Death And Love Poems (2) Mafia Romance

5. When life gives you limes

Roxana

I wouldn't say Dani is a talented soccer player, but at least he seems to have fun and laugh after a long time.

That doesn't make me less nervous. For almost nine months we have successfully avoided interaction with most people but now I am forced out of my, very carefully crafted but still tremendously fragile, comfort zone by this situation.

I fidget nervously with the hem of my jean shorts. The phone I just bought from a second hand shop is weighing heavy in my pocket. It makes me nervous, but it would have been suspicious not having a damn phone. Having it in reach makes thoughts bloom aggressively in my mind.

It's very difficult to trace random Google searches, I suppose, so it's very unlikely to find me by that. One search...

My fingers tremble when I type... Marco Medici... They will likely show news of his death and funeral. Death and funeral. No, I don't want to see that. I erase it. I should search for myself to see if I am wanted by the Interpol, or so, for... murder. No, that's bad. I am a nobody and that would be an oddly specific search that might get attention if it comes from fucking Brazil. I delete it again and type Lorenzo Medici. He is prominent enough.

Are you searching for me, Lorenzo? I bet you are. I would be searching for me too if I were you. You are probably fantasizing about how to torture and kill me, aren't you? Don't worry, I understand.

The Internet is damn slow and after charging for an eternity it finds lots of articles on Lorenzo de Medici. The one that died five hundred years ago.

Ah, fuck it. Lorenzo Medici businessman Rome, I try again.

This time the search results are more accurate. Most articles are in Italian but I glimpse one in English titled: The patriarch takes again the reins of all the Medici business. Because I killed the heir. That also means that he is very much still alive and in excellent health. I am not a good person, that's obvious. If hell exists I will go there with an express train, so the fact that I actively wish for someone's death isn't that much of a big deal.

I killed the only kin this man had left, and despite him being obviously a mobster and a killer I can't help feeling a bit sad for him.

My hand goes again to the ring on my neck. A promise in good faith... I miss him. What would he say if he were here? 'Pebbles, going out with that guy is a bad idea.' And I would smirk and say 'Are you jealous, don Marco? He is cute. And plays good football. Can you play football as well as him?' And then he would probably kiss me and I would even forget the guy's name and football and the world.

"Roxi, did you see?" screams Dani enthusiastically. "I almost shot a goal."

"That's great!" I look up from the phone and smile at him. I obviously didn't see it. Shame on me, I was too busy fantasizing about my dead ex.

"He did good," says Thiago and sits down on the concrete trimming by my side. "I will go take a shower. They will be done in fifteen minutes and we can go. Andy can come too if you like, though honestly, I would prefer if it's only the two of us."

"Yeah, I think it's better if Andy goes home after this." I think I will never get used to Dani's new name and I didn't think about practicing before yesterday because I thought we were not going to be in the situation of using it, because we were not supposed to interact with other people, god-damned it. Andy is short for Andrea, you know, that one Italian name that is a girl's name in most other countries. Tell me you are an asshole without telling me you are an asshole, Stefano.

Anyway, when Dani told Thiago his name, he started calling him Andy and presented him as Andy to the other guys on the team. It was admittedly a good thought because kids can be cruel. I overheard some call him 'menino sem dedos', as in boy without fingers, so presenting yourself with a girl's name wouldn't have helped his quite fragile self-esteem at the moment.