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Somewhere out of the bitter cold of New York. Somewhere tropical.
Now, they were sipping Mai-Tais and enjoying the fruits of their labor.
As I sat there, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, shifting until I was comfortable in my leather armchair. I couldn't help but wonder how they achieved their "happily ever after." How had they moved beyond their troubled past, the violence and betrayal, to find solace and peace in each other?
It kind of felt like I was stuck in it all.
But I supposed that’s a testament to the complexity of human emotions and the power of love. Perhaps, in their case, love could overcome even the darkest of circumstances.
We could all be so lucky.
Lucky or not, I tried to keep hope. If anything, their story served as a constant reminder that life is unpredictable, and sometimes, the most extraordinary things can arise from the most unlikely beginnings.
I took a sip of my whiskey, contemplating the legacy my parents had left behind. The weight of their past and the responsibility of our family's future now rested on my shoulders. It was my turn to navigate the unpredictable waters of the criminal world.
I just hoped I was good enough.
Hope is a funny thing, though.
I also hoped that, like my parents, I would find my version of happiness in the middle of all the chaos and uncertainty. These thoughts usually only plagued me when I was drunk, though.
Normally, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of settling down.
I liked the notches on my bedpost. I collected them like I used to collect baseball cards.
A loud burst rang out across the room as my younger siblings, Dimitri and Viola, barged into the room. Their struts were arrogant; cocky, even. A little too ballsy for second-ranked mobsters in my opinion. They walked toward me like they owned the place. Dimitri was in front. I smirked. Since puberty, he’d been this massive dude with shoulders as wide as a doorway. On all accounts, the guy was intimidating, but he still didn’t scare me.
Not by a long shot.
Then there was Viola, petite and shorter than any of us. She almost disappeared behind him. If they were a little more in sync as they walked, I would have thought Dimitri was alone.
A small chuckle escaped as I placed the rim of the glass back to my lips. Viola had our mom's face copied and pasted onto hers. She was conventionally beautiful, but almost as annoying as they came.
Together, almost in unison, they plopped onto the couch next to me, invading my solo drinking session. Their demeanor was too comfortable.
“Why didn’t we get an invite to this party?” Viola sneered. I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her tongue.
I scoffed as she pointed judgingly at the array of booze cluttering the coffee table, teasing me about my little self-celebration. I chuckled again, and that was when I realized I was probably way more buzzed than I had originally thought.
Normally I would have been pissed at her casting judgment on me.
But at the moment, all I could feel was amusement.
And that in itself was an oddity, because tonight had been rough, which is why I was drinking in the first place.
It was nights like tonight that made me feel almost defeated.
I just couldn't wrap my head around how anyone could find a happily ever after while still being neck-deep in the mob.
I had just had a front-row seat to another man's demise. It was starting to mess with me.
How could anyone be happy seeing that day in and day out?
Lately, my dreams had haunted me.
Dreams that show all my victim’s faces. Dreams where I'm the fucking monster. I’m the one causing the pain and suffering.
Dreams that caused me to wake up in a cold sweat.
