The Blood Brotherhood

My first attempt at a "mafia-like" story. If this goes well, I'll write more. If not, then I'll probably delete this.

    I never thought I’d end up on the wrong side of the tracks. I was a good kid. Smart, I was gonna go places. At least that’s what I thought. Terry is the name. Terry Fontinello. People would tell me, “ Terry, you’re a good kid. You got talent, you know? You’re a great writer, just keep you’re head in those books and you’ll be an author one of these days.” They never expected me to stoop so low just to protect the people I care about. Then again, neither did I.

    It was September in the city of Dons. Ma was cleaning up after breakfast. I was sitting at the table, staring at my empty plate where two waffles had once been. I lifted the cool, glass cup of orange juice to my lips and drank what was left in the glass. I set down my glass and stared out the window, which was above the soapy sink. A thin sheet of fog drifted through our gray city, accompanied by the faint scent of smoke. The streets seemed dark, which was perfect for the mob that haunted Dons. The Blood Brotherhood, B.B for short. They dressed somberly and had a rough, mean, don’t-you-dare-look-at-me expressions. They were always armed with weapons, whether guns, knives, or their fists. No one was safe from them, only the members and member’s family was protected. I would walk the streets in terror, waiting for one of them to show up from nowhere and attack. I wanted to meet them, to know what they knew, to be able to protect Ma. She was all I had left in this world.

    “ They’ve been awfully quiet lately, haven’t they, Mama?”

    Ma turned to face me, slowly. Her pale, slender face, big, round, dark eyes and short brown hair. She placed her frayed, filthy rag on the table and took a seat across from me, resting her face in her hands.

    “ You know I don’t like to talk about them, Terry. After what they did, I’m surprised that you can,” she said, ending with a sigh. My Ma had a deep, smooth, velvety voice that never ceased to sooth me when I was younger, crying from a nightmare or having fallen off my bike.

    “ We can’t live in the past forever,” I responded.

    “ I know, but they took my darling, Stefano. Che Dio sia con lui.”

    “ Che Dio sia con lui,” I repeated. “ I know, Mama. He was my Papa, I miss him too. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know.”

    “ I know, sweetie. Now get you’re things, you need to go to school,” she said, rising from the table to continue her cleaning, as if our conversation had never occurred. As if it was just another Friday morning. I gave my plate and glass to Mama and ran up the stairs, creaking as I did so. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was slightly scrawny with olive skin and dark brown hair. Thin lips and large, narrow feet that didn’t seem to be mine. That was me, Terry Fontinello.

    The walk to school was normally a fear-filled walk, full of head turning and checking for the double B. Today, I didn’t feel like aching my neck another morning twisting and turning it. I kept my head low, focused on the uninteresting concrete, avoiding the cracks and kicking pebbles. Suddenly, I bumped into something.

    “ Probably a light post or something,” I thought to myself.

    But when I looked up, I was graced with the sight of a beautiful girl. She had long, curly hair, the color of the midnight. Fair, light skin that looked silky to the touch. She was only a few inches shorter than I and had her hair hanging by the side of her face. She was wearing dark jeans and a tight shirt. A box she had been holding in her hands dropped to the ground. A red blush of embarrassment crept of her flawless face as she bent down the pick up the contents that had been in the box.

    “ I’m sorry,” I said as I bent down to help her. We got up and looked at each other. “ You’re new here, aren’t ya?”

    “ Yeah,” she said, using one hand to dust off her jeans. “ I’m from Oak Lore.”

    “ That’s a nice place. So why are you here in this dump?” I asked, sounding more serious, I realized, than jocular.

    “ Dad’s job transfer.”

    “ Ah,” I said. “ Well, welcome to Dons. It’s okay, I guess. Not too amazing or anything.” I stuck out my hand. “ I’m Terry Fontinello.”

    “ Bianca Ricci,” she said in a gentle voice, not taking my hand.

    “ You know,” I said, “ if you’re gonna go to the junior high, we don’t live too far from each other. I could show you the way to school, I’ll walk past your house, anyway.”

    “ Yeah, I’m in the eighth grade. I’ll be starting Monday.”

    “ Sweet, I’m in the eighth, too. Well, see ya. I need to be on my way. See ya, Bianca Ricci,” I said, walking off.

    “ See ya, Terry Fontinello.”

Reviews

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

Do write some more! This was well written, very intresting! i enjoyed it.