The Real Nick Derosso

Nick

The drug’s wearing off, and the kick of the booze is turning from warming buzz to headache inducing pressure. What’s even worse… My balls feel heavy and tight, still aching with desire as I think about Christian, bent over beneath me… “I’m fucking damned,” I mutter. “I’m a fucking idiot. I need to fucking…” I wipe a hand over my face. I must look like crap. I’m about to fall over. I stumble past the newsstand on my street corner without intending to stop or even wave. This seems to make Junior (the stall runner) nervous, but I’m in no mood for niceties. Even the rich, refreshing scent of the complimentary coffee he hastily pours and holds out toward my face… It don’t seem to be helping much.

“Long night?” he pries.

I accept the proffered drink, grumbling something incoherent and gulping it down so quick I scald my tongue. I hardly care. It’s a welcome distraction from that ache in other places, that pit deep in my stomach…

“Rare to see you out here alone, Nick. Usually you got Mikey or Jim skipping along at your heels.”

“Bender. They’re blotto. Probably passed out back at home already, causing trouble for their women.”

“Boys will be boys,” Junior laughs, patting me on the shoulder. It makes me scowl, and he quickly pulls back, crossing his arms in nervous defense. “Sorry. I’m sure you worked hard, deserved some fun. That’s all I meant. You know Nat’s still… asking about you.”

His little sister, Nat, he means. We went out on one date. I took her out for coffee, mainly cuz some creep was hitting on her, following her, despite the repeated f-off signals, and I needed to step in. I guess she had a good time, but I can’t afford to take it any further. She’s not the one the boss and my ma have agreed I’ll be ending up with anyhow. “Nat’s great. I got other… obligations though.”

“Alessia Bertinelli? Shit, I thought that was just a rumor. Thought her old man was never gonna let that girl actually leave the house and date. Not that I wouldn’t like a piece of that--” My eyes darken with obvious warning, and Junior nervously clears his throat. “Anyway, uh… Good luck. You… You’re a real catch, kid, and she--”

“Best you shut up now, JR.”

“Yep. Dead right there. Enjoy the Joe.”

I hold it up in grateful salute and down another gulp, trudging on toward my apartment. Least this building’s got an elevator. Living in a Penthouse is grand, until something malfunctions and you need to take the stairs that is. Still, this ain’t no broken down slum. This is a real nice place for midtown. The Family seized it from some stock-broker who lost us a pretty penny with a stupid bet. The boss gifted it to me and mine after da bit it. I was shocked he’d be so generous. Apparently Father Sicillio convinced him we needed the helping hand, that we were loyal servants, worthy of the favor.

It came with the string of a setup with Sicillio’s god-daughter though, the boss’s only flesh and blood – Miss Alessia Bertinelli, the sheltered princess of the criminal underworld. Most of the guys find her cute, or sexy, or whatever, but I am in no way ready to get married, especially because if I make her unhappy… I’ll be out of favor with the boss in a heartbeat. Hell, being married to me, his princess won’t just be unhappy.

I can lie and pretend all I want, I am still, most definitely going to make her straight up miserable. I doubt I’m even capable of knocking her up. Like I said before, I never get hard. I’ve never had a woman naked, but I’ve tried kissing, tried grinding and grabbing at the things the other guys all go on about… It’s not stimulating, not at all. I’ve never felt this useless weight between my legs so much as twitch, not until Christian--

Stop thinking about him.

I can’t though. It’s not just the feel of him, the pleasure… His words keep playing through my mind. He’s the enemy – a pretty shit role model to be listening to, but the way I just… responded to him... “Whatever your church may insist, we are not abominations just for having such a nature.”

That earnest assurance is what made me give in and maul him like that, enter him… I even wanted to kiss him afterward. It didn’t even feel wrong, not at first. My body was made to slide into him like that, make him jerk, and moan…

Because I’m completely fucked in the head, that’s why. I am wired completely wrong, and marrying Alessia… Hell, maybe that will through some miracle fix me. I’ll be making the offer anyway, whether I want this or not, and she’ll accept if her old man gives her the nod. The wedding itself will be a whole, big ceremony. We’ll get a place of our own and a nice, double wide marriage bed to do the expected thing… Then she’s going to feel up that limp hanging, bone-dry fish incapable of rising to the occasion. She’ll freak and call me out for what I am, and I am going to wind up in the river. My most charitably put up alcoholic mother and disabled older bro will be turned out of this fancy ass penthouse and dumped onto the street. Neither of them can really work, and neither are of any value to the Family.

The boss is always talking about taking care of widows, charity in accordance with the church and all that though, so realistically... He probably wouldn’t be that callous. Even once I’m gone… He’d probably still take care of ma at least, in honor of my old man’s many years of service, breaking bones and trapping demons.

Louie says I’m just like him. I got his talent for this work.

The thought of that makes me wanna throw myself in the river, no order of execution required.

“Why you getting home so late?” is ma’s first question, the second I open the door. She’s squinting hard, even with the curtains drawn. I’m guessing her head must be pounding right now, near as much as mine is.

“Work ran late. Went out for a few drinks afterward.”

“And that’s all? Nico,” she guilts, the only one who ever calls me that. “Are you sure you’re… alright?”

I guess I don’t look it. I force a smile anyhow. “Yeah, ma. I’m good. I just need a fucking shower.” She knows why. Louie didn’t tell her tonight was the night I’d become a ‘real man’, a fucking freshly minted murderer. But ma is way smarter than those goons give her credit for. She knows what I’ve done. I think something breaks in you, once you go and cross that line… and I guess I’m pretty shit at masking it.

I turn on the water, and I scrub more aggressively than I need to, scrape off the worst of the filth, the stains I can’t even see, sitting under my nails, and far beneath my skin.

I get out after an hour. Ma’s all the more worried about me. I can see it written on her far too sweet and far too caring, frown-lined face. She’s made eggs, but no way I can stomach those, not now. I head straight to my bedroom, and I’m not lying to her or just making up excuses; I really am wiped, and I seriously need to sleep. I gotta be up by three after all. Alessia’s graduation party is happening downtown. I’m expected to chat with the boss, get his full approval and blessing… Then I’m supposed to propose.

I doubt my conscience will let me just kneel and smile and do that. I’m going to have a fucking public breakdown unless I head to confession first, see if there is any hope of straightening out this sick tangle of feelings I got stirring in my gut.

Even the thought of speaking with Father Sicillio again though, confessing what I did… It’s causing me all the more panic.