time he went out on the streets, and looked for some kind of work to give him money to keep his sister warm, and feed her. At first, it’d just been chasing dregs and homeless away from businesses that didn’t want that kind of problem in front of their windows. One day, a guy in a leather jacket handed Renzo a package, and asked if he’d run it up to the man sitting in a bakery in Queens.
No questions, he’d been told.
Don’t open the package, he’d been warned.
He ran that package, and without ever knowing what it was, had a thousand dollars in his hand by the time he got home.
That man was Vito,
Vito came back, too. Renzo kept saying yes to jobs. He put money away, worked from the time the sun came up, until the streets were pitch black. He kept walking and moving and running for people who wore better clothes than he did and drove vehicles he could only dream about because they paid well, he didn’t ask questions, and he needed to do better.
He needed to do better for his sister, and then later, his brother, too.
The rest was fucking history.
His life was not a pretty one.
It was the only he was given.
And fuck anyone who said he didn’t try because he did. All he ever did was try.
“I’ll get your shit to sell,” Renzo told the guys, “right after I make a trip into Brooklyn.”
Noah and Perry nodded like that was enough for them. Diesel, on the other hand, decided he wanted to test Renzo’s already thin patience by running his mouth. As he usually did.
Nothing new.
“Say hi to Rose for me, yeah?” Diesel punctuated that smartass comment with a smirk. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”
Renzo turned a bit, ready to leave, but not before tossing a remark over his shoulder he knew would cut the other man. “Rose ain’t coming back to these streets for nothing, man. And everybody knows those who walk these streets aren’t going anywhere but right on these goddamn streets. Where she is, you’re never going.”
He’d made sure of that.
Dropped every cent he had into lodging and food and books and whatever else his sister needed when she won that scholarship to a private school in Brooklyn for the arts. No matter what, he was going to keep making sure Rose could stay right where she was for as long as she wanted to be there.
“Like you, too, right?” he heard Diesel shout out behind him. “You’re walking these streets, too, Ren. Where the fuck are you going, huh? Right here, man.”
Was that supposed to hurt?
It didn’t.
It wasn’t news to Renzo where he was going to live and die. These streets had been mean to him for his entire life. Maybe they’d be kind when they finally killed him.
He wasn’t holding his breath.
• • •
Renzo stepped off the city bus, and kept his head down as he walked through the people waiting at the bus stop. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he always felt out of place when he wasn’t walking his own streets. Maybe that shit was all in his mind, but it still felt very real to him and not something he could escape.
It didn’t take long before he was passing a row of brownstones with carefully manicured flower pots on the steps, and shined railings leading up to the front doors. Rose was already waiting at the very end of the block on the front steps of a brownstone that had been converted to an apartment of sorts for students of her school. Like a dormitory off school grounds. Rose could stay at the private school, and it would be cheaper, but the rooms were full. They had to make due elsewhere.
Renzo dropped down on the steps to sit beside his seventeen-year-old sister, and handed over a doggy bag full of sweets from her favorite bakery in the Bronx. He made the trip up to visit her once a week just to make sure she was okay, and had everything she needed. Usually, he dropped off cash and took care of whatever it was she needed until he would be back around again. He never forgot to bring those sweets, either.
Rose smiled as she peeled open the bag to peek inside despite already knowing what would be there waiting for her. “Smells like heaven.”
Renzo laughed, and leaned back on the steps. “Diabetes is in your future, Rose.”
His sister shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll die happy, then.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how diabetes works, actually.”
“Stop judging me.”
She said that through a mouthful of half-eaten puff pastry. Renzo could only shake his head, and enjoy the moment he had with his sister. All too soon, he was going to need to catch another bus, head across the city, pick up a package of drugs, and get back home so he could put Diego to bed. Tomorrow, he’d get up before the sun had even risen in the sky, and get out on the streets to make sure his guys had their product to deal, so no one was chasing his ass for that. He’d get to his own territory, and wait to make some extra cash, too.
It was a never-ending cycle.
“How’s Diego?” Rose asked.
Renzo sighed. “You know how everybody says the twos and threes are terrible for a reason?”
“Not really.”
“Well, they do. The fours aren’t much better.”
Rose grinned a little. “But he loves you.”
Good thing.
Next to Rose, the only person Diego cared for was Renzo. He blamed that on their neglectful, addict mother, honestly. She barely looked at Diego when she did show up at their apartment, and that was usually just long enough to sleep before she was gone again. Although, lately, she’d been around more.
It was just enough to make Diego hope his mother would stick around, and then she’d take off once more. Renzo was left picking up all the broken pieces of a four-year-old boy who was learning far too young that there was nothing in this world for people like them.
Not even love.
“How’s school?” Renzo asked.
“Good. I painted a naked man yesterday. That was interesting.”
Renzo’s head snapped to the side, and his gaze narrowed. “What?”
Rose let out a laugh. “Relax. Art class. They’re professionals.”
Professional what?
Nude people?
“He was like forty,” Rose added. “Chill out.”
That only made it slightly better. Renzo decided to just keep his mouth shut, though. What else could he do? His sister was in a far better place than he and Diego were at the moment. His goal was, hopefully, by the time Diego started school … Renzo might have enough money to put him in a decent school that would keep him busy for the day.
He just needed to keep Diego out of trouble, right? Make sure his little brother never had a reason to go out on the streets like he did to make up the difference, and take care of his family. Diego wouldn’t have to do that at all if Renzo was doing it for him.
That’s all that mattered.
Rose offered him a donut, but Renzo shook his head. He brought those for her, not for him. He should have grabbed food at some point over the day, but he ended up getting busy and shit like feeding himself fell to the wayside. He’d make sure to have something for Diego later, and maybe then he could eat for the first time all day.
But even that was a toss-up.
“So, hey,” Rose said, closing up the bag of sweets and giving her brother all her attention again. “I was talking to someone …”
She looked like their mother, he thought. Soft-features, dark hair like his, and brilliant green eyes with gold flecks. He’d taken their father’s russet eyes—darker than night itself. Renzo also took his sharp, strong jaw from their shared father, but everything else—high cheekbones, and straight noses to even the way their eyebrows quirked with a mind of their own—came from their mother. But you know, before drugs had taken away the beauty their mother had once been, dulled her skin, and took all the life out of her eyes.
“You were talking to someone, huh?” Renzo rolled his eyes, and shifted his shoulders a bit to get more comfortable. “Didn’t I tell you that talking to people gets you in trouble?”
Rose smacked him lightly with the back of her hand. “Just listen. It was my counselor at school. She said there’s a program at the Y coming up. High school equivalency, you know.”
“I don’t have time for that.”
And he didn’t.
Rose grumbled. “Don’t say I didn’t try.”
The knot between his sister’s brow tugged at his heart in a painful way. She worried about him far more than she should. He wished she wouldn’t concern herself over him and his affairs at all. It would be easier on both of them.
Pushing up to sit straight, Renzo bumped Rose’s shoulder with his own, and grinned in a way that had her smiling back. “Remember, kiddo, I look out for you. That’s how this has always worked. Not the other way around.”
“But someone’s gotta look out for you, Ren.”
“Maybe, but it isn’t you.”
With that said, he stood from the steps and dug inside his leather jacket to pull out a yellow envelope. He held it out for his sister to take. Rose did, but not before eyeing it first. This was their thing—a few minutes of chit chat every week, he handed over some money, and then he left her to her life until he came back around again.
It was better that way.
“Where did the money come from this week?” Rose asked.
“Does it matter as long as it keeps you here, and not in the Bronx?”
His sister didn’t reply.
Renzo didn’t need her to.
• • •
Renzo ignored the way the grease on the underside of the fast food bag seeped through to his palm as he balanced it with the rest of the shit he was carrying, and tried to unlock the door of his apartment. It took him entirely too long to realize he didn’t need to unlock the door at all because it was already unlocked.
Fuck.
Bad sign number one.
The second bad sign was the mess he walked into as soon as he opened up the front door. Papers and takeout containers scattered across the entryway floor. Discarded clothes beside the laundry basket he’d left out to wash later after Diego went to bed.
And the smell …
Sickly sweet.
Too sweet.
Renzo knew that smell, and it instantly turned his fucking stomach. As much as the smell of meth made him sick and angry, it also made him concerned. He dropped the bags he was carrying onto the chipped countertop in the kitchen as he passed through, and headed right for the living room on the other side.
Sure enough, he found his mother strung out on the couch. One leg had been tossed over the arm of the couch, while the other was bent at an ungodly angle under her backside like at one point, she’d been sitting up straight and fell over. One of her arms hung limply over the side of the couch, while the other was wrapped around her middle. Sunken in cheeks moved with each shallow breath Carmen took, and her hair looked like she hadn’t washed it in a couple weeks.
She probably hadn’t.
Her scant clothes didn’t look much better.
Meth made people stay way up.
So, when he saw her sleeping, he instantly looked for signs of something else. His mother was predictable that way. Without trying very hard, Renzo found the reason why his mother wasn’t up and climbing the fucking walls with paranoia.
A track mark in her arm dried with a dot of blood, and a forgotten needle that had somehow rolled under the couch. The burnt spoon on the coffee table and rubber band that had loosened and fell down to her wrist was just more proof.
Carmen went way up.
But then she had to balance it out, and go way down, too.
It was a dangerous game. How many times had Renzo called for an ambulance because he found his mother overdosed? Too many to count or care, anymore. It got to the point that he now kept a couple doses of Narcan on hand, but his mother always raged whenever she woke up after he used it.
Narcan put her right into withdrawals, and she was fucking mean, then. Mean, and violent, and sick.
He couldn’t help it, though. Maybe he should let her die—God knew she wasn’t doing anything to help them like she was. She only caused her kids heartache and pain time and time again.
Except he couldn’t just let her die. There was a part of Renzo that still clung onto hope that someday—maybe—his mother would wake up from whatever hell she was in, and want better. That she would want to do better. That she would somehow remember she made three people, brought them into the world, and in a way, they still depended on her.
Life hadn’t always been like this, either. Renzo could remember brief bouts of time where his mother somehow got herself sober, gave a shit, and tried. Usually, when she was pregnant or even shortly after the birth of her kids. Well, for Rose, anyway.
Maybe that was the stupid part of him. That was the part that kept clinging to hope Carmen would get better.
He checked her pulse quickly—a slow, but steady, beat thundered against his fingertips. He took a moment to look her over, and wonder if he should get the Narcan out, but everything pointed to the fact she was probably going to be fine, but strung out all damn night.
Too bad she wouldn’t find another place to do this at. She knew the rules—he paid for this place, and his damn name was on the agreement. She wasn’t supposed to come here high, and fucked up using it as a place to sleep. He didn’t want Diego seeing that shit anyway.
Diego.
Shit.
“Diego!” Renzo darted through the one-bedroom apartment to the room he kept for his little brother. It was tiny as hell, and all he kept in there was a small double bed, a banged up dresser, and a few scattered toys that Diego wouldn’t give up for the world. He found the bedroom empty. “Shit.”
“Get the fuck up, Carmen,” Renzo snarled, heading back into the living room. His mother barely reacted to his shouting at all. Not that he was surprised. He leaned over her, and shook his mother for all he was worth. He slapped her cheek a couple of times with his palm until her eyes started to flutter open. Already, he could see the drugs staring back at him. Confusion, and disorientation. “Where the fuck is Diego?”
“W-what?”
Renzo tried his hardest not to kill the woman right then and there. He’d put up with a lot of shit from Carmen, and had for most of his life, but Diego was not one of those things. Ever. That was his hard line.
“Diego, Ma,” Renzo snapped. “You promised to pick him up from the shelter tonight when the daycare closed because you knew I was going to see Rose. I wasn’t going to get back until late. You said you would pick him up. Where the fuck is he?”
Carmen blinked.
Too many stupid, high blinks.
He knew she was going to drift out again before she would even answer him or explain herself. Tomorrow, when she woke up again, she probably wouldn’t even remember what she had done, and it would be pointless to argue with her about it then, too.
He should have known better than to trust her to pick up Diego, but he really didn’t have a choice today. No one else was available, and she had been trying to stay clean. Or so he thought.
“Is he still at the shelter?”
“What sh-elter?” Carmen slurred.
Fuck.
Renzo stood, and turned fast to head for the front door again. Fuck his mother. She could die there tonight for all he gave a damn.
Someone more important needed him.
Diego would always be more important.
PROLOGUE
Understand that the right to choose your own path is a sacred privilege.
— Oprah Winfrey
Lucia Marcello
The baby hadn’t been planned or expected, not when her oldest sibling had over a decade of years on her, and her parents had believed undoubtedly that they would not have any more children after their last daughter.
But here she was.
And God knew she was loved.
Maybe she hadn’t been planned, but she had been most wanted.
Born in the early morning inside a private suite, the baby girl was wrapped in the softest muslin wrap after being warmed, and washed of any remnants of the birth. Tucked away in a Labor and Delivery Ward of a hospital where there was a doctor for every few patients, and three nurses to every laboring woman, her parents made calls to people who were probably still sleeping, and had their own children to care for.
Aunts, uncles, grandparents …
Despite sleeping, those people would still come.
They would come to welcome a new principessa to the Marcello family. They would come to congratulate her parents. They would bring her oldest brother, and two older sisters to say hello for the first time. They would bring gifts, and beautiful things to say thank you for being ours.
They would all hear her name.
Lucia.
And they would love her simply because she was alive. They would love her because she was born a Marcello.
Born rich, to a family that was both adored and feared, her parents would make sure she wanted for nothing.
That was the privilege of Lucia Marcello.
Simply because she had been born.
• • •
Renzo Zulla
The baby hadn’t been planned or expected, not when his mother was barely past her sixteenth birthday and hadn’t slept on a mattress with a sheet since before she found out she was pregnant.
But here he was.
And God knew he wasn’t wanted.
Maybe he hadn’t been planned or wanted, but his mother couldn’t find it in herself to give him up, either.
Born on a warm evening in an Emergency Room triage bed because his mother had waited too long to go to the hospital, and the Labor and Delivery Ward was full, the baby boy laid wrapped in scratchy cotton. His mother explained tiredly for the third time that she didn’t have an insurance card. With a smear of ruddy blood still staining the floor of a hospital where the hallways were currently full of the sick, and the nurses were overworked, one thought to ask his mother if there was someone she might like to call.
Grandparents, other family … the father, perhaps?
Those people would never come.
They wouldn’t come to welcome a new baby they hadn’t even known the teenager was pregnant with. They wouldn’t come to congratulate his mother. They wouldn’t come to help, or to show his mother how to love him or keep him alive. They wouldn’t bring gifts, or any beautiful things.
They wouldn’t hear his name at all.
Renzo.
Given the name his father hated when his mother told the man the ones she was considering for him in a dank alley months ago. Given a name that would already make his absent father hate him.
Born poor, to a mother who’d only stopped sucking on a pipe long enough to birth a healthy child she refused to give up, and without a home to keep him warm.
That was the misfortune of Renzo Zulla.
Simply because he had been born.
ONE
The one thing a person could never escape once they were born a Marcello?
Love.
Sometimes that love was soft, and supportive, and everything a person needed to propel them into a world that was ready to tear them to bits. And sometimes, that love was suffocating, and heavy, and everything a person wished they could escape from because there was no growth when people were holding you too tight.
Lucia Marcello liked to call that a double-edged sword. Maybe it was because she was the baby, but she was on the receiving end of that love a hell of a lot more than any of her other siblings when it came to her parents. Like they were scared to let her fly, and so they were just going to keep holding onto her until she broke free on her own.
She thought … maybe it was time to do just that.
“Principessa,” Lucian said, placing a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head.
“Hey, Daddy,” Lucia greeted.
She went back to the binder of information that she needed to study. Apparently, volunteering for a women’s and children’s shelter for the summer wasn’t as easy as simply signing up for the job. Lucia had policies to memorize, schedules, and a bunch more.
It was worth it. She wanted to help.
“Where is your mother?”
“Reading in her room.”
Lucian pulled out a chair at the table and sat down beside Lucia. “I was thinking …”
Sighing, Lucia closed her binder and gave her father the attention he wanted. Lucia, being the youngest child of four siblings, had always been the baby. Her parents seemed to think she needed more attention and care than her older siblings simply because there was such a difference in age. Maybe they figured she felt left out. Lucia never had.
Being the family baby at only seventeen, almost eighteen, meant being babied like one. She needed some breathing room, some time away from her family and room to grow. She knew they didn’t understand, and that they would be hurt by her wanting to leave, so she chose her actions in quieter ways. Like volunteering at a woman’s shelter for the summer.
With her father’s past, she knew Lucian wouldn’t put the brakes on Lucia spending eight hours a day, five days a week at a shelter to help. He was more likely to donate a bunch of money, which he already did, and buy her a car to get to and from the location every day. She wanted to volunteer, too, but it was a small step away from her family and their smothering.
“Thinking what?” she asked her father.
“About college in the fall,” Lucian answered. “Couldn’t you pick Columbia instead of a college out of state? It’s a great school, Lucia, and it has all the programs you want for social development.”
Lucia dropped her father’s gaze. If he could see her eyes, he could see her lies. “But I fell in love with that campus when we visited.”
Lucian made a sad noise under his breath. “I know, bella ragazza.”
“I’ll come back, Dad. Holidays, vacation, and some weekends.”
“You’re not making it better, Lucia.”
She smiled. “I’m sorry.”
“I worry about you being alone.”
“Don’t. I’m an adult. I can handle college.”
“Graduating high school and being almost eighteen does not make you an adult, Lucia.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t help but worry. I know you want to grow up, but I’m not sure we’re ready for you to.”
Lucia dropped her hands to the table with a smack and stood from her seat quickly. “That’s the whole problem.”
Lucian glanced up at her with surprise deepening the lines in his face. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re not ready to let me go. You’re not ready for me to grow up. You, Dad, not me.”
“Oh.”
Lucia picked up the binder off the table and said, “I’m choosing the college out of state, not Columbia. It’s already been settled, tuition and first year is paid, plus I was accepted months ago. I have the grades for it, and I want to do this. Let me do it.”
Lucian dropped his head. “Okay.”
Lucia was surprised her father had dropped it that easily. It wasn’t like Lucian at all. Lucia knew exactly where she had gotten her stubbornness and fight from—her father. The man had given her far more than just his namesake when she was brought into the world as her mother and father’s unexpected surprise later in life.
Guilt chewed Lucia up inside.
“I’ll be back, Daddy,” she said softly.
“We have the summer, right?” her father asked.
Well, she did. Her father was a different story. As a Marcello principessa, Lucia knew what her father and the rest of the men in her family were involved with. She wasn’t blind or dumb. She had witnessed more than enough things over the years to know her family might as well be royalty in the world of organized crime. Her father and two uncles held three of the highest seats in the family. Even her brother was mixed up in it all. Thankfully, it kept her father busy. She had the summer off, but Lucian probably didn’t. His job was non-stop.
“Sort of, yes. I have this volunteering thing, too.”
“I’m proud that you took this on,” Lucian said, reaching out to tap the binder. “I’ve always tried to donate to the shelters and organizations for women and children, but it makes me extremely proud that you’ve taken the extra step to do this.”
The guilt flooded Lucia again. She’d done it because she needed the break from her family, and the fact it would look good on a résumé. She also did it for the experience. Lucia came from a ridiculously wealthy family. Her father might have lived some of his early years on the streets, forging for food and trying to survive, but she never had. She never worried about one single thing. Nothing was out of reach if she asked her mother and father for it.
Lucia wondered if she needed a wake-up call from real life.
Maybe this job would do that.
“I think you’ll get something amazing from it,” Lucian added when Lucia stayed quiet.
“I hope so,” she responded.
Standing from the table, her father drew her in for a tight hug that said he still wasn’t quite ready to let Lucia out of his sights. She let him hold on until he was ready to let go, because all too soon, her father wouldn’t have a choice but to let her go.
Lucian was a good father—a great one, actually. But for once, Lucia simply wanted to step out of her family’s shadow and be her own person. She didn’t think her dad would understand.
Would he?
“I love you, Lucia,” her father murmured. “You always were the easy one out of the four. I never had to worry about you getting in to some kind of trouble, or causing us any heartache. My good girl, huh?”
She had always been the good girl.
Lucia didn’t know anything else.
Lucia sighed. “Yeah.”
“Hmm, what was that?”
“I love you, too, Papà.”
Releasing her from his hug, Lucian said, “I should go find your mother. I have news she’ll want to hear.”
“Oh?”
Lucian smiled widely. “Retirement is coming early for me. Your mother has been pestering me for years to do this, and I finally have. It feels good. She will be pissed off like nothing else if I don’t tell her right away.”
Retirement.
Lucia didn’t know what to say.
“So, no more … famiglia?” Lucia asked, choosing her words carefully. Outright asking about the mafia or her father’s involvement would likely get her nowhere. “None at all?”
Lucian shrugged, still happy. “Mostly, no.”
• • •
Lucia poked her head into the state of the art kitchen and found the chef working behind a large stove. The man blinked a couple of times before he finally recognized her.
“Lucia?”
She nodded. “Hi. Is my cousin around?”
“Andino is in his office. I can let Skip know you’re here, if you want.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
“Go find a table. Do you want something to eat?”
“No, I’m okay.”
“Sure,” the chef said. “Go, I’ll let your cousin know you’re here to see him.”
Lucia wasn’t surprised that the man was confused at her presence. It wasn’t often that Lucia went to Andino’s main restaurant in the city because her cousin was known to use the place for the more illegal side of his business. Like the mafia. More than once, Lucian had told his daughter to steer clear.
Quickly, she found a quiet table toward the back and slid into a chair. Resting her bag in the chair beside her, she waited for Andino to come out from the back. It didn’t take him long. Her cousin strolled across the restaurant floor, waving at a couple of patrons as he passed, and then joined Lucia at the table.
“Hey, kid,” Andino said, smiling.
Lucia forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Hey.”
“Didn’t your daddy tell you to stay away from this place?”
“So?”
Andino chuckled. “You should follow the rules, Lucia.”
“I wanted to find out something, and I was in the neighborhood.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
Andino leaned back in the chair and fixed the buttons on his suit jacket as he asked, “Well, what do you need?”
“Where’s Johnathan?”
Lucia had only seen her oldest sibling once since his release from prison. John was her only brother, but besides that, he was also the only person who truly understood Lucia and how suffocating their parents could be. For John, she knew it was an entirely different reason. But honestly, Lucia just needed a break, and John seemed like the right person to go to for it.
“Working today. Why?” Andino asked.
“I want to talk to him.”
Her cousin lifted a single brow. “He’s working, which means you probably shouldn’t be around him, Lucia. I know how your father would feel to find out you were slumming it up with John while he was doing business.”
Frustrated, Lucia grabbed her bag and stood. “Thanks for nothing.”
“Hey, hey.” Andino stood from the table, reaching out to grab Lucia’s wrist.
“What?” she asked, snappier than she intended.
“What is up with you?” he asked.
“I want to see my brother. He doesn’t answer my phone calls, and he never comes around to the house, so I can talk to him there. I figured coming to see you would probably point me in the right direction. I’m not surprised it didn’t. All this family does is take care of business first, right?”
Andino’s gaze flicked away. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m sorry, Andi. I know I’m not allowed to be hanging around here. I shouldn’t have come.”
“It’s fine, kid. Just keep quiet to your dad, huh?”
Lucia nodded. “I will.”
“Where are you going after this?”
“I was going to go sit with Grandpapa while Grandmama ran some errands.”
Cecelia, her grandmother, always felt uncomfortable leaving her husband home alone when she left the house, for whatever reason. Lucia didn’t mind sitting with her grandfather. Then, he had someone watching him and someone to talk to. Antony, her grandfather, never minded.
Andino nodded. “All right. I’ll give John a call. Let him know where you’re going to be.”
Lucia’s anger ebbed away. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
• • •
“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Cecelia asked.
“We’ll be perfect,” Lucia told her grandmother. “I’m sure he’ll get in to his usual trouble.”
Cecelia laughed, the lines around her eyes deepening in her joy. “Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Grandmama.”
“He’s been tired a lot lately,” Cecelia explained quietly. “I can’t help but worry.”
Lucia frowned, saddened over her grandmother’s concerns for her husband’s health. Antony Marcello always seemed to be the strongest, most formidable person in their family, but truth be told, he wasn’t getting any younger. A sharp tongue and a strong soul did not make for a healthy body.
“Just go do your stuff,” Lucia said. “He’ll be okay with me. I’ll put on his music, and he’ll be happy.”
Cecelia smiled. “Okay. Thank you for coming today.”
“I’ll always come, Grandmama.”
Her grandmother’s hand patted her cheek gently. The leathery feel of Cecelia’s palm reminded Lucia that her grandmother wasn’t a young woman, either.
“Our good girl, huh?”
Lucia batted her grandmother’s hand away lightly. “Go. You’re wasting time.”
“Going, going.”
Lucia closed the front door to the large Marcello mansion the moment her grandmother stepped out into the marble entrance. Making her way back through the house, she found her grandfather sitting in the living room in his leather recliner with his feet up, a glass of water beside him, and a remote in his hand as he flicked through the television channels.
“Did she pester you about me again?” Antony asked, his voice raspy with age.
Lucia laughed. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“I only look old, Lucia. I may feel it at times, too, but my mind is the same as it was when I was twenty-five. Sharp, quick, and too smart for everyone else.”
“That’s all that matters, Grandpapa.”
Antony waved a weathered hand high. “They all worry too much.”
“I know what you mean.” Lucia eyed the water her grandfather sipped from. “You didn’t spike that with something when Grandmama wasn’t looking, right?”
Antony smiled slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“No drinking, Grandpapa.”
“Oh, it’s just water. Stop it. She doesn’t even give me wine anymore.”
Lucia fake pouted. “Poor you.”
“She worries too much,” Antony repeated with a sigh. Flicking his wrist at the couch beside his chair, he added, “Sit, or your legs will get tired. Then I’ll have to listen to your father go on about how I don’t take care of you while you babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting you.”
“Same thing.”
Lucia shook her head, knowing better than to argue with her grandfather. Antony, no matter his age, was too stubborn for his own good. The man would choke on his words before he would ever spit out that he might be wrong about something.
Taking a seat on the couch, Lucia asked, “What do you want to do today?”
Antony smiled, reached over, and took his youngest grandchild’s hand in his. “Sit here and enjoy the day with you, Lucia.”
“Okay, Grandpapa. We can do that.”
“Good.” Antony nodded at the television. “They have a true crime marathon on today for the mob and the New York families.”
Lucia couldn’t have stopped her laughter even if she tried. “Really?”
“Yes. They made a show about my rise to power in the eighties and nineties, too.”
“I know, I watched it when I was fifteen,” she admitted.
It was how she learned most of her family’s history and legacy in Cosa Nostra. The conversation that had followed with her father had been interesting, especially since Lucian didn’t hide a thing when Lucia asked about it all. It was the only time they did talk about it.
“The whole show is lies,” Antony said.
Lucia wondered about that. “Is it?”
Antony’s old eyes twinkled with mischief. “No.”
• • •
After saying goodbye to her grandmother, Lucia opened the front door to leave the Marcello mansion and begin her drive home. She froze on the stoop, finding a familiar figure waiting for her in the driveway. Her older brother leaned against the hood of what looked to be a brand-new Mercedes.
“I heard you were looking for me,” John said, grinning.
Lucia took the front steps two at a time until she was close enough to run her hands over the shiny black paint job the Mercedes sported. It was a beautiful, two-door coupe with sharp lines and a hell of a lot of chrome.
She loved cars.
“When did you get this?” Lucia asked.
“Picked it up yesterday. You like?”
“A lot.”
“I should have known what with you being the little car whore and everything.”
Lucia flipped her brother the middle finger. “Don’t call me a whore.”
“I said a car whore, Lucia. It’s a compliment.” John chuckled. “Get in. We’ll go for a drive, and then I’ll bring you back to pick up your car.”
“Okay.”
Lucia didn’t need to be told again. She jumped into the passenger seat, flinging her bag to the floor of the car. John climbed in his side and started the beauty, revving the engine until Lucia was grinning like crazy.
“I sincerely hope whatever man you find realizes that you have expensive taste,” John told her.
“Yeah, I know. I blame it on Dad.”
John smirked. “I blame it on Dad, too.”
Lucia fiddled with the stereo system the car sported while her brother drove them straight back into the heart of the city. She barely noticed time flying them by at all. Despite the fact that there was a thirteen-year age gap between her and Johnathan, she always felt closer to her brother than she had her older sisters.
“So,” John drawled, bringing Lucia out of her thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“Andino was pretty insistent you wanted to see me. What’s up, kiddo?”
“Well, that, for one.”
John’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
“I’m turning eighteen next month. Can we cut out the kid nonsense?”
Chuckling, John said, “Sure. My bad.”
Lucia settled back into the passenger seat, watching the buildings pass them by. “I haven’t had any time with you since you got out. You’re avoiding Mom and Dad, so apparently, that means staying away from me, too.”
“Yeah,” John said, cringing, “I hadn’t thought that one out very well.”
“Obviously.”
“Sorry I missed your graduation.”
Lucia shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. I heard you graduated with high honors.”
“I did,” she said.
“And got an acceptance to every college you applied to.”
“Yep.”
John smiled. “Smartest one of us all, Lucy.”
Lucia scowled. “I hate that nickname.”
“I know, but you’re not tough enough or old enough yet to stop me from using it. I dropped the kid one, but I am not dropping Lucy.”
She whacked her brother hard on the arm. John grinned back.
“They do care about you, John,” Lucia said.
“They do,” he agreed. “Right now, I just want to focus on staying sane and good.”
“Okay.”
“But I’ll be around for you, too.”
“Good,” she whispered, smiling.
“Also, I’ll let Dad know you’re loving hard on my car.”
“Why?”
John made a dismissive noise. “Maybe he’s looking to upgrade your car for your eighteenth.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe,” her brother echoed with a wicked smile.
Lucia did a little dance in the passenger seat. “Yes!”
“Spoiled.”
“Don’t judge me.”
“You make it hard,” John teased.
Sighing, Lucia watched her brother from the side. “Does it feel weird to be out and everything?”
“No, but everyone keeps trying to make it that way.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I feel like a bug being watched as it climbs up a wall. Someone is probably waiting with a shoe to swat me when I get too close. It makes me feel like I’m living in a bubble or something, like I’m going to blink and suddenly go insane.”
Lucia hated that for John. “You’re not crazy.”
John blew out a harsh breath. “Thanks.”
Before Lucia knew it, they were driving through a dirtier part of the city. The shady part of Brooklyn that her father had always made it clear to Lucia that she was not allowed to go. Like the smart girl she was, Lucia always followed those rules because she didn’t want to find out what would happen if she didn’t.
“What are we doing here?” Lucia asked.
“Just keep quiet,” John replied. “I’ve got some business to handle. I knew that you were wanting to chat and see me, or whatever, but I still have work to do all the same. Turn cheek like Dad always told you to do, and we’ll be fine.”
Lucia chose not to respond to her brother on that front. “Working, working?”
“I don’t have any other job, Lucy. I’m a Capo, and nothing more.”
Great.
John parked the Mercedes in front of a shoddy apartment building. He repeated to her to stay put and leave the car locked until he came back. Then, he climbed out of the car, and Lucia watched him disappear into the building. Less than ten minutes later, her brother emerged from the building with a black duffle bag in hand. John unlocked the car and tossed the bag to the back.
Once he was settled back into the driver’s seat, he said, “Just ask.”
Lucia peered into the back seat. “What is in that bag?”
“A couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Money and substance.”
“Um …”
“Coke,” her brother clarified. “I need to pick up some stuff and hand it off to the people who run with it. Do you understand?”
“Not really.”
John shook his head. “Then stop asking.”
Lucia could do that.
“I have a couple of more pickups to do before I can take you back. Is that okay?”
“Perfect, John.”
Her brother pulled out of the parking space. “Good.”
For the next hour, Lucia sat quietly in the car while her brother did whatever it was he did. He often disappeared in and out of buildings with his black bag in hand, and no one ever passed him a second look. Apparently three years in prison really wasn’t affecting her brother’s ability to do his job.
Sticking a spoonful of a hot fudge sundae in her mouth as John drove through what looked to be a park of some sort, Lucia noticed a group of older kids hanging around a convenience store. Well, she didn’t think they were kids, but they were probably around her age or a little older.
John parked his car and beeped the horn once. He flashed his lights twice. Confused, Lucia watched as an older boy broke away from the group and approached John’s car. Since the sky was starting to darken, she really couldn’t see the guy’s face all that well. But the closer he came to John’s window, Lucia had a far better view of him.
Sharp, strong lines shaped the man’s face. Wild black hair, like he’d been tugging on the ends, hung down to his eyes. Dark russet eyes peered into John’s opened window, finding Lucia instantly, while the guy’s lips pulled into a cocky smirk.
Lucia glanced away.
“Hey, Ren,” John greeted.
Ren.
Lucia took the guy’s name in, and chanced another look at him. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but instead, focusing on John.
“Skip,” Ren said.
“You got anything for me today?”
“Always, boss.”
Ren’s hand disappeared inside his coat before he pulled out a white envelope. It passed into John’s hand like nothing was amiss. John opened it up, counted the cash that was inside quickly, and then handed over a stack to the man. Then, Lucia’s brother tossed the envelope onto the backseat.
“Go see, Tucker,” John said. “He’ll get you set up for next week for whatever you need.”
“Will do, Skip.”
Ren’s hand hit the top of the car, but before he turned away, he shot Lucia another look. Lucia fidgeted in her seat as her brother took notice of the stare that was passing between the two.
“Ren,” John snapped.
Clearly, her brother was not playing around today. He’d never been one for boys being around Lucia, anyway.
“Sorry, Skip,” Ren said. “I’m going. Next week?”
“Yeah. Get gone, kid.”
John was backing up before Ren had even moved away.
Once they were back on the road, Lucia’s curiosity ate away at her.
“John?”
“What?” her brother asked.
“Who was that?”
“Renzo?”
Lucia would recognize an Italian name anywhere.
“Yeah, him,” she said.
“A street kid,” John informed like it was nothing. “A solider who probably isn’t going anywhere but right where he is. It sucks, but that’s how it goes.”
Lucia picked at her manicured nails, still curious. “Why?”
“Because that’s what his father did for our father, and his grandfather for our grandfather. It’s a circle, Lucia. It’s vicious. It’s the kind of life they can’t get out of even though they try damned hard. What does it matter?”
She didn’t really know.
“Just wondering,” Lucia settled on saying.
John’s gaze cut in her direction before he said, “Keep wondering. Nothing more.”
“Huh?”
“Stay away from guys like Renzo, Lucia.”
“I didn’t even say—”
“Take it as future advice,” John interrupted. “Remember it.”
She would try.
But …
Marcellos didn’t follow the rules all that well. They were far too filthy for that.
John reached over and turned the radio on. Lucia took in the sight of her brother seemingly happy and carefree. She couldn’t remember a time when John looked like he did right at that moment.
“What is going on with you?” Lucia asked.
John flashed a smile. “Huh?”
“You’re happy.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Lucia shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
John laughed. “My happiness is that confusing for you, huh?”
“No, but usually you’re not as … open about it,” she settled on saying.
“I’ll give you that.”
“So what is up?”
John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel with the beat of the music. “Nothing, Lucy. I just think it’s going to be an interesting few months in this family. Something feels different. Things are beginning to happen. I’m looking forward to the changes.”
She had no idea what her brother was talking about, but he was happy. Lucia took that for what it was, and chose to leave the rest alone.
“Whatever you say, John.”
TWO
Everyone likes to say you can choose your own path. But that would be a lie. No one chooses to be born poor, disenfranchised and struggling before they even know their own name. No one wakes up one day and decides to be born to an addict mother who can’t seem to control her ability to produce children she can’t care for, or love. No one chooses to be a child on the streets, or a child neglected.
No one chooses those things.
So, what did Renzo Zulla choose?
Renzo chose to step up where his mother didn’t. For every bad choice she made, Renzo worked twice as hard to correct it. Not for him necessarily. He had two younger siblings that needed a hell of a lot more than he did.
Everything he did was for them.
It always would be.
“Ren!”
Renzo sucked the last drag from a cigarette, and tossed it to the ground. Glancing up, he found his usual guys waiting at the corner store. Calling them friends might be a little too much. And calling them coworkers would be illegal. Or that’s what Vito always liked to say.
“Are you heading over to do the drop off today?” Noah asked.
Perry and Diesel, the youngest two of the group, continue their conversation like Renzo hadn’t even arrived. Not that he minded. As long as they did what they were told, he didn’t give a shit what they did on their spare time. And since work hadn’t started today, he still considered this their spare time.
Besides, they did behave.
They fucking listened.
Vito let Renzo run the guys whenever he wasn’t on the streets doing business, and these fools knew how this worked. Noah, Perry, and Diesel … well, they came from the same trash Renzo did, in a way. Their home lives weren’t any better than his had been growing up. There was a reason each of them met up at this corner store every single day to take their cut of product, and get it on the streets. They needed cash in their hands.
They all had a reason to be here. They all had reasons for why they did this.
Nobody just decided one day that they wanted to be a drug dealer peddling dope to people who were already too far gone to save. It wasn’t like the money was good enough to justify the whys of it all, either. Sure, Renzo made a ten percent cut on everything he sold, and another five percent cut for handling this small crew of guys who worked under Vito Abati. And for every pickup or drop off he made, he got another handful slapped into his palm for his troubles.
Again, that’s how Vito liked to put it.
As if calling the risks Renzo took to move dope from one end of the city to another troubles was adequate or accurate. He didn’t think it was, but this was his life. And these were the choices he made considering no one was looking at the almost twenty-year-old white boy from the Bronx for fucking anything.
He came from trash.
All he was going to be was trash.
He’d heard it enough times in his life to know it was true, or rather, that it was exactly how everyone else looked at him. All he had to do was slap his address on a job application, and that was enough to make someone look at him like he was the lesser between them. Once they figured out he hadn’t made it far enough in the twelfth grade to get his diploma, as he had to drop out to make sure his brother and sister got fed three times a fucking day, he was already screwed.
This society wasn’t built for people like him. Already poor, and struggling all the damn time. Already marked with stains from circumstances that pushed him to make choices that would affect the rest of his life so that his siblings could have something good in theirs.
But nobody cared about that. Those were details. Nobody liked those.
“Well,” Noah asked again, “are you?”
“Yeah,” Renzo said, his voice coming out gruffer than he intended. “Later.”
He probably should have grabbed something to drink, at the very least, but he was already late taking his little brother, Diego, to the shelter that morning, so he’d be safe for the day. It wasn’t like Renzo could count on his mother to take care of her four-year-old, and the chick on their block who watched him had shit to do today. At least at the shelter, they had a free daycare as long as the spots weren’t filled by the time he got there. He’d much rather have Diego there than walking the streets with him all day, anyway.
“Well, when will we—”
Renzo turned his sharp gaze on Perry. The youngest of all of them at seventeen, Perry was a handful sometimes. Sure, he got the job done, and he was sneaky as fuck when it came to staying out of trouble, but still … a handful.
“You’ll get your packages tomorrow. Don’t you have a bit to carry you through?”
Perry shrugged. “I guess I got enough.”
“Yeah, all right.”
Giving the rest of them a look as if to silently ask, Anyone else? None of them spoke up.
Renzo stuffed his hands in his pockets, and eyed the quiet streets. Across the way, a man slept in the mouth of an alleyway tucked inside a dirty sleeping bag. Every day, that man and his pigeon stayed in the same exact spot. And every fucking day, it was a reminder to Ren.
He’d been there.
More than once.
Shortly after his birth, his mother sucked on a meth pipe, blew a positive, and got kicked out of the shelter where she’d been staying with him. She called it an act of kindness that the shelter hadn’t called CPS for four-week-old Renzo.
He just called it bullshit.
At thirteen, he slept inside the tunnel of a slide at one of the city parks, and used a public bathroom to wash his face every morning.
His sister, Rose, had been around then. She cried all the damn time. She was cold, and hungry. Sometimes, their mother showed up with enough money to keep them warm in a pay-by-the-hour motel but that was just as much a blessing as it was curse.
Especially when they had to step out of the hotel room every so often, and listen to the sounds that slipped out from under the door when each new man would randomly show up.
Renzo made a choice, then. That was the first time he went out on the streets, and looked for some kind of work to give him money to keep his sister warm, and feed her. At first, it’d just been chasing dregs and homeless away from businesses that didn’t want that kind of problem in front of their windows. One day, a guy in a leather jacket handed Renzo a package, and asked if he’d run it up to the man sitting in a bakery in Queens.
No questions, he’d been told.
Don’t open the package, he’d been warned.
He ran that package, and without ever knowing what it was, had a thousand dollars in his hand by the time he got home.
That man was Vito,
Vito came back, too. Renzo kept saying yes to jobs. He put money away, worked from the time the sun came up, until the streets were pitch black. He kept walking and moving and running for people who wore better clothes than he did and drove vehicles he could only dream about because they paid well, he didn’t ask questions, and he needed to do better.
He needed to do better for his sister, and then later, his brother, too.
The rest was fucking history.
His life was not a pretty one.
It was the only he was given.
And fuck anyone who said he didn’t try because he did. All he ever did was try.
“I’ll get your shit to sell,” Renzo told the guys, “right after I make a trip into Brooklyn.”
Noah and Perry nodded like that was enough for them. Diesel, on the other hand, decided he wanted to test Renzo’s already thin patience by running his mouth. As he usually did.
Nothing new.
“Say hi to Rose for me, yeah?” Diesel punctuated that smartass comment with a smirk. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”
Renzo turned a bit, ready to leave, but not before tossing a remark over his shoulder he knew would cut the other man. “Rose ain’t coming back to these streets for nothing, man. And everybody knows those who walk these streets aren’t going anywhere but right on these goddamn streets. Where she is, you’re never going.”
He’d made sure of that.
Dropped every cent he had into lodging and food and books and whatever else his sister needed when she won that scholarship to a private school in Brooklyn for the arts. No matter what, he was going to keep making sure Rose could stay right where she was for as long as she wanted to be there.
“Like you, too, right?” he heard Diesel shout out behind him. “You’re walking these streets, too, Ren. Where the fuck are you going, huh? Right here, man.”
Was that supposed to hurt?
It didn’t.
It wasn’t news to Renzo where he was going to live and die. These streets had been mean to him for his entire life. Maybe they’d be kind when they finally killed him.
He wasn’t holding his breath.
• • •
Renzo stepped off the city bus, and kept his head down as he walked through the people waiting at the bus stop. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he always felt out of place when he wasn’t walking his own streets. Maybe that shit was all in his mind, but it still felt very real to him and not something he could escape.
It didn’t take long before he was passing a row of brownstones with carefully manicured flower pots on the steps, and shined railings leading up to the front doors. Rose was already waiting at the very end of the block on the front steps of a brownstone that had been converted to an apartment of sorts for students of her school. Like a dormitory off school grounds. Rose could stay at the private school, and it would be cheaper, but the rooms were full. They had to make due elsewhere.
Renzo dropped down on the steps to sit beside his seventeen-year-old sister, and handed over a doggy bag full of sweets from her favorite bakery in the Bronx. He made the trip up to visit her once a week just to make sure she was okay, and had everything she needed. Usually, he dropped off cash and took care of whatever it was she needed until he would be back around again. He never forgot to bring those sweets, either.
Rose smiled as she peeled open the bag to peek inside despite already knowing what would be there waiting for her. “Smells like heaven.”
Renzo laughed, and leaned back on the steps. “Diabetes is in your future, Rose.”
His sister shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll die happy, then.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how diabetes works, actually.”
“Stop judging me.”
She said that through a mouthful of half-eaten puff pastry. Renzo could only shake his head, and enjoy the moment he had with his sister. All too soon, he was going to need to catch another bus, head across the city, pick up a package of drugs, and get back home so he could put Diego to bed. Tomorrow, he’d get up before the sun had even risen in the sky, and get out on the streets to make sure his guys had their product to deal, so no one was chasing his ass for that. He’d get to his own territory, and wait to make some extra cash, too.
It was a never-ending cycle.
“How’s Diego?” Rose asked.
Renzo sighed. “You know how everybody says the twos and threes are terrible for a reason?”
“Not really.”
“Well, they do. The fours aren’t much better.”
Rose grinned a little. “But he loves you.”
Good thing.
Next to Rose, the only person Diego cared for was Renzo. He blamed that on their neglectful, addict mother, honestly. She barely looked at Diego when she did show up at their apartment, and that was usually just long enough to sleep before she was gone again. Although, lately, she’d been around more.
It was just enough to make Diego hope his mother would stick around, and then she’d take off once more. Renzo was left picking up all the broken pieces of a four-year-old boy who was learning far too young that there was nothing in this world for people like them.
Not even love.
“How’s school?” Renzo asked.
“Good. I painted a naked man yesterday. That was interesting.”
Renzo’s head snapped to the side, and his gaze narrowed. “What?”
Rose let out a laugh. “Relax. Art class. They’re professionals.”
Professional what?
Nude people?
“He was like forty,” Rose added. “Chill out.”
That only made it slightly better. Renzo decided to just keep his mouth shut, though. What else could he do? His sister was in a far better place than he and Diego were at the moment. His goal was, hopefully, by the time Diego started school … Renzo might have enough money to put him in a decent school that would keep him busy for the day.
He just needed to keep Diego out of trouble, right? Make sure his little brother never had a reason to go out on the streets like he did to make up the difference, and take care of his family. Diego wouldn’t have to do that at all if Renzo was doing it for him.
That’s all that mattered.
Rose offered him a donut, but Renzo shook his head. He brought those for her, not for him. He should have grabbed food at some point over the day, but he ended up getting busy and shit like feeding himself fell to the wayside. He’d make sure to have something for Diego later, and maybe then he could eat for the first time all day.
But even that was a toss-up.
“So, hey,” Rose said, closing up the bag of sweets and giving her brother all her attention again. “I was talking to someone …”
She looked like their mother, he thought. Soft-features, dark hair like his, and brilliant green eyes with gold flecks. He’d taken their father’s russet eyes—darker than night itself. Renzo also took his sharp, strong jaw from their shared father, but everything else—high cheekbones, and straight noses to even the way their eyebrows quirked with a mind of their own—came from their mother. But you know, before drugs had taken away the beauty their mother had once been, dulled her skin, and took all the life out of her eyes.
“You were talking to someone, huh?” Renzo rolled his eyes, and shifted his shoulders a bit to get more comfortable. “Didn’t I tell you that talking to people gets you in trouble?”
Rose smacked him lightly with the back of her hand. “Just listen. It was my counselor at school. She said there’s a program at the Y coming up. High school equivalency, you know.”
“I don’t have time for that.”
And he didn’t.
Rose grumbled. “Don’t say I didn’t try.”
The knot between his sister’s brow tugged at his heart in a painful way. She worried about him far more than she should. He wished she wouldn’t concern herself over him and his affairs at all. It would be easier on both of them.
Pushing up to sit straight, Renzo bumped Rose’s shoulder with his own, and grinned in a way that had her smiling back. “Remember, kiddo, I look out for you. That’s how this has always worked. Not the other way around.”
“But someone’s gotta look out for you, Ren.”
“Maybe, but it isn’t you.”
With that said, he stood from the steps and dug inside his leather jacket to pull out a yellow envelope. He held it out for his sister to take. Rose did, but not before eyeing it first. This was their thing—a few minutes of chit chat every week, he handed over some money, and then he left her to her life until he came back around again.
It was better that way.
“Where did the money come from this week?” Rose asked.
“Does it matter as long as it keeps you here, and not in the Bronx?”
His sister didn’t reply.
Renzo didn’t need her to.
• • •
Renzo ignored the way the grease on the underside of the fast food bag seeped through to his palm as he balanced it with the rest of the shit he was carrying, and tried to unlock the door of his apartment. It took him entirely too long to realize he didn’t need to unlock the door at all because it was already unlocked.
Fuck.
Bad sign number one.
The second bad sign was the mess he walked into as soon as he opened up the front door. Papers and takeout containers scattered across the entryway floor. Discarded clothes beside the laundry basket he’d left out to wash later after Diego went to bed.
And the smell …
Sickly sweet.
Too sweet.
Renzo knew that smell, and it instantly turned his fucking stomach. As much as the smell of meth made him sick and angry, it also made him concerned. He dropped the bags he was carrying onto the chipped countertop in the kitchen as he passed through, and headed right for the living room on the other side.
Sure enough, he found his mother strung out on the couch. One leg had been tossed over the arm of the couch, while the other was bent at an ungodly angle under her backside like at one point, she’d been sitting up straight and fell over. One of her arms hung limply over the side of the couch, while the other was wrapped around her middle. Sunken in cheeks moved with each shallow breath Carmen took, and her hair looked like she hadn’t washed it in a couple weeks.
She probably hadn’t.
Her scant clothes didn’t look much better.
Meth made people stay way up.
So, when he saw her sleeping, he instantly looked for signs of something else. His mother was predictable that way. Without trying very hard, Renzo found the reason why his mother wasn’t up and climbing the fucking walls with paranoia.
A track mark in her arm dried with a dot of blood, and a forgotten needle that had somehow rolled under the couch. The burnt spoon on the coffee table and rubber band that had loosened and fell down to her wrist was just more proof.
Carmen went way up.
But then she had to balance it out, and go way down, too.
It was a dangerous game. How many times had Renzo called for an ambulance because he found his mother overdosed? Too many to count or care, anymore. It got to the point that he now kept a couple doses of Narcan on hand, but his mother always raged whenever she woke up after he used it.
Narcan put her right into withdrawals, and she was fucking mean, then. Mean, and violent, and sick.
He couldn’t help it, though. Maybe he should let her die—God knew she wasn’t doing anything to help them like she was. She only caused her kids heartache and pain time and time again.
Except he couldn’t just let her die. There was a part of Renzo that still clung onto hope that someday—maybe—his mother would wake up from whatever hell she was in, and want better. That she would want to do better. That she would somehow remember she made three people, brought them into the world, and in a way, they still depended on her.
Life hadn’t always been like this, either. Renzo could remember brief bouts of time where his mother somehow got herself sober, gave a shit, and tried. Usually, when she was pregnant or even shortly after the birth of her kids. Well, for Rose, anyway.
Maybe that was the stupid part of him. That was the part that kept clinging to hope Carmen would get better.
He checked her pulse quickly—a slow, but steady, beat thundered against his fingertips. He took a moment to look her over, and wonder if he should get the Narcan out, but everything pointed to the fact she was probably going to be fine, but strung out all damn night.
Too bad she wouldn’t find another place to do this at. She knew the rules—he paid for this place, and his damn name was on the agreement. She wasn’t supposed to come here high, and fucked up using it as a place to sleep. He didn’t want Diego seeing that shit anyway.
Diego.
Shit.
“Diego!” Renzo darted through the one-bedroom apartment to the room he kept for his little brother. It was tiny as hell, and all he kept in there was a small double bed, a banged up dresser, and a few scattered toys that Diego wouldn’t give up for the world. He found the bedroom empty. “Shit.”
“Get the fuck up, Carmen,” Renzo snarled, heading back into the living room. His mother barely reacted to his shouting at all. Not that he was surprised. He leaned over her, and shook his mother for all he was worth. He slapped her cheek a couple of times with his palm until her eyes started to flutter open. Already, he could see the drugs staring back at him. Confusion, and disorientation. “Where the fuck is Diego?”
“W-what?”
Renzo tried his hardest not to kill the woman right then and there. He’d put up with a lot of shit from Carmen, and had for most of his life, but Diego was not one of those things. Ever. That was his hard line.
“Diego, Ma,” Renzo snapped. “You promised to pick him up from the shelter tonight when the daycare closed because you knew I was going to see Rose. I wasn’t going to get back until late. You said you would pick him up. Where the fuck is he?”
Carmen blinked.
Too many stupid, high blinks.
He knew she was going to drift out again before she would even answer him or explain herself. Tomorrow, when she woke up again, she probably wouldn’t even remember what she had done, and it would be pointless to argue with her about it then, too.
He should have known better than to trust her to pick up Diego, but he really didn’t have a choice today. No one else was available, and she had been trying to stay clean. Or so he thought.
“Is he still at the shelter?”
“What sh-elter?” Carmen slurred.
Fuck.
Renzo stood, and turned fast to head for the front door again. Fuck his mother. She could die there tonight for all he gave a damn.
Someone more important needed him.
Diego would always be more important.
