Page 21 of Enemy of Ours 1
Fuck. I almost hate this place.
As I stroll into the Renaissance gallery, I hear Inga’s heels tapping against the marble flooring ahead of me, while Sofia is pressed against my side with each step. I count under my breath the formative paintings we pass until I reach the number twelve. Without a word, I walk slowly towards the painting by El Greco. His work is exquisite; the colors and lighting always made me feel as if I could step into the painting itself, back to the fifteenth century.
I take a few moments to myself before inhaling deeply and turning around to sit on the bench right in the middle of the room, which happens to be facing one of my favorite paintings. I don’t say a word, only listening to those viewing the gallery and the quiet clearing of Inga’s throat before she walks away to give us privacy.
“My rose,” Danny O’Connor, the man I used to call my Da, says in a quiet, gruff voice next to me on the bench.
I don’t respond. My throat is going tight at the display of emotions in his voice, but I don’t care if I can hear the regret, guilt, and sadness. I’m so fucking furious with him still for letting my life change almost three years ago.
“Wasn’t sure you were going to show. It’s been a year since I last saw you, my Rose. I miss you very much.” He speaks in a deep brogue that is thick with emotion.
“Well, being tricked every single time to be in your presence has become a habit. You miss me, do you? Funny, I almost died, and you did nothing to stop it. You're lucky even to be seeing me in person instead of my grave,” I reply back sharply, a little too loudly as my anger gets ahold of me, and I take a deep breath to calm down. “What do you want, O’Connor?” My tone is icy, and I can literally feel him flinch from right next to me as he clears his throat.
“I wanted to see you. Do you need or want anything? I know you hate me; I deserve it, but you’re still my daughter, and I’ll always love you.” He puts his hand over mine, squeezing for a second and quickly jerking it away before I can even flinch at the touch.
I can’t speak. He does this every time, and I wonder to myself why I keep showing up. I almost feel guilty hearing the sadness in his voice, but I have to remind myself that he did this. He left me to die. He may be my father, but he lost the privilege of ever knowing the real me.
“I want nothing from you. You made your bed; now lie in it. Stop setting Inga up against me, or I’ll have to fire her. How will you learn anything about me if your employee is no longer around to feed you information?” I say sarcastically, standing up before he can say anything else. “Goodbye, O’Connor.”
He grunts as I turn away and walk past the El Greco painting for the last time, knowing that I will never return here again.
“Be safe, my Rose,” he whispers, and I almost don’t catch it, so I pause for a second before continuing to walk out of the gallery with a shake of my head in disappointment. I can hear Inga running to catch up.
I told him this would be my last time seeing him. I want that to be true; I really do deep down. But I’m scared I’ll cave because then I’ll really be alone.
Only the man I've dreamed about nearly every night for the past two and a half years will be left.
Romeo.
CHAPTER 10
ROMEO
My fists pounding against flesh create a rhythmic thud that resonates deeply within me, a sensation I believe is therapeutic. Everyone has hobbies. Sewing, running, reading… I guess mine is beating the ever-living shit out of someone who pisses me the fuck off.
My day began with a pleasant start; I had the opportunity to observe my girl from the camera set up in her shower as she struggled to understand why her body was so sensitive and sore. I really thought this time she’d put the pieces together, but I think she’s living in denial and just chalked up our night together as a drunken dream. I can’t wait to see her face when she finally figures out that I’ve been here the whole time, waiting for her.
Instead of getting to see the pleasure on her face in the shower as she touched herself and seeing the burn from my beard on her inner thigh, I got a phone call from Tony telling me I had to get to the grocery market right the fuck then. I turned my camera off, fought traffic to get to the west side of Queens, and parked my car in front of the small market the familia has owned for decades. It looks like any small grocery store up front, but once you step foot in the freezers, there's a hidden doorbefore one of the shelving units that leads to stairs that go down beneath the city. Tenants in the two blocks of stores I own are unaware that beneath their stories lies an entire city. Back in the early twentieth century, they started building on top of existing structures, and as the years went on, people forgot about it. It’s really amazing when you see it, the endless tunnels and rooms that remind me of bomb shelters. It was discovered by my great-grandfather back in the forties as he started buying development and turned it into something for the mob to use, away from the prying eyes of the cops.
These days, we have the cops in our pockets, and the neighborhoods keep quiet. We make sure their storefronts and homes stay safe from other gangs that loiter in the streets and cause chaos. We only have to worry about the FBI at this point, but we also have some connections within that department. I mainly focus on the other gangs and mafias doing business on my turf, which is unacceptable. Like fucking Victor, which is the point of why I’m in one of the underground cement rooms beating the shit out of one of his lackeys. The big Russian fucker hasn’t spoken a word since I came in, only swearing and spitting at my Italian leather shoes.
Tony is leaning against the wall next to our cousin Vinny, who is sporting a split lip and swollen eyes from Victor’s lackey getting the jump on him. I pound my fist into this fucker’s face for even daring to mess with my familia. I don’t stop until I hear the satisfying crunch of his nose being smashed in.
“Did Victor not get my last message? Was stringing up a body in front of his warehouse not enough for him to back the fuck off? Why the fuck are you following me?” I shout in his face, enraged, but he just chuckles and spits a glob of blood at my face.
I would love to just snap his muscular neck and call it a day, but I need answers. I grab a handkerchief out of my pocket and wipe the side of my face while stepping back to think clearlyfor a second. I’ll end up killing him before getting anything out of him. I turn to Tony as I finish cleaning my hands and throw the handkerchief in the burn bin so we don’t leave any evidence behind. When this interaction concludes, we will burn everything.
“Give me the photos,” I snap, holding my hand out, and flip through all twenty of them.
Each photo makes my blood burn. It’s all of me. Whether it's getting into my car, having a conversation with Vinny, or walking into my apartment building or Iris's, each photo haunts me deeply. That’s what scares me the most. Victor is letting me know that he has had eyes on me for a while now. He knows about my Iris.
“Fanculo.” I curse in Italian, throw the photos into the burn bin, and storm back over to the big Russian.
I don’t say anything; I just crouch over his slumped form and grasp his fat fingers, snapping two of them in quick succession. His screams relax my shoulders somewhat. Torturing my enemies does that to me; it helps me calm down.
“Fuck you, ?????!” He shouts something in Russian between bloody teeth, grunting in pain as I casually break his pinky finger without batting an eyelash.
“He only had a pack of cigarettes on him and a burner phone,” Vinny rasps out, shifting as he holds his ribs, which are only bruised. He was already checked out by our doctor. “I’m sorry, Don. I didn’t see him. From the point of view of the photos, it looks like they were taken from higher angles, like rooftops.” Vinny grimaces, his face filled with shame, and I conclude that his punishment is sufficient.
