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“You will speak in English. And, Rocco, that is your choice. If you want to treat women as a resource and not a gift, that is your choice.”
He glared at me over the solid oak breakfast table my grandfather hand carved. On the way into my villa, he must have missed the inviting rows of olive trees, the calm of the large statue fountain in the center of my courtyard, and the early morning chatter of the birds, to bid war on me. Rocco’s menacing presence washed out the early morning sun perched in the sky. He was a dark cloud.
“Rocco, she is my choice. And it will remain that way until I say so. She knows nothing.”
“You are risking our dealings. Imbecile.”
I glanced up from my paper. “Is this jealousy? Do you want to fuck me?”
Rocco moved toward me with more argument. I lunged from where I sat and nailed him to the wall. “Say one fucking word, and you will regret it.”
Rocco gritted his teeth as he hissed through them, “I’m not your second in command, Daniello.”
I slapped his face playfully. “Oh, Rocco, right now, you are my side man. His orders.” I snapped my fingers next to his ear. Rocco’s eyes bulged as he did his best to hold in his temper. Neither of us had a long fuse. It was ingrained in us as young men.
We’d been forced into the Egyptian Army by my father, who refused to let us have dual citizenship with Italy for the specific purpose of serving as he had. Amon Naifeh, a soldier first, family man second, had even gone so far as to bring us back and forth from Barga to Cairo to ensure we remained on the government’s radar even though Italy was our true home. Our fathers had served together, and when Rocco’s father was killed, my mother embraced him as her own. When we returned to Italy after our compulsory stint in the service, we were different men. Rocco grew fond of the corruption and kept a thirst for power while I declared war on men like him. And when opportunity knocked for Rocco to follow in the steps of my family, he was the first to open the door. I took my own path, determined to keep my freedom, and Rocco’s temper kept him where he started, at the bottom. He’d grown just as rich as he was bitter. I slapped him again just for my amusement. “What is that name of the Indian to that cowboy?” I grinned as he glared at me. “That show we watched as children?”
“Take your hands away from me.” More Arabic. I slapped his face again, this time with a heavy hand. “English, Rocco. I will not ask you again. Ah,” I said as the name came to me. “Tonto. That is your new name. You are dismissed, Tonto.” I resumed my seat at the patio table and gripped my paper.
He slammed his fist down in front of me. “He will not approve of this.”
“He knows nothing of her and never will. He does not care who we fuck.”
“You’re a fool,” he scorned before he pointed to the open air between us. “He is God. And what will you do with your whore when he tells you he knows of Taylor Ellison?”
“This is your obsession, not his. This will not be a problem.”
He leaned in. “She is too close. She is a weakness. You are weak with her.”
I lunged for him. My knuckles cracked against his jaw, and I only felt satisfied when I saw blood trickle out of his mouth. I landed another blow, making su
re I bruised his face so he would see the evidence of his tantrum. “You are the one that is weak. You are not your own man. You have no freedom. You wanted to be a part of my family so much, you lost yourself. You are no one without your orders. You act like a jealous wife. I am tired of your temper, Rocco. Tired of you. My sentiments for you as family are long past. When our dealings are done in the States and I am finish with you. I do not answer to him. He is not my fucking God. You can kiss his feet if you wish. Take your moody away from me.”
“It’s finished and mood, imbecile. Keep your whore but keep her out of my way.” He faced me head on. “You are a disgrace to your father, to this family, and to your dead brother.”
We glared at each other, and I spoke slowly, so there was no doubt in his mind that my next words were truth. “I will kill you if you say another word.”
I grabbed my paper and adjusted the antique chair before taking a seat. He stormed away, cursing, with a wish of death . . . a death wish. I smiled to myself.
I will conquer this English.
I left the party early and walked around the Battery in my ball gown. There were few people there, and most were decent enough to spare me strange looks. After a few hours of polite conversation and one too many dance invitations from business associates, I felt suffocated. I’d damn near ran over the doorman of the hotel trying to get out of the posh party. I found it ironic that I’d spent so many years in an effort to be a part of that circle. It bored me. Closing deals and tripling my investment on a good idea never got old. It wasn’t the pot of gold; it was the rainbow that appealed to me. And I’d chase that rush my whole life.
The breeze from the harbor refreshed my sweat-covered skin as I pounded around the history filled sidewalk while it whispered its secrets to me. I still loved the city, the texture of it. The smells, the glimpses of old world and new combined into a sweet, melodic southern cluster fuck. The swooning trees and ever-burning lamp lights, the secrecy of the never-ending hidden alleys. The sculpted hidden gardens. A late-night walk downtown was a silent symphony which the city richly played. I covered my bare shoulders and leaned over the railing on the cement wall that separated me from the harbor. A silent sailboat drifted by, slicing through the dark water. It was the perfect summer night. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I’d given enough of my time to everyone who deserved it. I was mentally drained from endless conversations. I had meetings between meetings set up for the next week.
I needed a break. I needed clarity.
Ray always told me there were two realities and that work was the safest.
I didn’t understand it then. But at that moment, it was becoming clearer that I had no second reality.
Daniello crossed my mind briefly. I wondered what his second reality was. I wondered if he was afraid to quit being the bad guy because he too had confused his priorities. Most people worked to live. But most people hadn’t whored their way to get to Harvard.
Ray’s voice whispered over the water. If I closed my eyes, I could see him in his office. His fingers tapped on the rich oak wood of his desk. In the weeks after he took my virginity, I was robbed of his company. He’d spent endless days away from his own home to avoid me. In the few times we locked eyes in passing, he’d been the first to let his drift away. I’d become close to one of his maids, Olivia. She had watched me carefully the first week of his absence and made extra rounds at the dinner table, making small talk. She was the closest thing to a friend I had. I’d been dealing with the bitchy future WASPs at my school and had no desire to befriend any of them. And now that my “Uncle Ray” was missing, I craved the small talk.
Something inside me was hurt by his dismissal, but every day he remained away, a different kind of anger brewed.
When I watched his car pull up a month after he took me on his kitchen table, I raced down his marble staircase and flung open the door. My anger was replaced by shock when I saw a woman on his arm. A woman his age.
