Hopelessly Yours by Ellery Rhodes Read Free Book Online Page A

street, an ageless brick building flanked by a shiny new McDonald’s and a gas station. Old men perched at the cafe tables outside, playing checkers and pausing to glare at the cars that whizzed by, like they were disrupting their piece of paradise.
    I ducked my head in acknowledgment, and they returned the gesture before I stepped inside the restaurant. I made the mistake of rushing past them the first time I showed up at Luigi’s, bright eyed and bushy tailed. It was right after I was expelled from Clint High and learned I’d have to go to Clint Alternative, a school notorious for the learning kids got outside of the classroom. Lessons like, life is shit and then you die. And emotions and attachments are weaknesses.
    I was fifteen when I first burst through the door of the neighborhood pizzeria, determined to give school the finger altogether and work for Macone like my uncle. I’d barely gotten five feet inside before a tiny old lady grabbed me by the collar. She was a petite little thing, with salt and pepper hair that she wore in a single braid over her shoulder, wrinkles creating deep lines in her face. She told me to mind my manners.
    She was the same age as my grandmother. I couldn’t stand my grandmother, or being ordered around, but there was kindness in her jade colored eyes that I’d never seen in my grandmother’s hateful glare. I obeyed the woman’s command, which had been a good thing. The old lady was Macone’s mother—and if I had told her to fuck off, I would have been staggering back to the bus stop with two black eyes and some missing teeth. By going back out and entering the right way, remembering my manners, I’d passed the first test—but Macone took one look at me and said to come back when I was eighteen.
    And that’s exactly what I did.
    The bell sang a song and the little old lady, Adalina Macone, looked up from the table she was wiping down. She had more grays than I remembered, age erasing her jet-black hair, but when she smiled, she reminded me of a kid on Christmas morning.
    “Well, get a look at you.” She plodded over, moving at a pace that made my heart ache. She had hip replacement surgery a year ago, and a couple of months prior, she had a mini stroke. I hugged her like she was a delicate, fragile thing prone to breakage. Too fragile to have created someone like Anthony Macone.
    She held me at arm’s length, her bright eyes surveying me like I was the one with health problems. “You okay, kid?”
    Better now . “I’m good. How ‘bout you?”
    “Oh, you know me,” she winked. “Up to no good.” She peered over my shoulder at the girl behind the counter. “A Coke and a slice.”
    My cheeks heated. “That’s okay—”
    “You know there’s no point in arguing.” The light in her eyes dimmed. “You here to see Tony?”
    “Yes ma’am,” I said with a solemn nod. “He’s in the back?”
    “Mmhm.” Her eyes washed over me a second time, pausing as she gripped one of my hands and brought it to the light. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Let me get you something for that.”
    I pulled from her grasp gently, but my voice was firm. “I appreciate it, but I’m good. I’m gonna head on back.”
    Families lined the booths, all devouring the crack that was Luigi’s pizza. They were a lot like the families in the portraits on the wall, smiling and carefree. In another life, if my mom didn’t desert me and I had a proper childhood, I’d probably be just like them. Chewing, blissfully oblivious to what went on in the back room. The deals that were made, the names that were exchanged, the money that passed hands.
    Michael DiMaggio, one of Macone’s personal muscle, stood at the door, stony faced and unmoving like he was guarding Buckingham Palace. He didn’t say a word, but he stepped aside to let me pass.
    Macone was at the head of the long, mahogany table. There were other people in the room, but they didn’t matter. It was impossible to be in the same