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“Why are you doing this? You told me you loved me. Was that a lie?” She dropped her hands, and her eyes welled up with hurt tears.
“Shh...shh.” I looked past her shoulders and then back at her, whispering, “I do love you, Paris. I have to do things you won’t forgive me for, things God may not forgive me for. Find you a good boy because that’s not me anymore.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why are you still standing at the door...whispering, and shit? What’s up, G?” Lafayette suddenly appeared and opened the front door wider, looking between his twin sister and me. She dropped her gaze while I met his head-on.
“It’s about what we talked about the other day at school. We need to talk alone.”
The easy smile disappeared. “Okay. We can go to my bedroom.”
Apologetically, I walked past a frowning Paris, who closed the door firmly behind us.
“What do I tell you about checking for my sister?” Lafayette asked as we headed to his bedroom. I glanced back again at Paris, wanting to go to her. Pretend we were those innocent teenagers talking about college and being together like we did before Papa’s murder. She tugged on the necklace I gave her, watching me from where she remained at the front door. We had been secretly dating for the last six months, and I hadn’t been alone with her since the night of my father’s funeral. The night she comforted my pain with her virginity. Although I’d lost mine a year ago to a stripper on Bourbon Street, who’d become fascinated with me when Lafayette and I snuck into the club. That night with Paris had been a first for me, too. I was in love.
“I ain’t checking for her. She asked me about Trig class.”
He squinted his eyes. “Serious, G. Don’t fuck with my sister. Ever.” Lafayette pushed open the door to his unkempt room. Clothes, magazines, and books were strewn on the plush carpet and on his full bed.
“Laffy, you think I’m worried about your sister with the fucked-up shit in my life.” I closed his bedroom door and pushed his desk chair for me to sit against the side of his bed where he’d flopped down, bouncing a basketball against the ceiling. Lafayette has been my best friend since we started Excelsior Prep in the seventh grade. We bonded over basketball, where he played point guard, and I was forward. We were a dynamic duo, and we’d been scouted by universities since our freshman year.
Like myself, Lafayette grew up with both parents in the elite Garden District full of million-dollar homes. On the surface, our families and lives couldn’t be more perfect. Keep digging, and dirt heaped high with both families. My father had been a successful litigator, and Lafayette’s father was an astute businessman. They took their wives and children on Caribbean vacations. In reality, my father had strong ties to the mafia through his firm. Lafayette’s father had been a top drug dealer who’d managed to escape from his gang's clutches and converted his drug money into investments. Lafayette and I understood implicitly that we were expected to not follow in our fathers’ footsteps. Our fathers worked hard so we could have a different path. We were destined for something more. Or so we thought.
“Mamma wants me to kill the man who murdered my father.”
The ball dropped on his face, and he held his nose as he sat up. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
He whistled. “I thought my Mamma was tough. I can’t believe she wants you to do that. I mean, it needs to be done, but your Mamma asking you to kill someone is insane.”
I shrugged. “Her side of the family is the DeLucas, the biggest crime organization in Italy, and we’re scattered throughout the United States. Because we didn’t have family here, she’s been lowkey and focused on being a wife and mother. Rarely hanging out with the Italians. Papa’s death woke up her blood, her fire, our heritage. We can’t rest until Tucci is gone.”
Lafayette’s eyes widened. “Salvador Tucci? I thought you didn’t see the shooter?”
“I didn’t, but my Mamma found out who. You know him?”
“Everyone knows Tucci. Fuck, G. Tucci? He killed your father. If we kill him, they come after our families.” He cursed again as he resumed bouncing the ball against the ceiling. “We have to be sure no one ever knows it was us. We don’t need more blood on our hands.”
Realizing that he was right, that the Tucci organization wouldn’t rest until Tucci’s killerandfamily had been butchered, I popped up from my chair. “You don’t have to help me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you or your family.”
“Dude, sit back down. You can’t take Tucci down by yourself.” He threw the ball against the ceiling hard and caught it deftly. “Besides, I want him dead too, not only for your father, but he had my uncle killed years ago. At the time, Unc was a stupid kid who sampled some Ecstasy without permission, not understanding the game, and Tucci accused him of theft. He stabbed him in front of my father to make an example. Tucci should’ve been taken out years ago. He abuses his power, and he’s been nothing but cancer to my family and the city.” He grinned at me. “Shit, we manage to take him out without anyone knowing who did it; that changes everything, G. We could run this city. I never wanted that college life anyway.”
But I did want that college, ordinary, everyday life. I kept that thought to myself. Glancing toward the door, longing to go to Paris and hold on to her, wishing our love had a chance. I inhaled deeply, resigning myself to a different path than my father wanted. However, my best friend still had an opportunity for a good life. I grabbed the ball mid-air. “The fact that your family knows Tucci puts you even more at risk. You don’t need to throw away your future. I need to do this on my own.”
“Ain’t no one throwing away a future. It’s just a different one. You need me to pull it off, or you wouldn’t have come here. Just have to be smart about it.” He rested against the headboard, and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Tucci doesn’t believe you have it in you to avenge your father; otherwise, he would have killed you too by now. This means you can probably get close to him easily. Just have to do without his men. If his men are around, even if you drop Tucci, they’ll drop you. They won’t care you carry the DeLuca name.”
“That’s problem number one. Tucci’s goons are always with him, except for a few hours on Tuesdays. Mamma says she knows his habits because she’s friends with his sister-in-law. She says he disappears from his office or from his home on Tuesdays. No one knows where he goes.”
Laffy suddenly grabbed the ball from my hands and twirled the ball on his finger victoriously. “I know where he is on Tuesdays.”
“What? How can you possibly know anything about Tucci, especially where he is on any given day?”
He glanced toward the door. “I trust you with my life, so I guess I can trust you with the truth. My father. He’s a ghost, still in the streets. No one knows he heads Desire except Tucci. Tucci holds it over him and taxes him heavily.”
“Your dad told you this?”
“Not all of it...but I hear bits of conversations my parents have late at night when they think we’re asleep.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up to face me. “Tucci has an old lady in the hood. Her name’s Candy, and that’s her real name, believe it or not. He goes alone every Tuesday because he doesn’t want his people to know he’s cheating on his wife with a black woman.”
