Bittersweet Sins

An Unexpected Meeting

Hey guys, this chapter has trauma and angst!

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Anthony:

Gentle rustling of multicolored leaves littering the ground is a soothing balm to the soul as rapid clicking of heels echo against the sidewalk. The air held a bitter chill causing the man hurrying along to curl thin arms around himself. A futile attempt to warm frozen gooseflesh.

"Why da Hell didn't I grab my jacket?" Snarled and slightly breathless from walking so fast, He ups the pace. Pops didn't like it when Anthony or the others were late. In fact, he absolutely loathed it and always inflicted punishment for when it happened.

Cold, Heartless, punishment.

Shit.

There was no doubt now that he was indeed late.

Jus' grit yer teeth an' bare it.

Short and bittersweet, the mantra replayed like a broken vinyl record in Anthony's mind. A mantra that he himself had perfected down to the numb beatings and bland expression.

A full body shudder shook his body, but it wasn't from the fridgid air. Not this time. Instead, rage filled ice blue eyes and a disapproving sneer, took up every inch of Anthony's mind, numbing him everywhere. Polished booted feet dragged the closer they got to their destination, and his heart pounded in his throat when the outline of the big, two story, victorian style house, came into view.

Living in New York, it was rare to procure such an estate. The wood was tarnished and wethered, giving it an old antique look. Inside, homey and spacious, also retained baubles and value that spoke of a much simpler time. An older time that seemed to be woven into the walls and paintings itself. Granted, it used to be a museum of sorts. That is, until the Antonella's got their hands on it.

Anthony wasn't particularly proud of the fact that he came from a ruthless, cutthroat, and merciless mob family. In fact, he did all he could to avoid it. Sneaking out to hang with friends. Keep to himself. Never taking his friends back to his house to meet the family. Doing his damnest to not participate in unsavory events that resulted in whacking someone...or two.

Eventually, the friends he made, drifted apart when they moved all over the world to persue their dreams. Leaving Anthony alone to deal with his family, and the choking pressure to one day take over the family business. A business he wanted nothing to do with. Yet, he knew his wants and needs would never matter to Pops. As long he kept his mouth shut and did what was asked of him, Pops never gave a rats ass.

Shadow falling over his lithe, boney frame, Anthony shuddered once again. The house loomed ahead, like a haunted warning of what was to come. As if icy fingers were slithering up his spine, the thought of facing his father, chilled him to the bone. Hand frozen on the lavish round brass doorknob of the front door, he couldn't quite get his feet to move. Nothing wanted to work, no matter how hard he tried. Muscles jumped as signals were sent from the brain, to other parts of the body. Yet, numb fingers couldn't summon enough strength to turn, only hold onto the cool metal with a desperation that confused him.

It takes a sheer amount of willpower to make his wrist turn at an angle to open the heavy Oakwood door. Once inside, the faint odor of mothballs and cheap cologne hit like a thick suffocating smog. Pops favorite cologne. Which meant that he was definitely home.

Shit!

One foot, then the other. It felt like his feet were weighed down by weighted sand bags. Difficult to maneuver. Each step making it hard to breathe, dragging onward to inevitable doom. Voices carried from down the Hallway, and Anthony slowly followed them, soft candlelight from gaslit lamps casting eerie shadows on the wall that jumped and twisted in a hypnotic dance of lonely darkness.