C6 When loneliness strikes

My house was a fifteen minute drive with the Maserati from where Liliana lived, the streets were quiet, no traffic or people in sight. Only the glimmering street lights portrait the empty buildings and silent, sleeping, dark houses. My house was no exception, apart from Carlo, the security at the gate who greets me by nodding his head before opening the gate for me. "Take the car." I throw the keys to him and he catches it swiftly. There was no light coming from inside the house as I neared it and there should not have been, but sometimes my mind wondered how my life would have turned out if I just followed in my father's footsteps.

I would certainly not have security around my home and my house would probably be much smaller, but maybe I could have a normal relationship. I could let my fences down and trust a woman for once. Trust that she was with me for me and not for what I had. Maybe I my mother didn't need to worry so much about me as I would have a wife to feed me and my brother could stop worrying so much about my sex life.

It might be nice to not come home to a cold and empty house. I switch on the light as I enter the kitchen walking over to the counter as I remove the gun from my waist and place it on the cool marble top, followed by another one that I remove from my ankle. On the other hand I did appreciate my privacy, I open the fridge taking out a bottle of water before checking on my phone as I walk through the darkness towards my room.

I slightly throw my phone onto the bed as there was nothing on it that urgently needed my attention, besides I needed to take a shower and get back to work. I had to make arrangements for Gian and his team, get everything together for our trip later this morning to New York and finish some work that I should have been doing instead of doing Liliana. I will sleep on the plane.

I just couldn't seem to escape the thoughts about hiring myself a woman. If I did this there will no longer be any blind dates wasting my time, not to mention cutting out all the conversation about my love life with my mother. I wonder what Liliana might think about something like this. She would be perfect; the sex is great, Madre already approved her and she was beautiful too. Perfect for when I needed a date to a function. I could tell that she definitely needed the money.

"Mother has a good eye when picking out woman." Achille invade my thoughts, although I couldn't be sure if he was asking or stating, but I wasn't planning on answering him anyway. Instead I open the glove compartment of the car taking out my .327 Magnum and start strapping it to my ankle. I always carry two handguns on me; My Ruger .327 Magnum strapped to my ankle and my Browning Black attached to my hip. I have never before had the opportunity to use both on the same occasion, but there is always a first time and Benvenuto Damian doesn't go anywhere unprepared.

"Don't you start." I warn Achille after letting him simmer for a while. Madre's nagging was enough if my brother started with the same shit I was definitely buying myself a wife on one of those dodgy websites Tommasso was going on about the other day. I do not have nearly enough patience to go through this on a daily basis. The traffic on the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge is a nightmare. I wanted to meet Roberto at my new club in little Italy, but as neither of us trusted each other the location moved around a few times until we agreed on a place that neither of us knew.

The small bar is hidden in the backstreet of Midtown East in Manhattan. The owner seem to be some old smug who wasn't even supposed to be alive anymore. If you can believe anything the search engines says, the man is turning 93 this year. Unfortunately, no photos are available.

"Come on brother. What is wrong with you? That was a fine piece of ass." He continues, ignoring my warning. He wasn't wrong, but he also didn't know exactly how fine fucking that ass was and I wasn't planning on sharing it with him. Some things are just better off not sharing. "Fuck Ben. Have you ever been with a woman before or do you stick it to the palm like the teens?" Achille falls into a fit of giggles like a fucking school girl, but quickly recovered growing more serious. "Don't tell me you are gay, brother? Either way I wouldn't judge. I mean if you..."

"Turn left here," I order pointing towards the lane on the left side of the car, interjecting his consistent blabber about nonsense. "The place is called The Barn." I remind him of the name as I start searching for the building myself. What was suppose to be a street looked more like an alley. There was more foot traffic than cars. "There it is." I point towards the small brick building at the end of the street. A big board hanging skew showcased the letters: 'The Barn'. The place looked like a dump. This was Manhattan in need of more Damain clubs.

The inside was worse than the outside. I darted directly for the bar as we entered the building leaving Achille dragging behind me through the swinging brown doors, the smell of cheap liquor and nicotine assaulting my nostrils. I wasn't sure how much I would be able to take. "Old Armour, two." I hear Achille order us drinks as my eyes scroll over the ugly green walls. Old brown leather couches covered what I could only assume old liquor stains and there were a few bar stools propped up against the rusty bar where me and my brother found us seated.

"I am sorry, sir. I don't know what that means?" A small broken voice caught my attention from behind the bar. The woman... the girl serving us couldn't be more than 18 years old, but a lifetime of neglect and abuse was painted in her eyes which her dirty blonde hair tried to cover.

"Give me the best whiskey you have." I could hear in Achille's voice that he was taken aback before giving me 'the eye'. He noticed it too. We both turned our heads back towards her watching as she pours the piss coloured liquid over perfectly good ice cubes before placing one glass in front of Achille and the other one in front of me.

"What is your name, Topolino?" I question her trying to hide the fact that my throat was on fire. Whatever that was that I just threw down my throat wasn't whiskey. It might have been gas, it definitely looked and smelled like it.

"People around here call me Cherry." She pouts sending air kisses towards us as she leans forward trying to show off her assets making me sick to my stomach. What the fuck makes her think... god no. I couldn't even phantom the thought and I was a piece of shit.

"And what do your parents call you?" I question her, my eyes intently boring into her causing her to shift her weight from one feet to her other. I made her uncomfortable.

"Madelaine, sir." She answers like a squirming toddler tucking a loose hair behind her ear, but she keeps her eyes fixated on mine and suddenly something that felt much like a tug at my heart brew inside my chest. If I wasn't having a heart attack, which I doubt it was, then this young girl just stirred something inside me. I didn't know exactly what it was, but I didn't like it.

"Now Madelaine. How old are you?" I continue my line of interrogating, hiding the burning sensation. It was probably heartburn from the poison she dealt us.

"Twenty-one, sir." This time her beautiful blue eyes lit up, turning away from me, she reaches for her bag. She was lying to me. Achille watches her closely, his eyes following her every movement, his hand already on his waist, like she was about to pull out a fucking machine gun and blast us to bits, but he quickly relaxes once she pulls out an ID card and hands it to me.

"You should get me in touch with the guy who made this for you. I might have a job for him." I wink as I rip the ID into two pieces. I have been around for long enough to know a fake. Knowing a fake was how I made my living. To my surprise, she didn't protest. She didn't say a word until I placed the two pieces of paper on the counter next to my empty glass and she wistfully sweep them away letting them drop to the floor.

"Do you want another, sir?" She asks taking the glass in between her small trembling fingers. I was so focussed on her eyes that I didn't even notice her shaking hands. This could be signs of withdrawal, but I didn't want to believe that. I wanted her to be scared, rather than be an addict.

"Are you scared of us?" I question her as I place my hand on top of hers, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

"I know men like you, sir." She tries to hide the fear laced in her voice while keeping her hand still beneath mine. I could feel her body tremble shooting shockwaves through her fingertips. It felt like holding on to an open life cord.

"Men like me?" I question her raising an eyebrow. What was she implying?

"Men of the mafia." She declares, like it was a normal everyday thing to accuse somebody off. I do not know any men from the so called Mafia and I also do not believe in old-woman-folks. Altogether in my mind this was only a thing some bored fool created to put the fear into his enemies. All men in organised crime were not cut from the same tree, I mostly kept by the law and made my money legally, except for a few activities that I had personal feelings about, but that did not stop me from attracting some underworld characters. I hated the word and it wasn't like I haven't been called 'it' before, but it made me angry every time. It made us sound like bloodthirsty killers and although I sometimes needed to get my hands dirty I would never set my sights on a family to take revenge on one particular person, this was never anything like the movies. We don't go around shooting people for fun or kill entire families to prove a point. Those guys are called The Mafia in the movies. I run a business. Not always legally, but I don't cause too much pain. Well that was what I believed.

"If you believe that I am a man from the Mafia then tell me, why would you choose to lie to me? Do you know what men of the Mafia would do to you if they thought that you were not being honest?" I play along and this time she quickly tries to withdraw her hand from underneath mine, but I was faster grabbing onto her arm. My touch was harder than I anticipated, but I didn't loosen my grip. In a swift, her arm is turned around so that I could search for track marks. Gone was giving her the benefit of the doubt, these girls was always on something and Madelaine wouldn't be any different.

"Where?" I question growing irritated as I closely inspect her arm, lifting it into the air to see the skin on her armpits before searching her hands, going through one finger at a time. "Do you shoot up between your toes?" I let go of her arm as this wasn't getting me anywhere causing her to lose her balance, but she quickly recovers finding her feet and latching onto the counter.

"I don't use." She almost screams in annoyance or hurt I wasn't sure, maybe both. I watch her as she clasp her fingers around the redness that occurred on her skin alongside her wrist, exactly where my hand was stuck to a few seconds ago. She was fiery, which probably meant she has gone through some un-imaginable situations in this hell hall. "I have a plan." She whispers as she reminds herself of whatever her plan was, but I couldn't help than to be intrigued. I could barely hear the words leaving her trembling lips, but I caught her silent whisper trying to convince or calm herself. I wasn't sure.

"How old?" I question again ignoring her inaudible mumbling.

"Sixteen... Sixteen in two months." She answers keeping her head bowed down while tucking a fallen hair back behind her ear. I seem to have frighten her or maybe she was expecting a comeback from my part, she did yell at me after all and I have seen what happens to woman that yells at men like myself, but then again she was no woman. She was fifteen-fucking-years-old.