“So why are you still living with Anthony if this house is yours. I mean it’s yours right? There’s no one else’s it could be.” She rambles on forcing me to take her by the shoulders and turn her around so she actually walks inside the house.
After Jimmy gave me the keys to the house I took a stroll down memory lane and walked through the house, it was funny how it looked just as I remembered it even though Aunt Gina and Nana had lived there for a few years. It was outdated and needed some work so I busied myself over the last few months taking out the old features and replacing it with the ones that Nikki had described to me that she’d one day want in her dream house.
I had promised her one day I’d build her the house of her dreams I may have taken the easy way out by not building it from the ground up but every detail in this house was one out of her dreams. I had stripped the place and made it look like something brand new. I’d always look at the front of this house and think of my parents, but when I walked inside, I’d welcome the new memories this home would hold the memories Nikki and me would make together. Well, that’s if she said yes.
“Oh my God, Mikey!’ She exclaimed, walking through the house in awe of my work. “Did you do all of this?”
I stuck my hands in my pockets and shrugged my shoulders. “Yeah do you like it?” I asked, hoping that it was everything she ever dreamed of.
We walked into the open kitchen and I watched as she ran her fingers over the granite countertop.
“It’s beautiful.” She whispered lifting her head as her eyes met mine. “It’s just like the house I pictured in my head.”
“Yeah?” I walked around the counter caging her against it with both my arms. I leaned down and nuzzled her neck for a moment before leaning my forehead to hers. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Oh yeah?” She asked, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Why is that?”
“Because I want this to be home, but it can’t be unless you share it with me.” I say huskily my eyes darting down to her mouth briefly before lifting to meet her eyes again. “Move in with me Princess.” My words don’t come out like a question but more like a demand as my hands moved to her hips. In one swift move, I lift her onto the counter top and position myself between her legs. “What do you say? You and me forever?”
“Forever and ever.” She says, wrapping her legs around my waist. I don’t give her a chance to say anything else as my mouth slams onto hers sealing our promise to share forever with one another.
Dear Vic,
I don’t know why I’m writing this letter to you, it's probably because this shit with Rogers scares the living daylights out of me. It was different when we were first starting out, less responsibility I suppose. We were just two guys from Brooklyn who wanted to be successful, we wanted to rise above what people thought we were. People in the neighborhood didn't think we’d amount to much hell our own folks didn't either. Maybe we should've listened to our mothers when they said take all the city tests at least we would’ve been able to retire with a pension. There is no retirement plan for us. We’re in too deep the only way out is in a box or in cuffs and I'm really not sure which is worse.
We are in the middle of a war and it would be a goddamn miracle if we both came out of this shit alive. When honest soldiers that defend our country go to war, they get medals and all sorts of honors when they become a casualty. Not us, we get a headline in the newspaper calling us thugs. So why did we do it? Why did we choose this lifestyle over all the honorable ones we could’ve had?
We were greedy, that's why and in some circumstances lazy too. It was always easy to turn a quick hundred bucks into a thousand without having to punch a clock. It was no sweat off our backs to throw on a ski mask and rob a truck full of electronics to sell on the streets. Those were the days. The days when we would blow up the whole neighborhood on the Fourth of July and the cops would help us instead of looking to arrest us. The days our kids looked up to us as if we were heroes and not the criminals we are.