Slow burn PART 2

BONUS CHAPTER (Dante's POV)

        "Empty your pockets" the buzzer sounded and I was next to shuffle through the metal detector. I guess the bulge in my pants confused the guard who started feeling me up to be sure I wasn't carrying anything. 

"Woah there, at least take me to dinner first" I cracked a joke to the very underpaid correctional officer who didn't find it very funny. "Alright next" they shuffled me in, past one barred door until it closed behind me, then they opened the barred door in front of me.

Since my father has this prison under his control we get private visits instead of those lunch table looking rooms where everybody can see and hear everybody. Still doesn't make it fancy. It's one round table and a couple plastic chairs. There is a camera in the corner but no actual guards in the room. 

        "Hey pops," I walked over and shook my father's hand. He's not a hugger. "My boy, what's new?" He leaned back in his chair with a crooked grin like life is easy.  When I took my seat I actually got a second glance at him and leaned my elbows on the table to get a closer look at something.

"Is that a black eye?" That's a first in a while. "Eh, some young punk was swinging his dick around. It's nothing" he waved me off. "Pops, you aren't a youngin anymore. You might wanna stop fighting 'em." 

He chuckled and it's raspy from all the cigarettes he used to smoke. Still smokes. I just put money in his commissary before I came in. 

        "You sure about that? I can still beat your ass" my father motioned like he was gonna wrestle me to the ground, but that'd get us both pepper sprayed if they misinterpreted the gesture from outside.

"How's ya mother?" He asked the same question he always does. My mother cried for a year like she'd been widowed when my father got locked up, but the sentiment has since passed. She doesn't even visit him anymore. She's got a new hubby. 

"Yeah, she's doing fine" I dropped some smokes on the table for him. He gave me that crooked grin again.

        My father is a big guy. 6'2 like me, but heftier now that he isn't as active. He's always had heavy hands and I'm a kid with a smart tongue. I've been whacked and never learned my lesson. I was the 'good' son though. Dario was the real troublemaker back when I even had a household filled with a family in it. 

My dad's gray haired now, but he still slicks it back with a comb he keeps in his pocket. And he's always in his tan jumpsuit or those awful jail sweats. People say I look just like him, so I guess he's handsome.

        "What's Renzo need from me?" Is his second frequently asked question. Prison's don't stop mobsters from mobbing. My father has this prison wired because he does inside jobs for outside men. And the dirty coppers are in on it. 

My father does mostly what he wants, still within the bounds of a prison of course. "Ren doesn't actually need anything this month" I shook my head and tried snatching a smoke from my father who already had one dangling from his lips. 

Instead he kicked at the chair I was tipping myself back in, and almost made me fall backwards until I shot the seat forward, losing my grip. "Just because you live in a cage doesn't mean you gotta act like an animal," that smart tongue of mine wagged.

I can't help it. I say things. They're funny. My father bit his tongue and held the back of his hand up in warning. I backed off with a chuckle. 

        "Well if Renzo didn't need something, why'd you come today?" He asked me through the smoke that crowded his face. He squinted an eye to see through it. "Uhh, just to see you dad. Geez." I noticed him look up at the clock and back at me again.