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Chapter 11
Aria
MeandLuigifindourselves standing outside the club. We stand there for a while, shuffling our feet, in silence. We both stare at the big sign above the door. It’s crazy. It’s been a few months now since everything happened. It seems like yesterday. I still can’t believe we got the place back open as quickly as we did.
Seemed kind of like a slap in the face to all those that died in a way. But what else could we do?
We have to keep moving forward.
No matter what happens…
No matter how much it hurts…
We keep moving.
We don’t cry over spilled milk.
We use our hands, and we play the game.
Luigi's wearing a grim expression tonight. I’m hoping he’ll tell me what’s up with him lately. He’s been distant. He’s been cold, even, at times. And sure, we were both stone-cold gangsters with chips on our shoulders…
But never with each other.
He’s just finished smoking his cigar. I’m standing out there with him in hopes he will let me in somehow. I’m not much for this mushy kind of stuff anymore. Life has got in the way of that. But, I care. Always will.
I grab his arm and pull him along with me toward the car. He’s stiff and in a daze. “Come on…” I growl. “We’re going to grab a bite…”
He refuses to spare a glance at me as I drag him toward the black Rolls Royce. He even plants his feet roughly on the sidewalk, refusing to move.
“Alright, alright…” I say. “What's going on? Why do you have this huge chip on your shoulder?”
He shrugs. “I don’t wanna talk about it…” he replies, his tone bitter.
“You’ve been really weird lately…” The night’s air nips at my arms. I shiver.
Silence…
There’s nothing.
Only the sound of passing cars and faint horns in the distance.
He’s acting muzzled.
I wonder why.
Lies and manipulation were in his nature. So why not throw one of those my way? Anything, really…just to answer my question.
“Answer me,” I demand. “I’m not going to ask again.”
“I just don’t like the fact that you don’t give me any say in it anymore.” His voice is annoyed. In fact, it’s really reminiscent of my teenagers. He turns on his heel and heads back toward the club.
“What do you mean?” I look at him, surprised, still standing there, watching as he walks away. He’s my right hand man. We’ve been together for over a decade. What does he mean I don’t give him any say?
“I mean, you took this cat Tony under your wing, completely out of the blue, and ever since he’s been your go-to. What about me?” He turns back around to look at me, his eyes sparkling with emotion.
For someone who didn’t want to talk about it, it sure came out like a flood.
“Tony and you aren’t the same.” Kind of made me want to vomit even saying the words. But, the fact that he had something to say about it…Had I really been neglecting my right hand?
