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At first, I’m blown away. Maybe she wasn’t so great to begin with if she was stuck up and particular enough to break up over something so petty.
“Damn, that’s kind of stupid,” I reply.
“No, no. She was perfectly within her rights to be upset. She had told me a year into our relationship that she hates roses. She thinks they’re a cliché and absolutely hates the way they smell. Well, at the end of a hard week, I decided to pick up some flowers and dinner for her. I got her roses and tikka masala, which are two things that she repeatedly told me she hates,” he continues, regret taking over the emotion in his eyes as the story unfolds.
I take a sip of my drink, trying to envision the scene. “I mean... how do you fuck that up?”
“Because I didn’t appreciate her enough to pay attention. After a while, you can start to settle into a relationship and feel entitled to someone’s presence. You lose the awareness that they have complete autonomy, that they can choose to leave if they want to. You have to keep working hard to keep a woman happy, or anyone really. It takes effort, and I fucking blew it.”
I can’t imagine how devastated he must have been, losing the love of his life over dinner and flowers. “I don’t know, man. That still seems pretty over the top.”
He sighs, growing weary of my refusal to arrive at the point. “It wasn’t the first time. The first time I fucked up the flowers thing, she forgave me and was still thrilled at the effort. The second time she was annoyed but still grateful, and the third time was when she realized that I didn’t prioritize her at all. Now, she’s married to a guy who buys her Tiffany jewelry just for the hell of it, so she dodged a bullet with me.”
To hear someone refer tohimselfas being a bullet dodged unlocks something in my mind. He has a level of self-awareness that I lack, and that has to be one of the key reasons that Iris was so willing to leave. Leonardo had to earn that self-awareness through the loss of Ana. I have to learn it from losing Iris before I fuck up another potential relationship.
“Just... get out of your head and especially your ego. An ego will poison any relationship faster than fucking anything. If you ever act like you’re too cool or badass for all that romantic shit, even the most desperate, clingy girl will get tired of your ass. Oh, and about the thing with Vitale — that was fucked up. You need to apologize about that,” he continues, realizing that he might be getting through to me for a change.
Just as I’m about to respond, we both hear people start yelling and bickering near the entrance of the club. When we turn our heads to see what’s going on, we’re apprehended by two police officers. One of them is holding a piece of paper, which he presents to me.
“You are under arrest for the murder of Miriam Baker and the sale and distribution of controlled substances. Please get out of your seat with your hands against the bar,” demands one of the cops with a snide overtone to his voice.
I’m shocked at first, but I realize that I can’t make an ass of myself in a club like this if I want to keep my business agreement with the owner. As much as it pains me, I force myself to follow his commands. He read me my Miranda rights, which I forget as soon as he’s done. The other cop cuffs me while the first one pats me down.
Within three minutes, I’m being taken out of the club in handcuffs. Everybody is looking at me, and I already know for a fact that anyone who didn’t hear the reason for the warrant believes that it’s for human trafficking.
All I can do right now is cooperate, saying nothing until I can get in contact with my lawyer. I have no idea how they would have even been tipped off to my warehouse operation, but I’m too bewildered by the whole situation to really give a shit. What matters is that they caught me, and these charges might really stick.
Vitale’s rodent face appears in my mind’s eye, and I’m enraged by the possibility that this could be his doing. If he wants to face me like a real man, I’ll welcome a fight with open arms at this point. To get thepoliceof all people involved in our beef shows an insane amount of cowardice. I’m not surprised at all that Vitale is a coward, but his dedication to avoiding real conflict at the risk of being arrestedhimselfis a stunning example of it.
I’m led away from the bar as the first cop maintains a vice grip on my bicep, flexing what little power he has in front of hundreds of people.
24
Iris
The summer rain is a welcome change as I open my office window to let in some fresh air. John is too cheap to buy an air conditioner, so I’ve had to savor each breath I get that isn’t recycled, stale air that’s been shared among the entire floor. The smell brings me back to my first year of summer camp, stuck inside of my dorm as we waited for a storm to pass.
I’m broken from my reverie when I hear John knocking loudly on my door.
“Yes?” I call out, already annoyed with him before I even know what he’s going to say.
He walks in, his infamous smug grin plastered on his face as he holds the daily newspaper. He slaps it on my desk, pointing to the top headline written in big bold letters:
NOTORIOUS MAFIA BOSS ARRESTED ON SUSPICION OF MURDER
“You remember that guy, right? That man you were obsessed with? I’m shocked you didn’t choose to publish that article, really. Would have been the absolute last nail in the coffin for your career,” he says, his coffee breath clouding the space around my head as I struggle to breathe.
Even though I want to believe that someone else was captured, like Vitale, I can see Matteo’s photo printed crystal clear on the next page. He looks disgruntled and a little drunk, and he’s being escorted from a nightclub. It doesn’t look like the one he brought me to, and I’ll admit that his avoidance of said club does seem a little suspicious.
“Jesus, you would have been fuckingdoneas a journalist. I mean, you probably would have gained the attention of those True Crime freaks, like the one who married Charles Manson. That would have at least gotten you more credibility than you have now,” he continues.
I’m ready to get up out of my chair and punch him in the face. Even if he wasn’t insulting Matteo by rubbing my nose in this, he’s still acting like nothing but a disrespectful piece of shit. I’m a good journalist, for fuck’s sake! I’ve pioneered stories like Joe Filizetti’s, someone who also became well known to the community because of my article.
People had no idea that he had been running the streets, kidnapping girls, and selling them into the sex trade. How would they have been made aware if I hadn’t investigated it?
“Are you done now?” I ask, my voice flat and unperturbed.
My refusal to let John win is grating on him now. I’ve learned a thing or two about standing up for myself since I left Matteo’s mansion, and I won’t let John of all people bring me back down to where I was before. I was such a pushover. Not anymore.
