RafaelI feel a lot better after the transfusion. Ethel was right, I definitely needed it. And so was Madeleine when she told me I had to get proper medical care.But neither of them will ever hear the truth from my lips.The pain is still ever-present. Betsy's kick to my gut did more damage than I thought was possilbe - a little girl like her shouldn't be able to put a grown man out of commission. Part of it is my own, stupid fucking fault. I shouldn’t have picked her up mid-tantrum. Not in my current state anyway.At some point, as I drift in and out of consciousness, Madeleine gest up and leaves the room with Ethel. It’s just me and my thoughts. I try to conjure the image of Sister Francis. The quiet, pretty, understanding girl with her gentle eyes, but she’s gone. Everytime I try to recall her, I see a blank face surrounded by the grey habit of their order.Or Sister Francis melts away, and is replaced by Madeleine.I feel as if I went through a wormhole to an alternate reality
RafaelMadeleine keeps the nightmares away. Her presence alone is enough. She doesn’t need to hold me, or whisper comforts in my ear. Just knowing that she’s next to me helps.I drift off to sleep and don't wake again until the sun lights up the room, and the sound of chirping birds pierces the through my dreams.For the first time in weeks, I feel rested. Refreshed. Still in pain, but I am almost my old self again. I should be able to make it through the cookout okay. I will not be drinking and laughing along with the rest of them, but I will be able to grin and bear it.Frankie can take the children out on the boat. It’s usually my job, something I always enjoy, but I have a feeling my stomach won’t thank me if I take it out on the choppy lake today.“Morning,” Madeleine chirps and comes walking out of the bathroom with wet hair and only a towel wrapped around herself.My heart jumps into my throat, and my body reacts in a surprisingly violent way. If I could move at my regular sp
MadeleineThe woman with the big hair throws herself in Rafael’s embrace. I let him go and stand back, watching on as he awkwardly hugs her with one arm. “Raffie,” she exclaims and stands back, then grabs his face between her hands. “Let me look at you. Are you eating enough? Sleeping. You look sick.”Rafael sighs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn't push her away. "I'm fine," he answers and gently pulls her hands from his face.She looks like the grown up version of the girl in the portrait - only with bigger hair and a lot more make-up. I just assume she’s his sister.Out of nowhere, she punches Rafael in the arm. “You don’t call, you don’t write. I should strangle you.”“I'm sorry Angelica,” Rafael says, almost indulgently, and rubs his arm, shutting her out at the same time. “I've been a little busy." He looks around the lawn at the people milling about. "Where is David this time?”“Oh, who knows?” she answers, completely unbothered.“And the kids?”“With Uncle Frankie. You know how
MadeleineThe men and women split into two groups. The guys congregate around the grill or the coolerboxes filled with beer. The women gather at their tables, in the kitchen to make salads, butter rolls, or to pour ice tea into pitchers.Rafael has a whole staff in the house, but none of them are here today, and I think it's some kind of traditional thing for the women to hang out in the kitchen. The places is crowded, the women are loud, and all of them are complaining about their husbands or children. I find it strange and endearing at the same time.“You’re quiet,” Angelica says as she dumps a container of mayonnaise over some potatoes.“I’m listening,” I answer her.“Oh honey,” one of the women, I think it’s Clara, snort-laughs at me. “You cain’t afford to be quiet. You’re Rafael's wife.”“Fiancèe,” I correct her.“Potato, poe-tah-toe,” she replies. “It’s the same difference to us. You live together as man and wife, you are man and wife.”I blush at the thinly veiled insinuation,
RafaelFor the first time since the night of the stabbing, Enzo shows up and actually looks surprised to see me out and about, acting as if nothing had happened.I can feel it though. Every passing minute is nothing short of torture, and it's getting progressively worse. “Look who finally decided ta show up,” Paulie says and shoots a nasty glance Enzo’s way.I haven’t spoken to Salvatore yet. I wanted to wait a few more days until I could formulate my thoughts better Right now, all my decisions are driven by pain and rage - and when you feel like that, it's not a good time to make life or death decisions.“Yeah,” Enzo says and holds the present in his hands out to me. “Sorry I’m late, Boss. I had some business.”I glare at my lieutenant, and completely ignore his apology. “You can put your gift on the table over there,” I say and point to a table that’s piled high with colourfully wrapped presents.Enzo looks taken aback at first, but then he nods and heads over to the table.“That p
RafaelEnzo comes sauntering over to our table. We've been drinking and joking around for a while now, and he kept himself seperate from us on purpose. That, in itself, is the height of disrespect - not just for me, but also my captains.The old guys have slipped into ‘nostalgia mode,’ as I call it, and they’re talking about the good old days. When they get tipsy, they get weepy about how things used to be easier and different. I doubt it was any easier than it is now, they just forgot the uncertainty, the fear of not knowing when an enemy would come up to you and pull the trigger.During a war, safety isn't guaranteed. Death is. In our line of work, your life is always on the line no matter what, but when there's a war the risk increases ten-fold.Not that anyone would ever admit that they were scared. Everyone’s a hero in their own minds - and so are all the men who died during that time.Everyone falls quiet when Enzo pulls a chair over and takes a seat at the table. He wasn’t par
RafaelThe pops of the nine mil are followed by the unmistakable ra-ta-ta of rifle fire.My stomach clenches.For a moment, I’m frozen in fear.Then it lets go, and I start to move without consciously thinking about it.I yank my nightstand open and take out two pistols, shoving fully loaded clips into the elastic of my pajama bottoms as I go over to the wardrobe to grab a t-shirt and a holster containing two more guns.I yank the t-shirt over my head, and slip my arms through the holster, then leave my room.Time feels like it’s standing still and speeding up at the same time. It took me no more than three minutes to get everything I need, and in all that time, the gunfire never ceased.I walk straight into Madeleine who is standing outside my room, hand outstretch as if she was busy reaching for the door handle. She’s pale. Her eyes wide with fear. “What’s going on?” she asks urgently.“I don’t know. Take this.” I hold one of the pistols out to her. She takes the gun without any pro
MadeleineAll I can think about, is that at least Betsy didn’t wake during the gunfight. With Ethel’s help, we moved her to the floor, and my sister just kept on sleeping, while I sat in front of the door, gun out, ready to shoot anyone who came inside. Luckily Paulie called out before he opened the door, or I would have pumped him full of bullets.And all that time, Besty didn’t even open her eyes.A whole day out on the lake, running, and playing really tapped her out. I hope she stays asleep until the mess has been cleaned up.As I look around at the devastation surrounding us, I’m quietly grateful that my sister slept through the whole thing. How the hell are you supposed to explain a lawn full of dead people to a child?It occurs me that I should be outraged right now. Falling to my knees and praying for the dead men. But I'm not. Maybe I’m in shock, because I feel nothing. I stare straight into a dead man’s half open eyes, and I’m just… numb. I’m sure the full devastation of
RafaelWe leave the little cafe an hour later. I'm carrying a bag with our leftovers. Madeleine ate well, but in the end the large portion defeated her and she had to give up with more than half the food still on her plate.I should be out there looking for Sforza, but I'm sure Frankie has it under control. I’m getting antsy and restless though. It’s the same feeling I get when the calm that settles over the lake, and everything goes still just before the storm breaks loose and comes roaring across the water.Madeleine stops abruptly outside a boutique window and looks at the dresses on display. It’s much more revealing than the one she’s wearing, with plunging necklines, and high hems.I bought her clothes. Years ago, when I prepared the room for her. I bought them with a nun in mind.She is not that girl, that woman, anymore.I put my arm around her waist and look at the selection. The white dress she’s staring at has a high neckline, but a very short skirt. It’s pretty, and I want
RafaelI can’t remember the last time I walked through the city without having someone around to watch my back. Even after the war ended, I always had someone with me - just in case. Not just because the smaller families still held a grudge, but because I damn well knew I pissed Matteo off every time I emptied one of his containers.It's liberating. Glorious. To walk in the sunshine with Madeleine by my side. I've forgotten how good it feels to be free.I glance at Maddie who is simply radiant. She didn’t even look this healthy back in the convent, where I’m sure she had a decent enough life, if not a good one.The little cafe, tucked away between two boutiques at the bottom of the street, is one of my favourite places. It’s small, with only five tables and two booths. The little restaurant is quiet, the food is good, and the owner doesn’t feel the need for constant validation like English does.We step into a place that looks a little like every grandmother’s living room. Not a sing
MadeleineI wake up glowing. Like a firefly that didn’t know its light was missing and finally found it again. It's exhilirating. I finally did it. I managed to move on from Sister Francis.I ache in all the right places, and I feel alive in ways I didn’t know was possible. And rested. As if I slept for a week.I stretch and look at the place where Rafael should be, but his spot is empty. The balcony doors are wide open though, and I can smell the scent of smoke drifting in from outside.I’m embarrassed to face him. I don’t know why. It’s stupid. I’m a grown woman, but he always saw me as something… untouchable. What if he doesn't see me the same way he used to? What if he looks at me the same way he looked at the hookers in the casino?All the men in that place regarded me that way, and it didn’t bother me. They didn't matter, and I knew who I truly was. Still am. But if Rafael looks at me like that, I don’t think I’ll make it. I laid myself bare to him last night. In every sense of
RafaelI am drunk on pure Madeleine. Her scent. Her taste. The way she so easily opens up to me. Trusting me not to hurt her. Trusting that she can be herself with me.It’s intoxicating. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before in my life.Moaning softly, I dip my tongue inside her, drowning in her.I’m so hard, so in need of her, that I’m afraid I’ll burst wide open. Like a fucking geyser.I didn’t lie when I told her that I haven’t had sex in a while. It’s been years.I want to rush. Every part of me wants to be inside her.But Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if life isn’t pretty fucking magnificent right where I am at the moment. Between her legs, drinking her in like a dying man who found an oasis in the desert.Slowly, I start to open her, working a finger inside her. Even that is glorious. She is glorious.It happens fast and suddenly. The orgasm that takes her is intense. She breaks open for me like a blooming flower meeting the sun.That is what I wanted. Feeling her throb around my finger.
MadeleineRafael crushes out his cigarette and sips his drink. He brought up a glass of wine for me, but I hardly touched it. After what happened at the casino, I have a deep distrust for any kind of wine.“What time is it?” I ask.He glances at his watch. “Wow. Almost nine.”I jump up. “I missed Betsy’s bedtime. I promised her that I’d tuck her in.”“No,” he says and puts his glass down. “Your face is swollen. She’ll notice that you cried. I’ll do it. Why don’t you go take a nice, long bath and relax?”I shake my head. “I don’t… no, I don’t want to be alone.”He just nods. “Okay. I’ll be quick.”“Promise?”He leans over and kisses me. He tastes and smells like cigarettes and whiskey. I wrinkle my nose, and he laughs. “I also promise to brush my teeth.”While he is gone, I go to the bathroom. He’s right, my face is very swollen, my eyes red. I am exhausted. Mentally, I’m just done.I wash my face, brush my hair and teeth, and go back to the bedroom just as Rafael returns. Without a wo
MadeleineHe holds me like I’m a piece of broken porcelain he has to glue back together. Like I’ll come apart if he lets me go.But I’ve already come undone. In that laundry room this morning while I watched the horrors of last night flash before my eyes. Last night - sometime between that moment when Rafael gave me the gun, and when I dropped it in the lake with the rest of the weapons, standing shoulder to shoulder with some of the deadliest, most violent people on the planet.And yet... I think it happened even sooner than that. Perhaps it began when my father handed me a deck of cards for the first time and showed me how to shuffle it.I came to Rafael broken. He met me after I was already in pieces, held together with invisible tape and glue until somebody dropped me.And it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Rafael. Not him.It was them. When they died. My parents. They let go as they always did, and I shattered to pieces.Again.And everytime that happened, it became harder and harder to p
RafaelI take the stairs slowly, one hand brushing the glass rail. Each step feels like I’m climbing toward the inevitable - toward the part where she looks me in the eye and tells me she can’t do this.I wouldn’t blame her. Not anymore. I wanted to lock her up in a cage. Like I locked the image of Sister Francis in my heart. I wanted to use her for my own selfish reasons. And for a while there, I thought I could do it without corrupting her.I wanted to use Madeleine like I used that fantasy of who she was. A port in my stormy seas. A place where I could pretend that I’m something I’m not. Something I so desperately wanted to be.It will never happen. None of it. I am who I am. She is who she is. Kind, sweet, and gentle. And I’m stripping that away from her, one piece at a time until there'll be nothing but a shell left.The hallway is silent. No cartoons. No giggles. Just the low hum of the city filtering through the double-glazed windows. This is my life. Me. Alone. Drifting thro
RafaelOn my way home, I swing by the hospital to check in on Paulie and to give him a basket of mini muffins. It’s one of his guilty pleasures and a bizarre quirk I could never figure out. All I know is that he loves those things.There's no need for business now, although he probably knows everything already. "How's Vinnie?" he asks and tears into the basket of muffins."Fine. They discharged him this afternoon."I still for a while longer, eager to leave but aware enough to know that if I don't, Paulie will take offence. As soon as Cara shows up, I get up and say my goodbyes.Then I stop at a grocery store to stock up on some supplies for the penthouse. I buy a ridiculous amount of snacks, juices, flavoured milks, cereal, colouring books, and other things I think Betsy will like. I stroll down the other isles, loading my cart with more food than we’ll need. I stop in front of the condom rack, staring at the colourful boxes and variety of prophylactics on display. For a moment, I
RafaelI step out onto the narrow terrace of the strip club, one hand curled around the burner phone, the other around my Zippo. I only smoke when I’m stressed, and I haven’t been this stressed in months.I light the cigarette and lean on the railing, looking out over the city stretches into the horizon - glass towers and concrete for miles around. It smells of despair and broken dreams while everyone who lives here pretends to be something they’re not. Just like me.I dial the number manually. No names saved. No records.It rings once. Twice. Then, “Whose this?” Salvatore answers. No hello. No pleasantries. Just those two simple words - like a curse or a challenge.“Andoletti.”“Ah.” He doesn’t sound surprised. Salvatore’s accent is thick, but his English is perfect. “Yes. I have been waiting for your call.”“You have a problem,” I say.Silence. He knows already, he’s just waiting for me to confirm it.“Enzo,” I go on. “He gave the signal to Sforza and Romano. They hit my house. At