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A super…seductive…and fun…real person…
But amIa real person?
I’m not sure the way I feel about all this mob shit is quite the same as what she feels. Or anyone else for that matter.
I actuallyenjoyhurting people.
I know I need a little therapy, but I also feel like maybe thisismy therapy.
I’ve had an anger that has resonated inside of me, my entire life. I’ve harbored it. It’s been given a home inside of me. Like a fugitive that needed safe harbor.
My dad was a piece of shit. That wasn’t a secret to anybody that knew me.
He ditched me and my mom, the great and powerfulMadam Rosa,when I was nothing more than a picture on an ultrasound screen. I have no idea who the man even is. I also have no idea if he’s even still alive. I don’t think I care, though.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
It’s not even something I try to visit anymore because it seems played out.
I once had a shrink try to dive headfirst into that part of my life. I think that’s when I decided I was done with that kind of therapy. The lady wanted to say that it was my “childhood trauma” that made me the way I am.
And what way was that exactly?
Because the lady didn’t know I was an enforcer in Detroit’s largest crime syndicate. If she’d known that, there’s no telling what she’d think. What would she have hypothesized was in my childhood for something likethat?
I always laughed when I thought about it. Having a psycho, mob boss mom really could bring up some childhood trauma, I suppose. At least, when you knew about everything like I did.
The thing about shrinks, though, is that they don’t ever stop poking and prodding.
I can’t risk getting found out. And what’s the point if you’re not even honest about everything? Besides, bruising my knuckles seemed like the better option all along.
Both options had the chance of getting pinched…
But bashing somebody’s face in was a lot cheaper…
“I should probably get back to helping Luigi,” I say, as soon as I realize the time is getting away.
She shook the glass between her pinched fingers and her eyes locked onto mine. “Don’t worry about him. I’m telling you to sit here with me for a while and I’m your boss, not him.”
I doubt the conversation with Luigi is going to go well later. He asked me to help out with a few things downstairs since I didn’t want to go home.
But who am I to say no to the Boss?
Jamie is behind the bar and looks at me strangely and then with her back to us, rummages through the cabinet. She hums to herself as she continues to sift through old vintage bottles.
Aria clicks the glass and smiles. “The most vintage thing we have in there…”
“Hey, Sugar Tits,” a man down the bar calls out to her just before whistling. I cringe. And close my eyes tightly. I can only imagine what she’s going to do to him.
“I’ve got a name,” Aria slurs. “I’m sure you know it and if you whistle at me again, I’ll throw you out the fucking window.”
There is something about a tipsy and angry Aria Morino-Lorenzo that intrigues me.
I wince internally, knowing that I’m making a huge mistake getting this involved.
I smirk. She has so much gumption. “But Sugar Tits are fine?” I cackle.
“I’d love to see you try,” the man mutters.
