Page 56 of Cocky Jerk

“Really?”

I nod just as the man returns holding a silver bracelet. It has a charm of St. Gerard, and on the back, there is a prayer.

“Let’s get it,” I say.

“Okay, but maybe we’ll give it to them after the party or even another day,” she suggests, and I agree. I pay the man for our stuff and Antonia takes the bag. As we exit the shop, she spots the Saint Rosalia statue across the street.

“What is that?”

“That’s Saint Rosalia.”

“Why does the saint have a wig on?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question since I’m six years old.”

According to my mother’s logic, the saint is old and chipped, and the organizers of the feast try to preserve her by dressing her up like a streetwalker, hence the black wig and dress, which is a new addition this year.

“You know, I always wondered why people pin dollars to the saint,” she says. “I even googled it after I went to the San Gennaro festival in Little Italy, but I couldn’t really find an answer. Some people say it’s sacrilegious, but if you think about it, it’s really not all that different than lighting a candle in church. Most of the time the candles are in front of saints.”

She’s got a point.

“I never really thought of it like that,” I say, eyeing the statue. “Should we pin a dollar?”

“Why not?”

She grabs my hand and drags me across the street. Digging into my pocket, I pull out a couple of singles and hand them to Antonia. She rolls them and grabs a pin from the statue, threading the tip through the dollar. Once it’s fixed to the saint’s dress, she rolls another dollar and hands it to me. It’s the first time I’m partaking in the tradition and I make the sign of the cross when I’m done, just as I would if I was lighting a candle.

Turning back to Antonia, I grab her hand and pull her against me. I press my lips to hers and she winds her arm winds around my neck. Angling her head, she gives me better access and my tongue slides past her lips. I devour her shamelessly on the street, in front of the saint.

“My dick was in that mouth.”

The blood in my veins instantly turns to ice as I pull away from Antonia and turn around. Standing five feet away is Hound. I don’t hesitate for a second. I charge at him, grabbing him by his kutte. He tries to shrug me off, but I spin him around and pummel him into the grotto holding the beloved saint. Someone screams and before I realize what I’m doing, my fist rears back and collides with Hound’s face. Not once. Not even twice. I do it over and over until my knuckles are bloody and I hear Antonia beg me to stop.

The next thing I know, someone is pulling me off Hound. I turn around and I’m surrounded by five or six men, all of them wearing the same insignia as the man I just beat the shit out of. Antonia pushes her way past them and stands with her back to me.

“Don’t you dare,” she shouts.

“Get out of the way, Tonia,” one of them demands. I narrow my eyes as the man steps forward and sure as shit, it’s Tank DeLuca.

Great.

Chapter Eighteen

Antonia

My body shakes with angeras I keep my eyes pinned to my dad’s. Swallowing, I force myself to find my voice.

“If you have any love for me whatsoever you will stop this right now or I swear, you’ll never see me again. I am done. Do you hear me? Done!”

“This has nothing to do with you,” he argues.

My eyes bulge in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? Hound just disgraced me in front of all these people. It has everything to do with me.”

Crossing his arms against his chest, my father spits the toothpick hanging from his lips into the street and looks from me to Marco who is standing directly behind me.

“It looks to me like a cop just assaulted an innocent bystander at a festival and in turn destroyed public property.”

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