Ghost Of You

Chapter 2

"Ghost Of You" Chapter 2

Justin’s P.O.V

Ave Maria Gratia plena

Maria Gratia plena

Maria Gratia plena

Ave, ave dominus

Dominus tecum

Benedicta tu in mulieribus

Et benedictus

Et benedictus fructus ventris

Ventris tui Jesus

Ave Maria

I tuned out the first verse of Franz Schubert’s Ave Maria because to tell you the truth, I hated this fucking song. I had sung it every Sunday for twenty-five motherfucking years but a Bieber never missed church.

I sat in the front pew of Holy Name Cathedral, formally the Cathedral of the Holy Name. It’s the seat of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Chicago, one of the largest Roman Catholic dioceses in the United States. It’s also the parish church of the Archbishop of Chicago. I know that all sounds like religious mumbo jumbo but I was required to know it, being the “devout Catholic” that I was.

Total bullshit, if you ask me.

The whole church was a huge Gothic monstrosity, consisting of sparkling marble, strong granite, towering steeples and large stain glass windows. Among the sprawling high-rises of downtown Chicago, the church looked like a misplaced antique house, trying to compete against modernity.

To my left, were my parents Jeremy and Pattie. I studied their regal statures and how they seemed to radiate joy. My father was on the verge of fifty but could pass for my age easily. With his short, brown hair and piecing brown eyes along with his structured face and the body of an athlete, he could model for almost any suit company, making millions. My mother, with her chocolate colored locks and bright blue eyes was the picture of perfection. Together, they were the best looking couple in church and everyone envied them.

Just by his outside appearance, you would never guess that my father was the hardest motherfucker on the planet.

He was head of all Italian organized crime activity in Chicago and half of the country for that matter. Everyone was afraid of him. No matter who you were or what family you were from, the name ‘Bieber’ was synonymous with ruthlessness even though on the outside, we looked like the perfect blue-blooded American family.

In order to fully understand the dynamic of our group, you had to go way back.

According to the story, Great Grandpa Nicola Rossini stepped off of the boat in 1916. He was six and alone but he made it. I don’t know how he got on that ship without the proper papers or documentation and he never told me the whole tale but I had a feeling that he had been doing illegal things all of his life. Stowing away on a boat heading for America was just another walk in the park for that badass. He was pushing one hundred now but still kicking, probably having the time of his life with some hot stewardess in France.

The second he stepped off the boat at Ellis Island, it was a fucking blood bath.

He had no money, no family, and no damn clue what he was doing, but he was smart. He lived the streets for about a year and from his stories, got whatever he wanted just by giving his “scary eye”, which he had mastered before he was five. No one else could pull it off quite like him but once you got the look, you knew you were in for a world of hurt. I had only gotten it once and my ass still hurt from the butt kicking he gave me, but I digress.