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“I'm good,” I pluck my hand away. I didn't hear her and I didn't think I was that into my head until I felt her supple skin on mine.
“But are you truly good?”
“Why wouldn't I be?” I press the now gray butt of my weed to put out the remaining flame.
“Because you disappeared for four years.”
“I can do whatever I want.”
“And you show up again, out of the blue. I'm your mother, I know you, something seems off about you.” She doesn't know shit.
“That makes the both of us. Now, if you don't mind, I am busy.” I turn to walk back inside.
“Bee, can you please talk to me?” She gulps loudly.
“No,” I throw over my shoulder.
No matter how she tries to trick me with that endearing name that I haven't heard in so long, what she did is unforgivable. What she is doing is unbearable.
“I want us to talk.”
“I said no.”
“Tell me, why are you back after four years?” There is something about the way she sounds. It's not contemptuous, it's laced with concern and affection.
“This is my house.” I face her again, wanting to match the voice of concern with the lifeless eyes before me.
“But you left and have not cared all this time,” her voice creaks.
“That is about to change.”
“What do you want here? Why now?” Her dark eyes bounce from side to side with care not to meet mine.
“I did say I don’t want to talk, didn't I?” I clip.
“You have to talk to me, I need to know…” her voice seizes, and she pauses to calm her breath.
“I will come down to have breakfast,” I walk back into the study, and slam the door in her face as it comes alive in the shock of my response.
The last thing I need is her crying in front of me, especially being so close to her that I can now see the effect my father’s death has had on her. Her nasolabial folds are gone, which makes me wonder about the last time she smiled. There is never a smile in her eyes anymore.
I go to the desk and drop the roach in an ashtray, then pick up the letter. I fold it back the way it was, walk to the cushion to pick up the envelope, then tuck it in, and drop it back where I had found it.
I already know the end to this. I know the end I want for him. It's either Claudio kills me or I kill him. We both have motives strong enough for murder. He wants what is mine and I want to avenge what he took from me and from my father.
He might underestimate me, but he shouldn’t. After all, I am Benito’s son and his nephew. The same murderousness that is flowing in his veins is flowing in mine. And he, more than anyone, would know that I didn't leave becausehewas a threat. I left becauseIwas a fucking threat, both to him and my mom for pissing on my father’s name.
I had to stop myself from giving in to what was gurgling in me and find a place away from them that would allow me to throw myself into the part of me that reflects the warm side of my father. That was what New York was for me. A stage to roleplay. To keep it all in and forget I had a house with people in it that I wanted to burn down here in Boston.
I blow out air and nod repeatedly to myself.
I will get him. I will get him real fucking good. I will expose him to her and then give him a taste of his medicine. No, I will empty the damn bottle of his medicine into every hole in his fucking body.
I am about to close the letter away when I see the glint of something else in the corner. I put my hand in and pick it up. It's the signet ring of my family. Smooth gold finish shank, with a boldly emblazoned C for the Corte family acronym on the circular bezel. My spine twinges from the hurt all over again and my heart drags down the constricted walls of my chest to my stomach.
His parting gift to me.
My father believed in me so much he kept that for me in a safe place for whenever I came around. And even though it pains me that I am only just coming around, I am relieved it's happening regardless.
