Never Truth

10

“They f****d with my entire life. It’s not just her.” I wasn’t sure which one of us I was trying to convince. Judging by his smirk, Leo wasn’t buying it any more than I was. “Whatever you say, boss.” “Don’t you start calling me that.” “Call you what?” asked Kayla Barone, one of the resident gym bunnies as well as one of my go-to stress relievers. Her toned body could have graced the cover of Women’s Fitness, and she wasn’t shy about showing it off. Not only was she highly s****l, but she craved the attention. I met Kayla before I started training at Joe’s Gym. It was a couple of years after I’d been made, and her father had introduced us at a party. We were celebrating some birthday or holiday—I couldn’t even remember what the bullshit excuse was—but a number of us had gathered to sip on goldlabel drinks in fancy clothes. I hated going to those things, but it was a part of the business. Kayla was wearing a silver tube-sock of a dress that barely covered the bottom of her ass cheeks. She had batted her eyes and giggled at me enough times to convey she was fair game, but her father was a capo, and there was no way I was going to sign my own death certificate. When I wouldn’t take the bait, she went so far as to lean over a chair and expose her bare p***y to me. I left the party as quickly as I could before I did something stupid. It wasn’t until I started going to Joe’s and heard about Kayla playing hokey pokey with half the guys there that I gave in. She’d proven good for a quickie in the locker room or acting as a plus-one should I need a no-strings date. Kayla definitely had her uses, but nothing about her appealed to me on a deeper level. No woman had since Sofia. “I called him boss. This guy was just named capo,” offered Leo with a pat on my shoulder as he made his way to the locker room. Ordinarily, we didn’t discuss that s**t in public, but our gym was family owned. Everyone there was connected in one way or another, even Kayla. Her face lit with a wide, ultra-white grin, and she pressed her body up against mine, her hands resting on my chest. “That’s amazing news,” she offered in a husky purr. “I’d love to celebrate with you if you’re … up for it.” She peered up at me from beneath her fake lashes and pressed her rounded silicon breasts against me. Her enhancements weren’t my ideal, but they didn’t keep me from getting a stiffy in the middle of the gym. “Didn’t you start seeing Caleb a while back?” I wasn’t particularly close with him, but he was a decent guy. She gave a small shrug. “It’s not like we’re married. What he doesn’t know isn’t gonna hurt him. This is a celebration after all.” “I’ll pass.” I stepped back, grabbing a towel off a nearby bench, and started toward the locker rooms. “That’s where you’re gonna draw the line? You suddenly a Goody Twoshoes?” she shot back, incensed at being rebuffed. “Everyone has lines. Mine may be f****d up, but they’re there,” I called back over my shoulder. “You don’t have lines. I know you, Nico Conti. You’re not fooling anyone.” I didn’t look back because I had no response. I wasn’t about to argue over my rightful place on the spectrum of good and evil. She might have thought she knew me, but she didn’t know the half of it. There was no question in my mind I’d be situated firmly between rotten and unforgivable. What did it say about me that I wouldn’t f**k around behind a friend’s back? Nothing. I was still a criminal. I’d done horrible things in my short life; some that made me feel like the most depraved sort of monster. The images of the things I’d done refused to be forgotten. They regularly haunted my dreams in graphic detail, reminding me that I had solidified my seat in hell. Some might argue I was redeemable because I could determine the difference between right and wrong. I disagreed. I firmly believed it was that very knowledge that was my damnation. A psychopath is sick. They see no black and white, right or wrong. They don’t know any better. But a man like me, I know the difference, and I hurt people anyway. That was the definition of evil. If seeing Enzo was an unwelcome trip down memory lane, getting a summons later that day to meet with him at his home was a f*****g nightmare. I had no idea what he wanted to speak with me about, but when the boss calls, you go, no matter how much you dread it. Seeing that house again was a serious punch to the nuts—it literally winded me as I walked to the front sidewalk. I hated the emotions that stirred inside me at just seeing the place. It had been years since I’d walked up the steep steps to the front door. I had truly believed I’d never go there again. Up until this week, Enzo had kept his identity secret. Even though he was my boss in the outfit, I’d had no reason to see his face or speak his name. My discovery of his role had been an accident on the night of my initiation—my sixteenth birthday. I’d caught sight of him outside a window and known he was involved. For most kids, their sixteenth birthday is one of the best days of their lives. For me, it was the day my life ended. Not only did I lose my innocence but I’d also lost everything good in my life on that one night. But that was a long time ago. I’d made peace with how my life had unfolded, and I was a different person now. I’d made a name for myself and moved on. I’d survived just fine without her, despite the raging emotions I’d felt at the time. I was a teenager in mourning, certain the world had come to an end. Now that I was on the other side, I had no intention of burying myself in that same emotional sandpit.