Page 12 of Darkness and Duress

My spine stiffened. No fuck ups? The insult was a direct blow. We both knew I did time because of a dirty fucking cop and not because I'd fucked up. I did a lot of time, all things considered. Four fucking years of my life, gone. Four years and then some, because I definitely wasn't the same man I was before I got tossed in a cell. I resented his tone. I resented what he implied. I resented the fact that for four fucking years, I was left to languish alone without any contact with my family. Logically, I knew why. It made sense on paper—the distance between us while I served out my sentence kept them safe. But damn, did it hurt. It hurt more than I could explain.

I scowled and scratched at my jaw, turning my eyes toward the glittering galaxy of sunlight reflecting off hundreds of thousands of windows in the distance. What a fucking joke.

“Here are the names for the contacts we’ve been sent so far.” He pushed another one of his stupid fucking index cards across the desk. “I need you to make the initial connections in the next day or so. We're expecting our first shipment this week, as you heard.”

“Yeah, fine.” I collected the card with a sigh. “Shipment of…?”

It could be anything. Car parts. Weed. Coke. Money.

“Firearms from overseas.”

I nearly choked on my tongue. That was the last thing I expected him to say. “Arms dealing? Are you fucking with me?”

“No, I'm not one to fuck around, Marco. It's time we diversified. I didn't think you'd be keen to sling dope and fentanyl is too much of a risk. But the arms deals will set you up nicely.” He waved a hand toward the door. “I have calls to make—”

“Buying or selling,” I cut in with a growl.

“Both. We’re starting small to test the waters. I have some contacts in Russia for larger deals.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I flew from the chair and paced toward the window and back. “This isn't what I agreed—”

“You agreed to whatever I said and you’ll continue to agree. Yes, this will all be yours one day, and you can do what you will with it, but right now, I am in charge, and this is the direction we're taking!” His voice rose to match mine, shaky with anger and frustration.

“Fuck you! You give me a fucking joke of a crew and expect me to start a fucking arms dealing ring all because you said so? Fuck you!”

“That’s enough, Marco! Get the fucking job done or else!” The stress in his body was visible as he bellowed at me. Tightness around his eyes, a tremble in his hands, the tension in his shoulders. My father was at the end of his rope and the directresult was my ass on the line to make his life easier. I shook my head in disgust and turned on my heel. He had me by the balls. It was either in or out, and the latter option was too depressing to consider. Of course I'd get the job done. I'd probably end up dead in the process, but he evidently didn't care about that. Frankly, neither did I.

My mom’s voice called out my name as my shoes clicked over the floor of the foyer. I hesitated and glanced toward the kitchen door to find her peering around the frame. Fists clenched and jaw tight, I shook my head and mouthed a silent apology. I didn't have it in me. I was already hurting, already resentful, already on edge. I didn't think I could handle any more guilt, intentional or not.

“Marco? Baby, please—”

“Not today, Mom.” My voice cracked under the pressure. “Please?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded nevertheless. Remorse colored her features and made her look far older than I'd ever seen. Another shot straight to the heart. I clenched and unclenched my fists before turning to continue my escape. If I didn't burn off some steam, I was liable to lay someone out in a fit of rage. Or crawl back into bed and never leave. Both options sounded exceptionally tempting, so I knew I had to do something to counteract it.

In a daze, I found myself back at my apartment only long enough to change into workout clothes and grab a bottle of water. The fog followed me all the way to the gym in the building. I wanted so desperately for it to be empty, but there was no luck for me in that respect. Of all the people I didn't want to deal with right now, my brother was high on the list. To my chagrin, he was parked right on the weight bench. I groaned out loud.

“Nice to see you too, ass.”

“Please, not today,” I muttered, detouring to the treadmill instead of the weights.

“Damn, who pissed in your fucking cereal this morning?” Gianluca racked the free weight and strolled over with a smirk. “I still got Twinkerbelle’s—”

“Gianluca, I can't do this with you right now!” My voice came out far louder and more strained than I intended, echoing around the cavernous room before silence swept in to swallow even the smallest sound.

“Marc,” Gianluca murmured softly, his hand reaching out to clasp the nape of my neck. “Hey… I'm sorry. Shit, man. What's going on?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I closed my eyes and briefly let myself absorb the rare moment of quiet between us.

“Fuck that, I always worry. Talk to me, bro.” Gianluca pulled me away from the treadmill and forced my ass onto the bench. “Please?”

My elbows landed on my knees and my head landed in my hands. “Your so called friends are fucking animals. I hate them all. I hate what Henny did to you, I hate what they do to Henny. I hate the new direction Pops wants to take the business. I hate the work, I hate myself, I hate all of it, and no one gives a fuck.”

“Whoa, shit…” Gianluca crouched down in front of me and angled his face to try and make eye contact. “That’s… a lot to unpack.”

Despite myself, I huffed out a small laugh. “Surprise, my life's a fucking shit show.”

“Walk me through it.” Gianluca repositioned himself to sit cross legged in front of me. He drummed out a senseless, patternless rhythm on his knees, but otherwise remained surprisingly still. It was a remarkable improvement to his typical hyperactivity.

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