Target on Our Backs

  He hesitates, glancing between Melody and me, his eyes never greeting Naz. "Wherever you want to eat, love."

  "I know a place," Naz says, getting to his feet. He stands right in front of Leo, a mere few feet between them. He casually fixes his tie, eyes right on the boy, not once looking away. Leo still doesn't look at him, but it's obvious he notices, with the way he fidgets, pulling Melody closer, trying to look unflustered, but man… he's a mess.

  Naz says I'm not intuitive, that I'm terrible at reading people, and it's obvious to even me that Leo is uncomfortable around my husband.

  "The deli?" I ask, hopeful. I haven't seen Giuseppe since the incident. I miss the guy. Would be nice to see him again.

  Naz laughs. "No, the pizzeria in Brooklyn."

  "Oh, uh…" I look to Melody for her reaction, knowing we ate there before with Paul, but she merely shrugs, like that doesn't bother her at all.

  "Sounds great to me," she says, looking to Leo for his reaction, but he says nothing. No objections. No confirmations. Nothing.

  "Wonderful," Naz says, reaching into his pocket for his keys. "I'll drive."

  I see it then, the panic in Leo's eyes. The color drains from his face as he quickly shakes his head, locked in place, tugging Melody's hand to stop her when she tries to walk away. "We'll just meet you guys there."

  Naz raises his eyebrows. "Nonsense, my car's right over there."

  "Yeah, but, you know…" Leo stammers, like he's searching for a reason not to get in that car. "It's just that, well…"

  "Come on," Melody says. "We'll get there faster if we just ride with him. Besides, ugh, I don't really feel like taking the subway today."

  "But…" Leo stalls, taking a deep breath, before shaking it off. "Okay, I guess."

  Naz doesn't seem offended by the boy's hesitance, but I almost am.

  I think I get it, though.

  He's intimidating.

  He still makes me nervous sometimes.

  The Mercedes is parked less than a block away. We climb in it, and Naz starts the engine, the locks automatically clicking in place the second he puts the car in drive. My eyes are fixed to the side mirror, and from my peripheral I see Leo flinch in the backseat, his gaze on the door. He looks like he wants to jump out, like he's already considering tucking and rolling in the middle of the road, when Naz pulls into traffic.

  Melody seems oblivious, though.

  When we reach the first stoplight, Naz reaches up, adjusting his rearview mirror, angling it so he can look in the backseat.

  Melody talks incessantly during the drive. I haven't seen her so carefree in a long, long time…

  Leo, on the other hand, looks wound tight.

  Naz's eyes flicker between the road and the rearview mirror the entire way to Brooklyn. I try to humor my friend, chatting back to her, but my attention is on him.

  A sinking feeling is settling in the pit of my stomach.

  I'm starting to think this was a bad idea.

  A terrible fucking idea.

  And I'm absolutely sure of it the second we make it to the pizzeria and Naz, as usual, secures a table right away. We follow the hostess to the small, round table in the back, isolated away from the other diners. Naz pulls my chair out for me, eyeing Leo as the boy does the same for Melody.

  "Bottle of your best wine," Naz tells the woman.

  She brings it promptly, preceded by the owner of the restaurant. Andretti, I think his name was. He approaches the table, a wide smile on his face, greeting Naz like Giuseppe greets, well… everyone except for Naz.

  "Ah, Vitale!" the man says, grinning as he squeezes Naz's shoulder affectionately. "Che piacere vederti!"

  Naz responds with something I don't comprehend, and they go back and forth for a minute, spouting off Italian, as the cork is popped on the bottle of wine. I listen, even though I have absolutely no idea what either of them are saying, and can feel my face heating when both men look my way.

  "Ciao, bella," the owner says, reaching over and grabbing my hand, kissing the back of it. "Come stai, uh… special someone?"

  "Karissa," Naz says. "Her name's Karissa."

  "Karissa," the man repeats, raising his eyebrows as he waits for me to answer whatever the hell he'd just asked me.

  "Uh… hey," I say, pulling my hand away.

  I have no idea what I'm supposed to say.

  "He asked how you're doing," Naz interjects, pouring wine into his own glass.

  "Oh, I'm good," I say. "Great, really. Wonderful."

  The man's eyes narrow as he starts firing stuff off, fast and fluent and right over my fucking head. I stare at him as he animatedly talks with his hands, motioning toward me, before stalling, eyebrows raised, like he again expects me to answer some kind of question that was in there.

  "He said you're lying," Naz chimes in, pouring a bit of wine in the other three glasses. "He says you look… how can I put this nicely? Run down."

  "Nice," I mutter. "Tell him I said thanks for the compliment. I appreciate it."

  Before Naz can say anything, the man continues, spouting out something that makes Naz choke on thin air. He coughs, laughing, and shakes his head. "No, no… she's just been under the weather."

  The man eyes me for a moment before shrugging it off, looking to Melody. He greets her warmly in Italian, also taking her hand and kissing the back of it, before his eyes gloss over Leo. It's subtle, the shift in the man's demeanor.

  He says nothing to him.

  No hello.

  No nice to have you.

  Nothing.

  Instead, he turns to Naz, leaning closer, mumbling something I can't hear. Not that I'd understand it, anyway, but the man is intentionally trying to conceal it from prying ears. Naz nods in confirmation to whatever it is, and the owner again squeezes his shoulder before simply walking away.

  "Tell me something, Leo," Naz says, picking up his glass and swirling the red wine around before taking a sip. "Are you fluent, or do you just know a bit?"

  Leo looks over at him, for the first time meeting his eyes. "What?"

  "Mi avete sentito," Naz says, his tone clipped. "Tu parli Italiano."

  Leo hesitates before mumbling, "Just a bit."

  Naz nods, like he's not surprised by that answer, but I am. I know enough to grasp where this conversation is going and son of a bitch… Leo speaks Italian?

  I glance at Melody. She seems just as surprised by that. "You know Italian?"

  Leo looks at her, a slight flush on his cheeks, like he's embarrassed to be having this conversation. "Some… the basics, I guess, but not much more than that."

  "Wow." Melody leans toward him. "Say something dirty to me."

  I laugh at that, as does Naz, but Leo's flush only deepens.

  "Drink," Naz says, shoving Leo's glass toward him. "You'll probably need to with that one there."

  Melody rolls her eyes at that, grabbing her glass, and guzzles down all of her drink before reaching out, asking for more. Naz obliges, pouring her some wine, before setting the bottle in the middle of the table, telling her to help herself to as much as she wants.

  It's strange, seeing him so… nice.

  He's nice to me, sure. He spoils me. And he's always tolerated Melody, to an extent, for my sake. But right now he's being hospitable, like maybe he is actually trying to make friends. He's trying.

  We order food.

  They drink wine.

  I take a sip, but it's too bitter for my taste buds, and I'm not really feeling it, whatever it is. So I drink water instead, watching as they grow at ease, Leo's posture not as tense, but it doesn't escape my notice that he still tries not to look at my husband.

  "Tell me, Leo," Naz says when the food arrives. "You got any goals for the future?"

  Goals.

  For the future.

  Is this a job interview?

  "Uh… I'm not sure, really. Still trying to get used to living here," Leo says. "It's so fast-paced compared to where I grew up."

  Naz doesn't
ask where that is, and starts to question him some more about the future, but I chime in. Call me curious. "Where did you grow up?"

  Leo looks at me and hesitates. "Florida."

  "Where at in Florida?"

  He doesn't answer, but Melody jumps in, her voice raised with excitement. "Oh my God, I can't believe I forgot to tell you… he's from Kissimmee! Isn't that crazy? Kissimmee…" She points at me. "Kissimmee!"

  That sinking feeling from the car settles back in. I glance at Naz, and he doesn't react to that. He doesn't look surprised at all, like he already knows all of this.

  He probably does.

  After all, he knew who I was before I even did, so why wouldn't he learn Leo's life story the second they were introduced?

  "That is crazy," I say. "Small world."

  Naz reaches over, putting his arm around me. "Small world, indeed."

  Lunch is awkward, as Naz fires off question after question, all of them aimed at Leo. He asks about his family (one brother, no parents… been an orphan since he was just a kid). He asks about his work (right now washing dishes at Paragone… his brother knew a guy who knew a guy who got him the gig). He asks about his living situation (staying in a house in Bensonhurst with his family).

  He all but asks, 'what are your intentions with this woman?'

  Although, okay, I kind of want to ask that, so I wish he would.

  Leo takes it all in stride. Or, well, he tolerates it, really. He doesn't look happy to be getting interrogated, but he answers everything Naz throws at him.

  I eat a few slices of pizza, my appetite somewhat returning, as the three of them finish off the bottle of wine. Melody and Leo chat quietly to themselves as Naz relaxes back in his chair, having not touched a bite of food.

  "I'm ashamed, Jailbird," he says, grabbing my glass from the table. "You're letting the wine go to waste."

  "Then drink it," I say. "Really… you should drink it. It probably costs as much as my tuition for the year."

  Smiling, he sips from my glass. "Not quite."

  "Ugh, don't even tell me," I say. "You know, there are people starving in America, people with unclean drinking water, who barely have heat in their homes to stay warm. There are people in frickin' New York who are out there freezing because they can't even afford clothes."

  "Maybe we should give them yours," he says playfully, his hand drifting down my chest, fingers dipping below the neckline of my shirt, stroking the skin around my bra. "I'll keep you warm all by myself."

  I smack his hand when he tries to cup a breast. "Jesus Christ, Naz, keep it in your pants. We're in public."

  "Thought that was how you liked it."

  Rolling my eyes, I grab my glass of water and take a sip, trying to conceal the ferocious blush on my cheeks. Melody clears her throat then, thankfully distracting Naz, as she checks her watch. "We should get going. We've been here a while now."

  Naz nods. "I can drive you back to the city."

  "Don't worry about it," Melody says, waving him off. "You guys live, like, right down the street from here."

  More like across the borough, but close enough.

  "Besides, we're going to go to Leo's for a bit, so he's just going to have his brother pick us up in a few minutes. No biggie."

  Naz stares at her.

  He says nothing.

  Something tells me, to him, for some reason, that is a biggie.

  "What do we owe you?" Melody asks, standing up.

  "Nothing," Naz says, holding out a hand and stopping Leo when he pulls out his wallet. "Your money's no good with me."

  I expect a fight on that. I expect these two men to have a pissing contest over the check. Instead, Leo hesitates before putting his wallet away, nodding.

  "You're a cool dude, Ignazio," Melody says. "I don't care what anybody says."

  Naz blinks a few times. I see his lips move as he incredulously mouths the words cool dude.

  Melody walks away, and Leo starts to follow, but Naz's hand darts out, tightly gripping Leo's arm, stopping him. They stare at each other in silence for a moment... a moment that feels like it lasts forever... before Naz loosens his grip.

  Gone is his casual demeanor.

  For the first time, in a while, I'm seeing Vitale again.

  "Send my regards to your brother," Naz says, his voice hard.

  Leo pulls his arm away, saying nothing as he rushes away, disappearing from the pizzeria without a word in response to that. I gape at Naz as he relaxes again, finishing the wine from my glass.

  Send my regards to your brother.

  Holy shit.

  "I'm right, aren't I?" My voice is low, like the words don't want to come out. "I was right about him. He's a... you know... he's like you."

  "He's nothing like me."

  I don't know if he means that.

  I don't know what to think.

  Naz wouldn't lie to me, not now, but something is off about this.

  "Promise me something," Naz says.

  I glance at him. "What?"

  "Just promise me," he says. "Whatever I'm about to say, you'll listen. Promise you'll trust me on this."

  Ugh. "I promise."

  "Keep your distance from him."

  My brow furrows. "What?"

  "I'm not saying you can't be friends with Melody," he says. "All I'm asking is you keep your distance from her boyfriend. No more dates with them."

  "Why?"

  He looks at me, pausing as his eyes survey my face, studying me again like there's going to be another test. He'll pass this one, too, just like he aced the last.

  He knows me.

  He knows me better than anyone.

  "Because I don't want to have to kill another boyfriend of hers."

  Those words stall me.

  He says it so matter-of-fact, like it's actually a prospect. Like he actually might kill him, and it might be my fault for not listening to him. "But—"

  His hand darts up, covering my mouth, silencing my protest. "You promised."

  Reaching up, I yank his hand away. "But you said he wasn't like you"

  "He's not," he says. "But that doesn't mean he's harmless, sweetheart. Some of the most dangerous people are only dangerous because of what they mean to others, not because of who they are."

  Like you.

  He doesn't say those words, but I know he means them. I'm dangerous because of Naz. Naz would kill for me. He'd kill because of me. I know he would.

  He's done it before.

  And he's telling me now, if I don't keep my distance, he might have to do it again.

  There's a difference between a fight and a battle. A fight is isolated, usually over as quickly as it started. But a battle? A battle is part of a bigger war.

  Battles can go on forever.

  Long, drawn out, bloody, and merciless... it's the kind of battle we find ourselves in the middle of now. The city is burning and people are falling as the devastation spreads through the boroughs, touching places it hadn't infected before.

  The new king decided it was time to claim more than just the pride lands. He wants those shadowy bits that don't belong to him. He wants the entire kingdom.

  The problem, you see, is that most people don't seem to notice. They go about their days like nothing has changed. The casualties barely make a blip in the newspaper, treated as isolated incidents, like they're not even connected.

  But they are.

  They all add up to a fucked up situation.

  One I'm caught smack dab in the middle of.

  "He's got to go."

  Genova sits across from me in the den of his brick house, frantically puffing away at one of his cigars. Smoke permeates the room. It's locked up tight and has no place to go. My eyes sting from the haze, my chest tightening with every breath. I can feel it scorching my lungs and I'm not even the one smoking.

  "Who?" I ask, not entirely sure why I'm here. He asked me to meet him on short notice, saying he had something important to discuss with me.

 
"The guy," he says. "Scar."

  Ah.

  Scar.

  "He hit one of my safe houses this week," he continues. "Robbed me of a whole gun supply. Took out three of my guys!"

  Pity, I think, but I don't say that.

  Don't want to piss off a boss any more than I already have.

  "He's certainly persistent," I say.

  I wish I could say that I was surprised.

  I'm not.

  "He's a pain in my ass," Genova counters. "He's a fuckin' cockroach I wanna squash! He's got to go, there's no away around it. So I need you to take care of that for me, like you said you were gonna."

  I just stare at the man after he says that.

  "I never said—"

  "You said you were gonna handle the problem."

  "I handled it."

  "Yeah? So why the fuck is he still breathing?"

  Good question.

  "He's a boss now," I point out. If what Lorenzo said is true, that he'd been called in to meet with the families, like it or not, he's now one of them. He's off limits. "I can't kill a boss without permission from the others."

  I did it once and got away with it.

  I won't be so lucky if I do it again.

  There are three other families out there who would need to give permission before I could ever touch a man in his position. They're unwritten rules, ones they've admonished me on before.

  I can't risk it.

  I would.

  But I can't.

  Not while staying out of it all.

  "He's nothing," Genova spats, flicking the ashes from his cigar right onto the floor. "He's nobody! Nobody! He'll never be a boss!"

  I don't know if he means what he's saying or if it's the anger talking, so I nod noncommittally and just hope that's enough to get him off my case about this.

  "So?" he asks. "You going to take care of this for me or not?"

  Or not.

  "I'm out," I say. "I've told you that."

  He scoffs. "The only out in this life is in a fuckin' wooden box. You've been in for as long as I've known you. Just because you belonged to Angelo—"

  "I didn't belong to anybody," I say, cutting him off. "I'm not a made man, Genova. I never took an oath. Never said those vows. Never swore myself to anybody."

  "Except your wife, right?" He laughs bitterly. "Or wives, I guess it is. Took oaths for them, didn't you? Swore yourself to them. They're good enough for your loyalty, but what, none of us are?"