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Chapter 1 (Ricardo)
There's something lurking in all of us.
Something we hide and shelter from those we love in order to protect them.
A darkness we try to suppress because we're ashamed of who that makes us.
Because that's the thing about Shame.
It wounds us. It damages us.
Or, for the few poor souls out there like me...it defines us.
It's there—in the shadows, beneath the surface...just waiting.
Until you let it break free...
And the darkness consumes you.
My name is Ricardo DeLuca.
There are two things you need to know about me. The first—is that my heart will always bleed for her...
Only her.
The second—is that I'm the son of the devil himself—the most feared mob boss who ever lived.
That is...until me.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The sound reverberates throughout the nearly empty warehouse and my ears begin ringing.
I take a step back and pull the trigger again.
There's no reason for it, seeing as I just blew his brains out and all...but I've had a hell of a day and I'm feeling a little trigger happy at the moment.
“You want him dumped in the same place as the last guy, boss?” A voice behind me questions.
I don't answer him, I pin him with a stare instead—reveling when the perspiration on his forehead increases and he starts breathing heavy.
I don't know which is worse...the fact that he asked me such a stupid fucking question.
Or that in the same breath, he answered his own question with the wrong fucking answer.
Of course, the dearly departed don't get dumped in the same place as their brethren.
Not only is that shit sloppy, it's just asking for trouble.
I pay a shit-load of money to keep the police off my back and I pretty much own their asses, but even they wouldn't be able to ignore if some civilian were to one day stumble upon a shitload of body parts while walking their dog.
There's no story that could be spun that wouldn't have the tin-foil hat wearing conspiracy theorists thinking the city was in grave danger and there was a serial killer roaming the streets.
People are easy to manipulate when they have a false sense of security.
DeLuca said great power and control came in the form of being able to provide security and protection for others—while simultaneously being the very same person to rip it all out from under them.
It's how you made people fear you.
Well, that and the most important fear inspiring tool of all.
You needed to be willing to talk the talk and walk the fucking walk.
Which is exactly what brings me to my next course of action.
I take a step closer to him. “How long have you been working for me?”
He swallows thickly. “Uh—um. I worked for your father—”
He doesn't have a chance to finish whatever dumb statement he was about to make because I cock the gun and hold it up to his head. “Well there's a new DeLuca in charge.”
I look at the other men that are gathered around the warehouse. “Pop quiz, gentlemen. Do we dump in the same place twice?”
“No, boss,” they say in unison.
“That's right. Therefore, someone notify this guy's family.” I dig the gun into his temple and he starts shaking worse than a tree branch in a hurricane. “Please,” he squeaks, sounding like an adolescent boy. “Don't kill me.”
That's when I smile from ear to ear. “Tell his family I send my condolences because their kin was such a dip-shit.”
He screams and the smile wipes clean off my face as I pull the trigger.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter as his piss starts leaking all over my shoes and the smell of his shit permeates the air.
“Get the fuck out of my warehouse, you pussy.” I grab him by his collar and get close to his face. “And don't you come back until you locate your goddamn brains and balls. Understood?”
“Yes, Mr. DeLuca,” he says before he sprints for the exit.
Clearly, the dumbass doesn't know how many bullets are in my magazine. Because if he did, he would've known I used them all on the last guy.
Fucking rapist scumbag that he was.
I kick his body out of my way and fish a lighter and a pack of smokes out of my suit pocket.
l light my cigarette and start walking toward the door. “Clean this shit up,” I instruct the rest of them.
The moment I walk through the door of my house Marlene bombards me. “Tyrone called. He says he needs you to call him back.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and dig my cell out of my pocket. Sure enough, there are four missed calls and three texts from him.
I tap the icon for my messages and let out a sigh as I read them.
Tyrone: Jackson's court date is in 3 weeks.
Tyrone: You're go
Tyrone: I know you're busy playing 'wise-guy' and all but this shit is important.
I tap the 'reply' button but pause briefly. On some level, it stings that he doesn't think I'll be there for Jackson's court date. Hell, I'm the one who hired the best lawyer on the East Coast for him.
Granted, Jackson chose to go with said lawyers daughter, instead...but I did what I could. Besides, if the jury finds him guilty I'll handle it.
I know Tyrone's only freaking out lately because I moved out of the apartment complex last week. He hasn't been taking it well. However, I needed to distance myself...for a multitude of reasons.
I finish typing my message out.
Ricardo: I'll be there.
As soon as I hit the 'send' button guilt snags me. Or rather, that tiny part of myself that hardly ever comes out anymore.
I tap the 'reply' button again.
Ricardo: And it's 'Mr. Wise-Guy' to you, asshole.
I almost smile when his reply is an emoji of a middle finger and a kissy face.
But then my almost smile soon fades as her face flashes before my eyes.
I roll my shoulders back and blow out a breath, forcing myself to get my shit together.
I don't smile anymore. There's no point. I have nothing to smile about these days.
She's gone.
They're gone.
That hollow feeling burrowing smack-dab in the middle of my chest is back with a vengeance.
I never knew it was possible to miss something so much. But then again, I've never had anyone or anything to really miss in the first place.
She's free, I remind myself.
But is she happy? That's the question that plagues me.
Especially now...given that she hasn't touched any of the money in my bank account and I know there's no way she has any cash left.
It's been almost four months since she's been gone. How the hell is she getting by?
I pla
After three months she should have found someplace to put down roots—put a down-payment on a house or leased an apartment somewhere.
Somewhere I'd know if she would just use the goddamn card I gave her.
A few weeks ago, I became so desperate I finally caved and had Marlene call the burner phone I gave her in an attempt to find out where she was.