Too close.
Now my hands shake when I think about it too much. Not out of fear, but anger.
I’m pissed as hell that life is different. That I can’t just laugh stuff off and fuck anything walking because it’s fun. No, now I’ve got to have fucking flashbacks and see that every step I take has seven repercussions.
Fucking hell.
Vinny would say I’m finally growing up.
Bobby would just snort at the obvious, and Danny wouldn’t say shit. He rarely talks unless forced. Milly might get it. We are twins after all. And she got close too. But she was always more grown-up than me. Those extra moments in the womb really did make me the baby of the family. And I guess it made me the only idiot.
To think I could grow old in life, especially this life. The life of a mobster, or so the tabloids say. I like to think that my brothers and I are just running a business. One that’s shady and only shows like one-fifth of what we actually do in public, but a business nonetheless. A family one.
Mom said I was the life of the family. That my role was to liven things up when it got too dark. But if the fucking has died down over the last few months, you can sure as hell believe the laughing has as well. I’ve grunted out my mirth more times than Vinny, and it’s being noticed. My eldest brother is not one for jokes, and my humor was never something he found amusing. “Annoying” is what he called it. And I lived for that. To annoy him. It was funny as shit.
Now I don’t. Not that I don’t find it funny still, but my humor is gone. The jokes don’t come anymore. My one-line quips are dried up. I almost got my neck severed, and somehow I lost my gift of gab. And the desire to find it.
No one has called me out on it. Not yet. But I get looks. I see them. They try to hide them at first, thinking the wound is still fresh and all, but it’s been several months. If I’m not used to this crap by now, I should be getting over it. Or finding my old self again.
Or that’s what I hear. Not to my face, but people aren’t as quiet as they think they are. My family will never voice it, but their looks speak volumes. And those who do talk, they forget that while I might be the “funny, lively one” in the family, I’m also known for my skills at getting information.
Most probably think it’s because of how many women I sleep with. Sure, I’ve gotten information that way, but not always. And sneaking into places was both a challengeand a joy. If I had another life, I would have been a spy, I think. Secret Agent Tommy. Has a nice ring to it.
A ping from Dante’s phone pulls me out of my musing.
“Pretty sure those are meant to be on Airplane Mode.”
He scoffs. “And you keep saying you’re not afraid of flying. We all know that warning is bullshit. Besides, what’s the point of owning your own plane if you don’t get to change the rules?”
“It’s not your plane,” I deadpan.
He looks up from his phone with a smirk and a wink. “Not yours either, Tommy boy.”
Rolling my eyes, I look out the window.
“Your brother wants to see you once we land.”
“Which one?” I question without turning my head. Either Bobby’s going to be pissed at how much money I lost on the fight, or Danny’s going to want a full rundown on why I pulled some of his team into my little side business to look for a fighter who wasn’t on the official family roster. He’s got an issue with sharing his hired guns for those considered outsiders. And to Danny, that’s anyone besides the immediate family.
“Vinny.”
The big man himself.
Can’t be a good thing.
I usually annoy him too much for him to want to call me. But I’ve been off my game, and now it looks like I’m getting called into the principal’s office.
I just hope it’s better than last time. When I found out my sister wasn’t ever coming home again, that about killed me. And I’ve already dealt with enough near-death moments as it is.
“Knock, knock.”
“It’s customary to actually knock on the door and wait for an answer rather than saying the actual noise and then making yourself at home,” Vinny drawls without looking away from the papers he’s writing on at his desk.
I shrug as I plop myself into one of the stuffy armchairs facing his desk. It’s the kind that looks uncomfortable and is. Big bro’s way of making sure no one stays in his office too long. However, I find if you drape a leg over the armrest, it becomes infinitely more comfortable.
He raises an eyebrow, no doubt being able to see me in his periphery, but he still doesn’t look up.
“If I said who I was, I got half a mind to think you’d make me wait till you were done.”
