Acquaintances (A Mafia Romance)

Sixteen.

Rebecca Caruso

Bartenders disappearing impulsively appeared to be a common occurrence. All the waitresses within the surrounding area immediately ushered those sitting at the bar to other parts of the facility—comping them with a choice of a free drink or appetizer for the evening.

"I heard about you," Angelo slurred, trying to distract me from his staff's disappearing act. "The people here, they gossip like these annoying małe ptaszki, chirping away day and night—drives a person crazy, you know?"

I anxiously bobbed my head, my eyes darting around, desperately seeking an exit strategy or any possible way to escape from this mess. Should I even try running?   Logical introspection clashed with my initial fight-or-flight response.

"I gotta admit," he continued, his words now tinged with a drunken mix of a foreign accent, "I was absolutely stunned when I heard a woman, a fucking woman, beat the shit out of Frank. I couldn't believe it, you know? Frank, The Perv—I can't say he didn't deserve it, but fuck me, that was quite a surprise."

"I, um..." I stammered, my nerves tying themselves into knots as everyone cleared out. "Th-thank you?"

People may have embellished his lore, but whatever the case, Angelo was a man of immense power—run, and he'll find the means to chase someone to the end of the earth; fight—and you'll die within seconds. This was a lose-lose situation. Even though he was more than buzzed, I didn't want to risk it.

"I know you're scared," he nonchalantly noted.

My body shuddered as the women who once sat beside me were the last ones to get up and leave. The ceiling lamps around the vicinity gradually dimmed off; merely the golden hue from the liquor collection embraced our silhouettes.  

"People have every right to be scared," Angelo slowly enunciated with a conniving, yet embossed, smile. "but not you; I'm not going to hurt you my piękny urok."

I needed out and fast.

Attempting to free myself from his grasp, Angelo's grip became tense with my reaction. "Na-ah-ah. You're not leaving yet."

"Tatuś!" Both of us turned sharply towards the commanding voice. In the dimly lit setting, Marco stood at the far end of the bar table, barely recognizable, his eyes filled with hostility towards his father.

"Oh Marco, there you are," Angelo remarked as Marco gradually made his way closer to us.  The elder Montanari manipulated my arm to wave at his son. "Remember your friend, Marco? He's great isn't he?"

I refused to give Angelo the satisfaction. Determined, I tried to yank my arm away once more, but he forcefully held on, asserting his authority. Marco exchanged a fleeting empathetic glance, acknowledging my fear.

"Proszę..." he pleaded, stepping closer within arm's reach. "I think you've had enough for tonight, yeah?"

Marco had changed his attire since the last time we met, donning a vintage Wu-Tang Clan shirt and black Nike sweats. His worn-out demeanor was evident, with his stubble growing out, adding to his overall exhausted appearance.

"Pospolity..." Angelo harshly spat back, "Znam swoje granite."

I could see the weariness etched on Marco's face as he struggled to maintain his composure. It was as if the weight of his father's behavior had been placed squarely on his shoulders.

"Please, not now, tatuś. Not here." Marco responded, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and genuine concern.

Angelo hummed thoughtfully, his son's words punctuated by the weight of experiences.  The elder Montanari shifted his glance to me, a mischievous glint dancing in his gaze.