Page 2 of Beni

Marcus used to be fun, though. Then, he graduated, attended a few of years of a university for business, and went straight into the mafia to mentor under their father. Once Marcus was in, and got his button for the mafia, he was all the fucking way in. Unfailingly responsible—they counted on their oldest brother no matter what.

And sometimes that was just boring.

“Ready?”

Bene held his shot glass high into the air. The strobe lights flickered with a higher intensity in the background of the club, making his brother look like a statue. The club was banging, though, and for more reasons than their friends would understand. It was one that wasn’t Guzzi owned, because God fucking knew the twins hated when tales of their night out got back to their parents, or brothers.

They worried.

Bitched.

The twins didn’t understand why.

It was unnecessary.

Couldn’t they just have fun?

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a stretch. Their fun usually included trouble—the wild ones their family called them because from the time they were old enough to run, the two never stopped. He figured, hey, at least they ran together.

That was the thing about Beni and Bene.

If they had each other, shit was cake.

Easy.

Life was fucking good.

“Ready,” Beni said, picking up his own shot and holding it high, too.

Literal mirrors, he thought as he stared at his brother from the other end of the bar. From the way they held their shot glasses, to the curve of their smiles, and the carved-from-glass line of their jaws. Even the browns of their eyes could be mapped by the gold flakes that they’d taken from their father. That playful, but sly smile came from their mother, though. Standing side by side, the twins stood equal in height at six foot, two inches tall. Their weight was almost the same, too, at a solid, lean one-ninety, give or take a pound.

They were identical in every way.

Their stance.

How they carried themselves.

The style of their clothes.

All of it.

“Drop ‘em back!” Bene called.

Beni wasn’t sure if it was instinct, or just nature, for him to throw back his shot at the same time as his twin. He often found himself echoing the movements of his twin like they had when they were kids. Bene moved left, and Beni moved right. One smirked with the left side of his lips, and the other with his right.

It could be strange and disconcerting for new people who didn’t know the twins. It took getting used to, but the twins had never subdued their strange habits for others. It wasn’t in their nature to look out for anyone else but each other, after all. Even like that.

Shouts and hollers lit up the bar all over again as shot glasses clinked down to the glossy, red top. Bene was already waving for the bartender who had moved further down to serve a group that came up for refills while the Guzzi boys were taking their round with the rest of the group.

“Another round,” he called. “Henny next!”

“Fuck,” Beni groaned, “now you’re trying to kill me, bro.”

People liked to act as though Hennessey tasted great, but in fact, it was shit. Absolute, and total garbage. Add onto the horrible taste of the liquor, and it almost always had Beni puking by the end of the night, but especially when he mixed it with other spirits.

“Are you calling it a night, then? Gonna pussy out, Beni?”

Fuck his twin for knowing the right buttons to push.