Ill-Gotten Memories

12. The Meeting

The elevator doors split open and I walked out a changed man. My heart was made new. My soul was refreshed, and nothing compared to this feeling. There was immense freedom in the forgiveness of God. I could have been walking two feet off the floor and wouldn't have noticed. He saved me! Certainly, nothing could ruin this moment... except, perhaps, the meeting.

Even though I left the wicked one behind, I still possessed his occupation. Right now I didn't see an escape from it. But if God was willing to save a wretch like me, I knew that somehow He would forge a way out... even if it meant going back to Italy.

As much as I desired to relish in my transformation, I had a meeting to attend, one of great importance.

The City Spire building was an architectural beauty, standing like a sword jutting up from the concrete world below it. Seventy-two stories high, you couldn't get more untouchable than here. This was where Cesare settled during business intervals. Apart from that, he normally stayed at his Long Island mansion through the holidays, or his home in Italy... so this must have been a special occasion. My uncle was one of the most powerful men in New York.

At the top of the tower, my feet traveled black marble floor, entwined with white and tuscan diamonds patterns. My steps were measured. A sense of determination and newness drove me to keep walking in spite of my dread. I wanted to have faith, but I was scared. Whatever the outcome of this meeting would be, I had to do everything possible to protect Barbara... whether she wanted me to, or not.

Blending into the soft light, bermuda-shaped wall sconces lit my path until the end of the foyer, where I entered a door, to find the apartment's octagon layout.

The guys were all here: Jack, Marty, Frank, Leo, and Al, gathered around Cesare's study. I joined them, and I'd never felt so out of place before.

Jack stood from his olive armchair and met me beside the grandfather clock.

"If it isn't the man of the hour." He pat me on the chest with the back of his hand. "Hey, we found a footstool for you, Johnny, so the next time you wanna fuck a girl from behind you can actually reach her!"

The room erupted with laughter, mainly from Al and Marty (who thought everything was funny). Normally I brushed off his jokes and went about my business, but today I was tempted to break his nose. Instead, as the rush of embarrassment plowed through my decision making, I just stood there, starting him down.

Jack had it easy. He was tall, rich, good looking, and charismatic enough to sway any woman that caught his eye. The twerp even still had a head full of black hair. There was only an age difference of four years between us, but he was superior to me in every way.

"No, no! I told you, he doesn't need a footstool, she just has to stand on her head!" Al bellowed to the audience, adding insult to injury. My fellow associates howled at his remark—everyone except Leo, who was a no-nonsense guy.

"You look like you wanna hit me, shorty."

Jack turned on his heel. "But dad wouldn't take too kindly to rough housin, would he?" He hopped on Cesare's desk and grinned at me, like he'd just gotten away with murder. The joking and insolence would come to a halt when my uncle arrived, who was momentarily absent from the group. It wasn't that he was late, he just eluded our predictions to remain ambiguous. The Boss would be here shortly though, and put them all to silence.

"What are you, Doc? Shell shocked?" said Al, a palm in the air. I didn't utter a word.

"Yeah, say somethin," injected Marty.

"Why should he? Is it worth it?" Frank languished, chugging on a glass of whiskey.

"Man is a cazzo, Johnny. You should teach him his manners," Leo whispered to me, pronouncing every syllable in poignant Italian—a trait even I didn't fully possess.