Page 152 of The Enforcer
High as hell, but conscious enough to hear Nova puking his guts up.
Tino didn’t know how long he’d been down there, and he really wished the don could set up something a little more wiseguy-friendly than a basement.
What mafioso liked a fucking basement?
Tino in particular had a rabid hatred for them, and as usual, no one stopped to think about this shit. So there he was, high as fuck, but not nearly high enough to be in a goddamn basement again, with Nova throwing up like he was ripping his soul out in the bathroom. The sound echoed off the cement loud enough to wake Tino up despite the no-sleep, bullet-hole-in-his-thigh, fever, infection, dehydrated, back-torn-up, and dislocated-shoulder issues.
“He’s been looking for Tino for three long fucking days,” Carlo’s hushed voice whispered in Italian. “He’s just exhausted. It’s the stress. He wanted to come pick you up, but he sent me because he didn’t want to leave Tino. Now you’re here. Tino’s safe. He’s crashing.”
Tino knew it was Carlo even in his hazed state, because Carlo’s Italian was more Sicilian leaning, instead of traditional Italian like Tino’s mother had taught him to speak it. Tino didn’t like to think about it, but though his mother’s parents were full Sicilian, they’d moved to New York from Northern Italy, and their Italian was more conventional because of it. He didn’t know his grandparents, but he pictured them as snobby Sicilians who were trying to forget where they came from and kicked their only daughter out when she got knocked up with Romeo, rather than shame the family. How very northern of them, even if their coloring said something different, but Carlo was Sicilian through and through, and his Italian was always a little faster, a little edgier, a little more filled with the slang of their people.
Tino was used to it.
Nova could mimic it exactly, and usually did when he was with Carlo.
But the person he was talking to said, “Che cosa?”
Tino tilted his head, blinking past the lights that were far too bright for a fucking basement, and frowned at what he saw.
Romeo was sitting there, deep lines of concern etched on his forehead as he stared in the direction of the bathroom. Tino visited him all the time in prison, but right then his oldest brother looked so much bigger than the Romeo who went away all those years ago, meaner, more cut, as if the pen had drained out any softness in him and left this huge, angry man in its wake.
Tino thought maybe it was a hallucination. He was good at nothing if not using his imagination to survive, but Romeo looked very real and on the verge of losing his lunch like Nova, so Tino told him, “He puked when you got arrested too. Forget about it. It’s what he does.”
“Ehi.” Romeo turned his full attention to Tino. He ran one big hand through Tino’s hair that still felt dirty and sticky from Tino being held too fucking long by the Savios. “How are you feeling?”
Tino raised his eyebrows at that, giving his brother a smile that probably looked stupid as hell.
“Okay, I get it. Dumb question.” Romeo nodded, still speaking Italian the way their mother spoke it, making Tino realize he and Nova had picked up that zip slang from the don and Carlo too. “What the hell happened? Who fucked you up like this? I want to hear it from you. Not Nova. Not this motherfucker.You.”
“I told you,” Carlo cut in, sounding calm, but he squeezed Tino’s other hand as he said it. “Another family got him. A Savio caught Tino in bed with his wife. These Mustache Petes. They’ll start a war over this shit. How fucking old-school is that? I couldn’t make this shit up.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Romeo growled and pointed at Carlo over Tino’s bed. “I know what you are. I know who you are, and what you’re telling me means jackshit because I don’t believe a fucking word you say. I told you that in the car, and I’m telling you now.”
“Yeah, what am I?” Carlo held out his hands, like he couldn’t resist. “Tell me what I am, big man.”
“You think I’m scared of you?” Romeo asked him in English, his voice dark and dangerous in a way Tino had never heard it before. “After I’ve been in the fucking pen all this time. You wanna intimidate me? I dare you to try it. You motherfuckers have bled me dry, and the next time one of yous hits me, I’m hitting back.”
“Look, man, I’m not starting anything. You got the wrong Moretti for all this anger. I didn’t do this. I didn’t put your brothers in this family.” Carlo held up his palms in surrender that was unusual for him. “But I’d take a fucking bullet for Tino. I’d take one for Nova too. So we’re cool. You’re their brother. That means you’re my fucking brother too, even if you don’t want me to be. That’s how it works.”
“You’re not my brother, and if I ever hear you say it again, I’ll lay you out,” Romeo snarled at Carlo and then turned back to Tino. “Tell me what happened, Valentino. Have you been doing the dirty work for them? Has this motherfucker been making you do the dirty work with him?”
Carlo dug his fingers into Tino’s arm.
Tino was high, but he got the message.
So he said, “You got a haircut.”
“What?” Romeo frowned down at him.
“Your hair.” Tino pointed at it. “You cut it.”
“He’s stoned,” Carlo said with a laugh. “The doctor pumped him full of morphine when they dug the bullet out. Nova told me he had to hold him down. That’s probably why he’s puking now. He said it was bad.”
“Yeah, I cut my hair before I got out. Cleaned myself up,” Romeo whispered, obviously deciding to ignore Carlo as he looked back to the bathroom when Nova threw up again. “I didn’t know I was going to end up in a Moretti basement my first night out.”
“Basements suck,” Tino agreed.
“You look like merda.” Romeo caressed Tino’s hair again, even if he was obviously still so pissed off he was shaking. “I’m sorry they hurt you, piccolo. So sorry. Whatever you did, you didn’t deserve this.”
