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ONE
LORENZO VITALI
THANKSGIVING DAY, 2018
I am aboutto give my brother shit for bringing a girl home that he met at the strip club, but then I seeher. The woman that has never once left my mind since I met her on the playground in fifth grade. My parents were on assignment in Brooklyn, and though I’m not the oldest, they brought just me. We had a fake last name, but I was still Lorenzo. They enrolled me in school in order to keep up appearances. That’s where I met Berry Betty. She never had lunch for herself, and I knew I had to protect her. I had to be the one to feed her. Every day, I made my mom pack double of everything. The only thing she ate both servings of was my strawberries. I called her Berry Betty. She was the first girl I ever kissed. She even tasted like strawberries. Even in fifth grade, I knew I was going to marry this girl one day. If I’m lucky, she’ll be the last girl I kiss. God’s giving me a second chance with this one, and I won’t squander it. It’s not like I could have changed the outcome of how we got separated. I was a child. I was held back in third grade, so I was a little bit older than Betty, but still, I was a child. My parents finished their assignment, and we went home to Queens. It’s not like I could ride the subway, stopping at every stop in Brooklyn, checking every street until I found her. I was depressed for years before my father told me to snap out of it and learn how to do my job, which I excel at. Murder is in my blood, and I make a good living doing it.
“Everyone outside now. Your brother is here with his girl. I expect everyone to be welcoming,” Mama says, pushing her hair away from her face. All she manages to do is put more flour into it. We get up from in front of the TV showing the Atlanta and New Orleans game. I stand on the porch away from my family a bit as my brother, Autumn, and another woman get out of the car. My heart skips a fucking beat, and the more I stare at her, I realize that I know her.
“Alberto, introduce us,” she says, straightening out her flour-covered apron.
“Mama, this is Betty and the boys, Santino, Sal, and Gio,” he says as he gestures to each boy. “And this is my girl, Autumn. Everyone, this is my mama, Maria.” Dad comes outside and stands behind Mama. “And this is my father, Alberto.”
“It's nice to meet you,” Autumn says.
“You're letting all the heat out,” he says to Mama, smirking.
“Hush up. Let's get these babies inside,” Maria says. We start to follow her when I stop them.
“Betty?’’ I ask. My mom looks up, and her eyes widen.
“Lolo?” She questions, handing her baby to Autumn before running into my arms. I catch her and hold her tight. Is it my imagination, or does she still smell like strawberries?
“Lorenzo? Is this Berry Betty? From P.S. 195 in Brooklyn?” Mama asks.
“Yes, Mama. My first kiss in fifth grade. What a small world,” I say, still holding her.
“How did you know it was me?” Betty asks, and I smile down at her. She’s so tiny.
“I stalk you on Facebook, among other things.”
“I have four kids and a missing ex-husband,” she blurts out, and her cheeks flush.
“I know, BB. We should talk about that,” Lorenzo says. Dad picks up on that and ushers Mom into the house, who is telling everyone to follow her. I killed her ex-husband last night. I knew who he was to her when I did it. I’d be lying if a part of me didn’t relish that I was the one who ended his life.
“Let's go inside. Here, Autumn. Let me take Gio,” I say, holding Betty’s hand in mine and one of her sons in my arms. Inside the house, I pass Gio off to my dad. My brother Tony’s already holding one kid, and Al has the other. Still holding Betty’s hand, I drag her down the hallway into my old bedroom. Mom has left it the same as it was. I moved out to a small house on the compound about ten years ago. The Michael Jordan and Hot Rod posters still line the walls. There’s even a Lord of The Rings: Fellowship of the Ring poster from the movie premiere in the corner. To this day, I still don’t know how my dad got me into the London premiere, but I imagine someone owed him a favor. I even did my first international kill while there. Some movie producer. Now that I think about it, going to the premiere was probably a part of my payment since the fee Dad negotiated was much lower than I usually take.
“Lorenzo? What are we doing in here?”
“Getting reacquainted. I have to tell you something, and if you want to walk away after that, I’ll let you. But if you stay, you’re mine forever. I lost you once and won’t do it a third time.”
“There won’t be a second time, but tell me whatever you need to tell me.”
“Have you heard of the Vitali reputation?”
“Yes. Of course, every adult in the tri-state area has.”
“Okay, so it’s true,” I begin knowing that telling her anything about the family is a huge risk, especially since I don’t know how she will handle it.
“Okay,” she laughs. When I don’t, she stops. “Oh, you’re serious?”
“Very much so. I’m a hitman, mostly for my own family, but I’ve been known to take outside contracts.”
“Okay, I can live with that,” she says after several minutes.
“That’s not the worst of it.”
“It’s not?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
