But Serena would’ve been in danger, with or without me. At least now, I’ll have the power and authority to keep her safe. And once I kill Lorenzo…
“No,” the consigliere says, putting out a hand, shaking me from my thoughts. He must have anticipated my reaction. “This is a sign of trust, Bruno. I’m giving you more control over something that’s very close to the heart all this violence.”
“In other words, it’s you that Lorenzo’s got a beef with,” says Jackie. “And you’re one of us. If he wants a war, it’s you he’ll come after first. We’re giving you the means to defend yourself.”
“So we let them come to me,” I say, and the men nod in agreement.
“I’ll send you a list of the men who’ll be under your command,” says Jackie. “They’ll be headed your way ASAP, because the Cleaners aren’t gonna wait around long before they try to strike again.”
“Good,” I say. Not because I’m proud of the responsibility—I don’t forget for a second that these mobsters are only interested in covering their own asses through me. “There are two alleys that run through that block that’ll be to our advantage, and there’s an office building on the opposite corner that will be useful for keeping an eye on the area. I’ll give the men the rundown personally.”
“You’ve got promise, Bruno,” says Jackie, nodding at me. “That’s good. Show your men you’re in control, and don’t let ‘em see weakness.”
I crack a smile. “How could they see something that isn’t there?’
Hours later, I’m back out to the only place I care to be—with Serena.
We’re in Belmont, another little Italian corner of the Bronx. It’s a nice little place, perfect for a peaceful moment away from everything else that’s been going on.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Serena says as we walk down the sidewalk, glancing up and down at my body. I’ve got a slight limp, but with each step I get better at hiding it.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say, “you’ll know when I’m feeling it. This is nothing.”
“I can’t not worry about you,” she says with a smile, and I squeeze her hand.
She’s wearing a sundress and a wide-brimmed hat today, and compared to me in my rough leather jacket and t-shirt, I feel like the bodyguard to some celebrity. I might as well be. Every time I glance over at Serena, it’s like looking at someone out of a movie or a fairy tale.
Colorful streamers are strung up between buildings over the street, and the red brick buildings look warm in the afternoon sun as we stroll down the sidewalk. Serena keeps smiling, and I have a hard time tearing my eyes off her. She catches me once or twice and blushes, and the third time, she bumps her hip into mine and says “Quit it!” as we laugh.
After a moment, she looks over at me with those warm eyes glittering in the sun. “It feels weird to have a breather with everything that’s going on.”
“Weird?”
“Nice-weird,” she says, and I take a hold of her hand as we turn into a fresh produce store.
It’s a quiet little place with a few fans lazily running overhead, and there’s that familiar scent all produce stores seem to have. A few flies are buzzing around the place, and the floors are just plain brown concrete. It’s nothing fancy, but we’re not looking for anything fancy today. Just a little time together.
“This is probably the most Italian place in the neighborhood,” I say, looking around the place with raised eyebrows.
“Oh yeah?”
“All it’s missing is a few people smoking outside,” I say with a smile, and she giggles as we start to look around at some of the assorted stuff.
“You know, you don’t talk about it very much, come to think of it.”
“Italy?”
She nods her head as we pick out a couple of apples to eat on the way out. I pay for the food and look pensively up at the little Italian flag hanging from the window of one of the shops. “No, I guess I don’t. It’s a complicated place, where I’m from.”
“Where is it?”
“Taranto,” I say, a faint smile crossing my face. Taranto brings up a lot of mixed feelings. It’s a far cry from the picture of Italy most Americans think about.
“That sounds familiar,” she says thoughtfully.
“Probably because it sounds like Toronto,” I say playfully, and she slaps me on the shoulder. “Don’t laugh, that’s where most people thought I was from when I first got here.”
“Seriously, though.”
“Seriously, okay,” I say, looking up at the sky, trying to think of the best way to describe my hometown as I can. We’re soon strolling through a park in the Bronx, but my memories take me back nearly ten years.
“It’s in the far south. If you think of Italy like a boot, it’s on the heel, facing the gulf. The land is very sunny. It’s like the whole place is bathed in gold sometimes, and we don’t get winters as harsh as the rest of the country up north. Taranto itself is very old. It was a Greek settlement, a long time ago.”
“Woah,” Serena says, raising her eyebrows. “The house I grew up in was built in the forties, and I thought that was old.”
“All the buildings are sun-baked, for the most part. Imagine if you turned gold into stone, they’d look kind of like that. Only not as pristine. There’s a lot of black soot on everything because of the factory nearby.”
“Sounds romantic,” she says with playful sarcasm.
“It’s an acquired taste,” I say with a chuckle. “The old town looks a something like the Little Italy up in Manhattan. Lots of clustered apartments, clothes lines strung up over narrow alleyways that motorini—er, scooters—zip down, big churches here and there...and the old military fort looms over everything on the water. Something about the palm trees and shining sea puts you at peace, though. It’s hard to describe if you haven’t seen it.”
Serena is quiet for a moment before saying, “And you’re from the old town?”
“No,” I say, tossing the cores of our now-eaten apples into a trash can as our shoes click on the paved walkways. “My family lives a little ways out of the city. In the country. It looks like…” I frown, trying to draw a comparison. “Have you ever seen those old Western movies?”
Serena blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Wait, what?”
“No, seriously,” I say. “They filmed some of those down in southern Italy. It’s like a desert, but...more trees,” I say, realizing I’ve never been to an American desert to compare to. I shake my head, laughing at myself. “My dad used to take me on drives around some of the villages in the area. They’re really beautiful. They use a lot of smooth white stone that never goes dark like the ones in Taranto do. And some of them are up on mountains where you can see for miles in any direction.”
“Wow,” she says softly.