With or Without You

(Bucciarati)

I woke up on someone's damp couch with a cramp in my bad shoulder. I swore at myself. I'd meant to go home last night. Why did I always make the same mistakes?

The light from the window stabbed my eyes and I acknowledged that I was hungover. Or else concussed, but more likely hungover. I stumbled over a clutter of plates and wine bottles until I found a sink where I could wash the sour taste from my mouth.

Looking up, I found a mirror. This was, in fact, my hosts' bathroom. I was stunned to find myself none the worse for my night's activities. No bruises, no dried blood. Just a swimmy void where the memories should be and my puzzled young face looking a little stubbly. How was it possible to be so unblemished, when for years I had been so hurt?

I dried my hands and ran my fingers down my ribs, no longer countable. The stringy muscles in my shoulders were started to round out, hinting at broadness. I shook my head. Since when? I went to find my clothes.

The door on the left opened onto a piercing tide of sunlight and a neatly made bed, already empty at 6am. I basically never fall for the well-adjusted types, so… perhaps a roommate? A dark and jovial face floated up in my memory amid much wine and laughter. Yes, excellent roommate. I wished for the thousandth time that I had better taste in men. I closed the door and tried the other one. As my eyes adjusted, a scene of happy disarray swam out of the gloom. A couple sprawled on the bed, utterly lost to the world, as if flung there by the waves of sheets that spilled across the floor. Yes, that was much more my speed.

I picked my clothing from the tumult and then stood over their innocent bodies a long moment, trying to sort out what I felt. I wanted what they had. I was close enough to touch, but touching wasn't having and I'd woken up alone. The loneliness threatened to close over me and I turned away. Closed their door as softly as possible, despite the bitterness rising in me. I closed anger into my fist and then let go of it.

I checked my phone while I dressed, reaching for the biting cold of my reality to anchor myself. Messages, messages. That young wreck Fugo, asking what time to meet today. A message from Polpo, requesting my presence this morning. And apparently I'd tried to call Leone five times the night before. I hadn't had the sense to send a text, so the world would never know what midnight Bruno had wanted to tell him. Midnight Bruno was always an enigma to me, drowned by the unbearable past before the morning brought me back to myself.

I tried the other most recent number in the call log and a ringtone started from somewhere in the bedroom. My hosts did not stir. Perfect. I deleted the number from my contacts and snuck out of their apartment.

I got as far as the stairs, then came back to grab the first food that came to hand in the fridge – a stale croissant. I ate it in three bites. This time, I remembered to lock the door on my way out.

Once I was outdoors, I knew immediately where I was. In Napoli, I could never be lost. The salt wind and glittering sea views revived me. I shot an ETA to Leone by text and started jogging south. After a couple blocks, I remembered Polpo wanted me. I sent Leone another text – will be late – and changed my route.

After dealing with Polpo, nothing was clear in my mind anymore. Stepping through the prison wall, I stared into the morning sun. It felt like the light was washing my soul right out of my body. I wished I could drown in it. To dispel that feeling, I started in on the loose assortment of tasks my capo had insinuated to me.

For a start, I caught a tram to the airport, riding on the roof. Polpo wanted this newbie Luca to pick up the taxi protections scam that Leone and I had developed, but the man was basically useless. Polpo implied that I should train him, with or without inuendo. Luca wasn't around the cab stand. I called Polpo's cell cell to get a number for Luca, but Polpo only whispered that he had company and couldn't I call back, darling? So I scouted around the area.

No Luca, so I shook down the cab drivers myself. It turned out everyone had a dated receipt for their Passione fees already, but I did find two unauthorized dealers peddling amphetamines to the exhausted drivers. I roughed them up and made them introduce me to their supplier, a free cab ride clear across the city. Once he'd lost a few teeth, the supplier agreed to join Passione's network. I brought him to lunch with an old colleague on Tagliatelle's drug supply team; I bought him soup so he wouldn't need to chew.

After lunch, my colleague Rigatoni brought me down to the docks to help escort a shipment of fentanyl up to the warehouse. His usual partner was in the hospital recovering from some nasty bullet wounds he'd got bringing in some kind of small cryo shipment the week before.

"Cryo?" I asked Tony as we scrambled up a mountain of shipping containers. "What the hell do we ship frozen?"

"About a million little plastic tubes, apparently," he said with a shrug. "Unless Bolognese's brains got muddled in the fight, which is totally a possibility."

"And who the hell is messing with our routes? Not Logos – they wouldn't dare touch our Italian ports! And you and I cleared out the local small-timers before Tags traded me away. So – what the fuck?"

"No idea. Some blonde bitch with an AK-47, according to Big B. But you know he likes to exaggerate."

I got down and shimmied to the front edge of the shipping container, getting a line of sight on our flatbed truck where it idled near its assigned crane.

"Watch out for girls with guns. Got it." I paused, thinking that over. "Okay, by bitch, did he actually mean a woman?"

Lying on his stomach next to me, Tony smothered a laugh. "Unclear, but you know if it was a man, Bolognese would be telling me how hot he was. So yes."

I nodded. The crane inched into motion. Our driver, ignorant of his cargo, signed off with the port authority and got behind the wheel.

Everything went off without a hitch. The shipping container fitted onto the truck bed. Tony and I dropped down on top of it as the truck drove away. No trouble all the way to the warehouse. On arrival, Tags' second-in-command Pericolo was on hand to sign for the delivery. A couple young men I hadn't met jumped into action to wheel the pallets of what looked like cereal crates into the dark cavern of the warehouse.

"Come on, don't be a stranger!" Tony pulled on my elbow before jumping to the ground and approaching Pericolo with his usual vigor.

"Rigatoni, go easy on an old man, will you?" Pericolo said, ducking under Tony's arms to escape from a back-slapping hug. "Go and check on Fregula and Paccheri, will you? Those two are always slacking."

"That's not all they're always doing." Tony laughed, turning to wave to me before heading into the warehouse's maze of stacked pallets.

"Bruno!" Pericolo's face lit up as my feet hit the ground. He rushed forward to hug me. "Child, you've been growing again. Remember when you first came to the team, you were no taller than me and finer than a bird? Thank God you're finally eating properly. Your young man, Leone Abbacchio, isn't it? He's treating you well, child?"

Leone! I realized I'd never updated him about my errands today. It was past noon. He must be frantic. But it was a rare day that I ran into Pericolo. Leone would have to wait just a few more minutes.

I gripped Pericolo's hand. I was smiling, I realized. "Yes, he's lovely. Truly a good man. I never thought – for someone like me–"

"They made it hard for you to imagine it, didn't they?" Pericolo closed his hands around mine. He looked up at me like a fierce little falcon. "You can't let them hold you back, do you understand, Bruno? You deserve so many things they denied to you. It's a long way up, but you've got to claim a future for yourself!"

"I'm beginning to." I could feel tears pricking my eyes; Pericolo's kindness was so sweet, it stung. I had to pull away. "Pericolo, how is your wife? How is your son?"

"Ah, you know Sofia stopped aging ten years ago. A strong woman is like wine: she doesn't grow older, only finer." His eyes sparkled, filled with a faithful kind of love that fascinated and frightened me. "Fabio, he's doing well, very well! You know I gave him the little vineyard consortium project two years ago? He's made great progress with it. Most of the region's vineyards are bought in now. The whole consortium is worth several million USD! Sofia is still guiding his hand, of course, but he makes his father proud, my Fabio."

"That's excellent," I said, glancing away. "Give him my congratulations, please."

Fabio had been like a cousin during those two years that Tagliatelle had kept me. Pericolo and Tagliatelle kept pushing us together, but our lives were incomparable and we stayed strangers. Pericolo was a great father; Tagliatelle's choices with me seriously compromised his place as a father figure, and so soon after my own father's death. It was hard to hear Fabio's good news without comparing my life to his once again.

Pericolo laid a gentle hand on my good shoulder. "And you, Bruno? How is your career shaping up?"

I was tempted, so tempted, to lay it all at his feet and beg for mercy. The way my meetings with Polpo tore holes in my memory. The trivial assignments he gave me, his pat-on-the-head praise. Leone's private projects were going to cost serious protection points sooner or later, which I did not believe I had earned with our new capo. I was frantic to prove my worth and the man had no place for me in his well-constructed security division.

But what help could Pericolo offer me? Advice, when he had never met this eccentric capo? A promise that Tags would put in a good word for me? I shuddered to think of my former and current capo comparing notes about my best points. Worse, an invitation to return to my old team. Smuggling drugs, undermining Tags' marriage. No, death would be a kinder fate.

"Not so well, you think?" Pericolo read my hesitation easily. "Bruno, have faith in yourself. You have superb skills for any line of work Passione might offer you. You should take this little respite as a chance to recover – the last such chance you'll see for some months, I think. Certain of your skills are about to be in high demand."

"Is that so?" I gave my old mentor a curious look.

Pericolo stepped closer and spoke lower. "Bruno, there is a storm brewing in Passione. Polpo will be gathering intelligence over the coming weeks to decide where he'll stand. Polpo's alignment will likely decide the outcome, as his division holds the most weapons and the most stand users. You must use every tool at your disposal to cement his loyalty to the faction you hold to. I believe you and I will find ourselves on the same side when all is said and done – thank God. But you would do well to pay your respects to Tagliatelle in the next few days, my child. You may not have another chance."

"Pericolo…" I struggled to account for his unusually cold-hearted words. Did he mean all my tools? How could he ask me to meet with Tagliatelle? And– "If you think Tags is in immediate danger, shouldn't you be working to safeguard him?"

"I'm doing my utmost to get him out of the country, child. My lifelong friend is the most stubborn person I know. If he chooses to stay here–" Pericolo blew out a long breath– "Well, I cannot deny the justice he deserves. Either way, a change of leadership is long overdue for this team."

I was speechless. Pericolo's loyalty to Tagliatelle was non-negotiable – as indelible as the lines in his weathered face.

"Tagli truly is the most stubborn person," Pericolo said very quietly, almost talking to himself. "I argued with him about you for fully a year, child, until finally I saw that nothing would change his mind. Blackmail did the trick; I am sorry, Bruno, I realize your next team was not a change for the better. You told Tony it was safer for you here and you were right. I just couldn't bear knowing how he treated you, and you the same age as my Fabio."

"Oh." I knew Pericolo had known. I hadn't realized how much he'd cared.

"I'm sorry, Bruno. If I couldn't do the right thing then, maybe I can now. I love Tagli like my own brother, truly, even after everything. I'd still give my life for him. But I wouldn't give yours, and that changes everything."

I might have thanked him, if I could have found the words, but the roar of a two-cylinder engine with no muffler cut me short. A chunky silver Vespa came up the narrow driveway, swerving around – then under – the departing delivery truck. That earned a long honk from the frightened truck driver.

The motorscooter righted itself with a short drift, then spun to a halt inches from my feet. The rider, also clad all in tacky silver plastic, lifted his helmet visor and nodded to Pericolo.

"Courier," Pericolo said, startled. "What brings you here? I don't believe we have business."

"Not with your own good self," the Silver Wasp replied. "I have a request to drive this young man down to the freight docks at speed. Buccellati, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Bucciarati," I corrected absently. "A request from whom?"

"No idea, but he had a ring and he gave me this. He said you'd be needing it." The Wasp produced a length of plain steel chain fitted with a clip at the end. A dog leash.

I swallowed my words and pocketed Risotto's unkind token. "Very well. Just a moment, I owe my partner a phone call first."

"He was emphatic about the speed." The rider revved his motorscooter's engine.

I gave him side-eye and swung up onto the warehouse loading deck. My phone showed an endless list of missed calls from Leone today, including several in the last ten minutes. Damn! Why the fuck was my phone on silent? I hit my speed dial.

"Leone! I'm sorry, I should have called–"

"Fuck, Bruno, you're gonna get me killed! Hang on–"

I heard a slithering sound, the sound of feet pounding on hollow metal, the roar of machine gun fire. Shit!

"Ok, listen," Leone whispered into the phone, "I'm pinned down by some sniper chick in body armor at the freight docks. She's like a SWAT team of one. She keeps yelling something at me in English. Can you send me some backup?"

"Why the fuck are you at the freight docks!" I jumped down and sprinted past Pericolo; swung onto the Silver Wasp's rear seat and hugged him tight as he peeled out of the driveway. "Leone, I'll be there in ten minutes!"

"Three minutes," the Wasp yelled over the wind.

"Three! Leone, hole up somewhere and hang in there!"

He said something, but all I could hear over the wind was some swearing. Useless. I hung up and texted one-handed instead: Are you safe?

Fuck no! Stay away. Get Illuso to

Send me his number

I stared at the message thread on the tiny backlit screen for long seconds, ignoring my hair whipping into my eyes and the wild swerving of my ride. Sticky Fingers let me cling on with no fear of falling. Nothing more came in from Leone. When I tasted blood, I realized how hard I was chewing my lip. I pocketed the phone and turned my attention to the road.

"That's a shortcut!" I yelled at my manic driver.

"I know! Hold on tight!"

I split the guardrail with a ranged punch and we sailed out over the scrubby hillside, neatly clearing the high, barbed wire fence around the docks freight yard. The moments of pure flight stole my breath away and refreshed my soul. I could do this.