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I walk to the bar like I’m on autopilot, slamming my hand down on it. “Drink. Whisky. A shot.”
My voice is shaking. A skinny barmaid approaches with a leather skirt and leopard print vest. She’s got a golf-ball-sized purple bruise on her arm. She looks cracked out and slightly terrified. Everybody in my world is scared. Dante, the devil. I knock back the whisky, then slide the glass over.
As she pours another, I look around the bar. I almost laugh when I see them. Colt talked to me about fate once.“Everybody in our lives, Dante, there’s a bit of fate in it. Elio and Scarlet. Ruby and Luca. Me and Lexi.”I laughed at the time, but looking at me are three bikers, wannabe tough guys, all eyeing me up like I just walked into their personal playpen.
I drink another shot, then lean against the bar. I can’t stop thinking about Vito and how he casually touched Mia as she announced their engagement. It shouldn’t matter. She’s nobody. She’s the only person who matters. How can she be everything all at the same time?
“Can I help you?” I ask the bikers.
The biggest of them sits up. He’s wearing a leather vest but nothing underneath, so his big hairy arms are on display. “Canwehelpyou?” the man says as they all sit up, exchanging glances as if to say,Is this idiot serious?
“I’m really not in the mood. If you’re going to tell me this is your bar, your little patch to fucking piss on, you can piss off.” My voice slurs toward the end. I don’t often drink. Yet something just broke in me seeing Mia, knowing I’ll never be the same. I make an effort to be more sober, whatever that means.
The big man stands, followed by the two others. “You don’t want any trouble. We don’t want any trouble…”
My vision gets blurry, and then my head shifts and aches badly. I realize I’m standing in the lobby of my building, talking to the doorman. He’s got his hands raised. “Mr. Bianchi, man. Come on.”
I’ve got my hand on his shirt. I let it go and stumble back, my head splitting down the middle. I’m trying to figure out what just happened. Like that,snap, I woke up here. Was I ever at that bar? Are there bars that arethatclose to the suburbs,bikerbars? Each thought is a sharp wedge in my mind, crashing together.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Jesus…” I look outside. Still daytime. “When did I get here?”
“A minute ago,” Jackie says nervously, adjusting his jacket. “You kept saying,did you give her that bruise?”
The girl with the bruise on her arm at the bar. So thin, so unlike my Mia.My Mia. My head swims. “Can I get some water?”
“Sure, sure.”
Jackie goes behind the desk and brings me a cup. I neck it quickly, then slide it across the desk like the whisky glass across the bar. It was so real. Dammit. This hasn’t happened in months at this point. I drink another cup.
“I really am sorry, Jackie. You didn’t deserve that.”
He’s a good kid, a young man trying to make his way in the world with a wife and a baby on the way. “Are you okay, Mr. Bianchi?”
“You know who I am.”
Jackie shakes his head. “I just work the door, sir.”
“But you know who I am?”
He says nothing but gives a little nod.
“So you’ll know not to repeat this.” I wonder if I even drank. I can’t taste whisky. I don’t drink, especially not since this started. “I’ve been having blackouts. It’s like time traveling, Jackie. Only you don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve done. That’s not good for a man like me.”
Jackie says nothing, then slowly and somewhat innocently reaches out and places his hand on my arm. “I hope you get some help, Mr. Bianchi.”
I sigh, shaking my head. I can’t afford to get help. If I do, then what? Surgery? Recovery? I have to work. I have to make more money. I have to take care of Ma.
As I take careful steps, my legs feeling wobbly as hell, I go to the elevator and ride it up to our floor. Maybe the blackout will fade into snippets over the next few days like the others did. It’s beenmonths. That must mean it’s getting better.
When I get to the apartment, I know something’s wrong. It’s in the air, a stale smell, a stalefeeling. I rush into the living room, smelling sharp metal and blood. Mom’s on the couch with blankets shrouded around her, her skin covered in so many beads of sweat. It looks like she’s drowning. She’s shuddering, but only slightly, like any second she could pass out.
“Ma.” I rush to her side, picking up the phone and quickly dialing911. “It’s okay, Ma. I’m here.”
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
CHAPTER 6
Mia
