Page 34 of Rotten Men

“No one will harm you as long as I’m near you, Red. Not in this life, and I doubt in the next,” I cajole, taking her hands in mine, bringing her back up to her feet.

“I’ll take you to the back door that leads you to the alley behind the club. Or, if you want, you can stay here until we’re both gone.”

“I want to leave now,” she stutters, so unlike the strong woman I know she’s become.

“I know you’re frightened, babe, that your father might get wind of you being here. But I promise I won’t let him touch you.”

Her eyes slant my way, with new determination and strength in their green depths.

“There are far more dangerous men thanThe Butcher, Dominic.”

I agree—me being one of them.

If anyone even thinks of hurting the woman I love, they’ll rue the day they ever crossed me.

Thirteen

Selene

I hang up the phone, and my fabricated smile falls from my face, as do the silent tears that accompany it. I’ve never been gone this long, and the distance is slowly eating away at me. I’ve done many things in my life that have caused me pain, but being back here—facing the misery I spawned—while simultaneously being away from home, is clawing at my brittle heart.

I need to get back, but until I get what I came for, my hands are tied. Just another penance I need to see through, while I wither away from the endeavor. I feel as if my whole life is a combination of sacrifices and calamities, with only a few stolen moments of joy to keep me going.

When will I ever be at peace?

When will I wake up from an endless black night and see the sun again?

They say home is where the heart is. But what happens when your heart has been split into so many tiny fragments, that ensuring its survival seems almost redundant?

With him at my side, at least I’m blessed with one loving soul to dote on. I can pour into him all the love I have inside, knowing it will never convey how much he means to me. He is my whole world, and I would go to the ends of the earth to guarantee his safety and happiness. I just have to keep this in mind and maintain my resolve. I’m doing this as much for him as it is to placate my desire to repair an unjust wrong.

But being back in Chicago and seeing Vincent, Dominic, and Giovanni again feels like a cruel punishment I must overcome. Just being in the same room with any one of them, witnessing with my own eyes what my disappearance has done, is crippling.

Even though Dominic—behind his brute, hard exterior—still holds that same sweetness I fell in love with, I know his hands are far too tainted with the blood of the Outfit’s enemies. He lives out his days on autopilot; an obedient machine to do thefamiglia’sbidding without thought of how he loses a bit more of his tender heart with each life he so apathetically takes. The grim stains on his calloused hands become harder to wash off, and I wonder if he even realizes it anymore, how he dies just a little with each new kill. My childhood protector has become a nightmare to behold.

Then there is Giovanni—a boy who loathed the life he was born into just as much as I did. Yet now he is the brains behind every deal, every syndicate accomplishment, and every crimson-soaked dollar they make. His logic and know-how have obscured any compassion or leniency he was so quick to give as a child. The boy who wept in my arms the day he took his first life, has grown into a ruthless man who doesn’t bat an eye at sending someone to an early grave. My best friend, my confidant, and my accomplice in all things has lost his cocky lust for life and turned into a fearsome mastermind.

If my heart didn’t hurt already with these revelations, then one look at Vincent would be the final nail in my guilt-ridden coffin.

Vincent—the lost boy I so desperately wanted to save and condemned wholeheartedly instead. His arsenic tone and regal, frozen form is nothing but a carefully placed mask to hide the poison running through his veins. I’ve worn masks all my life, enough to recognize one in my presence. Both Vincent and I were masters at it, but before, his disguise was placed to protect those he cherished; now it’s to conceal that there is nothing to merit such a sentiment. His mask hides the fact he’s become hollow—just an empty vessel pretending to still have a heartbeat when there is nothing at all left to give him life.

All that exists now is hate.

Hate for himself.

Hate for the living and the dead.

Hate for his life.

And of course, hate for me—the catalyst of his downfall.

They have become the judge, the jury, and the executioner of the Outfit, and I doubt there was ever a threesome quite so haunting in the history of mafia empires. Even rivaling theCosa Nostra’slegendary cutthroat trio—’Lucky’ Luciano, Meyer Lansky, and ‘Bugsy’ Siegel. Those notorious gangsters have nothing on my rotten men.

Wasn’t it inevitable that they would become these cruel, vindictive men? That fate was already clearly designed this way, foretelling us all what role we were destined to perform, including my own?

When I left, they all lost their anchor and their compass of morality. Yet they managed to hold on to their bond with each other, fiercely enough not to lose their souls completely—a small mercy, considering that they were all just as broken and flawed as I was.

They are at least alive, even if they’re not a hundred percent whole. That was the point of me leaving, wasn’t it? But if I truly believe that, then why am I conflicted with so much agonizing guilt?

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