Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Jannet.” She either doesn’t hear me, or ignores me.
Reaching over the counter, I grasp the book and jerk it from her hands. She jumps up from her chair.
“Boy, I’ll slap the shit out of you, you do that shit again!” she sneers, her head tilted to the side just slightly. Her dark eyes looking at me like a pissed off parent and I’m one of her kids. God, I hope she doesn’t have kids. I can see her now beating their ass with one of her books for interrupting her reading.
“Pay attention. Nobody goes up to my apartment. Got it.” I hand her the book back, the cover plastered with a half-naked man.
“That’s all you had to say, damn.” She shakes her head, snatching her precious romance back. “What you got up there, a dead body or somethin’.” She holds her hand up to cut me off before I can get a word in edgewise, her eyes closed for a second. “Actually, I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me.” She sits down, readjusting herself in the chair.
“Just don’t let anyone up there. No one!” I repeat and she waves me off, her nose back in her book as she sips on the straw from her cup.
Jesus.
Going to the garage, I find my Navigator parked in the front, remembering I had Henry park it last. Getting in, I head to my childhood home, that’s where Markcowsky told me to meet him. He said Mom had broken into someone’s home.
Arriving at our house, Kieran pulls up right behind me. A cop SUV sitting curbside of our yard. Getting out, a light mist falls from the graying clouds above, dreary weather seems to be New York’s specialty, but the air hear smells like fresh cut grass instead of fumes from an old bus passing by or garbage that is overflowing on the corner of Ninth Street.
The driver’s door opens and Markcowsky gets out. He adjusts his duty belt with all his weapons and shit, and looks at me. He’s tall, slender, and his dark hair cut short to the scalp, his clean-shaven face reminds me of a drill sergeant rather than a cop.
“Kieran, Romeo,” he greets, walking to us. He spreads his feet, one arm across his chest while the other rests on it, his hand rubbing his chin as if he had a beard there.
“Neighbors said they woke up to her in their bathtub. She seemed a little out of it, but wasn’t doing no harm, so I figured I’d just call you guys to take care of it,” he informs us. Doing us a solid. Last thing we need is to bail mother out of jail, the press would be all over the place. Our last name precedes our reputation and anything anyone can get on us is always a hit on the newspaper stands.
Looking down, I find Mom in the back seat, a lost gaze on her face. Her hair looking more silver than black. It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve seen her, it’s disturbing how much her appearance has changed in that little of time. Then again, everything that went on with Kieran and Dad probably isn’t helping the situation. Our family is falling apart. A mother’s worst fear.
“I appreciate that, thank you,” Kieran says, shaking Markcowsky’s hand.
“I called your father first, but he didn’t answer,” Markcowsky informs, and my jaw tics. He should have been the first one here.
Going around the SUV, Kieran opens the back door and Mom looks up at us with relief in her eyes. She’s in a bathrobe, and nothing more.
Taking her hand, I help her out of the car, her bare feet plant onto the sidewalk, her nails unpolished, making my eyes narrow with concern. She was always hell-bent on having a pedicure when we were kids. She’s obsessed with looking her best and materialistic things.
“Come on, Ma,” I encourage her, the empathy in my voice surprising. I didn’t know I had that emotion in me. But even the toughest of sons will break for their mother, that I know. She’s the only female I’ve ever loved.
“I’m sorry. I-I—”
“It’s fine. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” I shake my head, trying to comfort her.
Leading her into the house, reaching the front door, I notice the red paint chipping away, it’s lack of maintenance telling the story of our household. Stepping inside, the smell of home greets me; cigar and last night’s dinner. Kieran is right behind me, shutting the door.
Mom sits on the couch and leans forward, her head in her hands.
“I don’t know what happened. I just…”
I cross my arms.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Romeo,” Kieran scolds, stabbing me with a narrow stare as if Mom’s drinking habit is a secret or something. She’s been drinking ever since Dad became the Don of New York. His power going to his head, he left her behind and she found it to be a little less lonely at the bottom of an expensive bottle of booze.