Truths and Chains – Chapter Two

NOT EDITED

“I don’t want to go to your thing tonight.”

Jamal glanced up in the mirror to meet Vito’s gaze before going back to shaving the hair along his jawline. “Just because I invited you doesn’t make it my thing. It’s for Mickey, and you should be there. They only do one in his name around the anniversary. They hardly acknowledge him otherwise. You should be there for that acknowledgement.”

“Well, he’s my dead friend, and I say I don’t wanna be there.”

“If you can come up with a good excuse, sure. If not, you’re going to be there.”

“I had a rough night.”

“Every night is a rough night for you. That’s what happens when you feed your liver with alcohol and your veins with whatever the hell you can shoot into them.”

“Fuck you, old man.”

Jamal only chuckled. Not quite joyous, but not that terrifyingly dark one he reserved for a category of people Vito usually didn’t fit into. “This is the first time they’ve held one of these at the same time you’d be available to attend. They aren’t going to hold another in his honor until at least next year, and based on how much shorter they get every year, I wouldn’t be surprised if they phase him out entirely. You should be there. He would want you to be there.”

“You don’t know what the fuck he’d want.”

Jamal let out a breath, turning on the water long enough to rinse off his razor. “I realize you’re you, but I’d like to remind you that Mickey was my friend long before he was yours. You only knew the man because I stuck you with him to try and manage some of your you qualities.”

Vito stayed silent as Jamal washed his face. “Mickey’s the only other person I ever told about what the Fosters did to me and Ti. What… what Ti did to them after.” Jamal’s hand froze midway to the towel. “That was all I could think about last night. Couldn’t bury it beneath… any amount of beer, no matter how many I downed. The vodka didn’t help. Neither did the Scotch. And I know it’s a little TMI for your generation, but neither did the sex.” Vito cleared his throat. “Mickey was, like… the first person outside of Tito to make me feel like I didn’t deserve it. Like I hadn’t done something to ask for it. He was the only one I could talk to about it. And he’s dead, and he’s been dead, and I haven’t been able to fill that hole no matter what I shoot into it.”

“You can talk to me,” Jamal said after what felt like an eternity. “And your brother. He lived it. He was… he was there. You know you can talk to us.”

Vito only crossed his arms over his chest. “So is that a good enough reason not to go?”

“I’m telling your brother you’re struggling,” Jamal said, finally grabbing the towel to dry his face.

“Oh, my God, if I wanted Tito to know, I’d have fucking told him, Jamal. I’ll go to your stupid fucking fundraiser.”

“Vito—”

“I said I’ll fucking go. Jesus.” Vito pushed himself away from the doorframe and stormed his way through the Pitman Estate until he made it to the garage, where he promptly grabbed a set of keys to steal whichever expensive car lit up and beeped at him. One of the Bugattis. Yep, that would work.

***

Vito strolled into the banquet hall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants, and searched the crowd of rich losers for Jamal. Instead, he was practically accosted by the man’s personal bodyguard before he even made it three feet inside.

“Are you high?”

“Evening, Frank,” Vito said, looking down at the older white man.

Frank shook his head. “Mister Pitman—”

“Pfft. Don’t ‘Mister Pitman’ me. Like I fucking give a shit about that hoity toity bullshit.”

Frank grabbed his bicep and yanked him a step closer. “Mister Pitman was incredibly concerned during your little adventure. You’re lucky your brother talked him out of putting out an APB on that damn car.”

“Pfft.”

“I’ve got him.”

Vito closed his eyes at the sound of his brother’s voice. Just what he needed.

“If he can’t behave himself, I want him out of here before Mister Pitman or anyone else important sees him,” Frank said, pushing Vito back toward Tito. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Tito assured. Once Frank had turned away, Tito stepped in front of his brother, brow furrowed with that oh so familiar concern that Vito hated.

“Oh, goodie, my knight in shining armor, come to save the day,” Vito said.

Tito didn’t even roll his eyes. “Jesus, Vi. What’d you take?”

“What car, or what drug?”

“Jesus,” Tito whispered. “Drug. I’m aware of the car.”

“Don’t matter. Got me here, didn’t it? Does the name really make a difference after that?” Vito asked.

“You could’ve killed yourself. Or someone else.”

Vito lifted his shoulders.

Tito smoothed his hands over either side of Vito’s jacket and untied the atrocious knot in his tie before redoing it. “You’re gonna be good, aren’t you? For Mickey?”

“Totes.”

“Vito, I’m serious.”

“So am I. Get your fucking hands off me.” Vito tried to shove him away, but Tito wrapped his hands around his jacket. “Tito, I’m not fuckin’ around.”

“Neither am I.”

Before he could even consider stopping himself, Vito drove his fist straight into his brother’s nose. Tito stumbled back, a hand flying up to his face. “Oh, my God, Ti. I’m so sorry.” Vito reached for him, but Tito stepped away, holding out his free hand to keep Vito at bay. “I’m sorry.”

Tito pulled his hand back long enough to look at the blood in his palm. “I… I need to find the bathroom. Wait outside. I’ll drive you back to a hotel so you can sleep off whatever the hell you took.”

“Ti.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just—I need a second. I’ll be with you in a second. Okay?”

“ ‘Kay,” Vito whispered. He headed outside and sat down on the steps, head falling to his hands. It wasn’t long before he heard the door behind him and a hand touched his shoulder. He lifted his head, finding himself staring at… God what the hell was his name?

“I thought that was you,” the Black man said, his voice just as soft as it had been the night before. He sat down beside Vito, hands wrapped around the edge of the step. “Was a bit odd, you know, watching you punch a guy in the face who arguably has the same face as you.”

“My brother.” Vito cleared his throat. “Twinsies,” he added in a whisper.

“What’d he do to deserve it?”

“I don’t know. Existed, I guess. He doesn’t have to do much to set me off.” Vito clasped his hands between his knees, blurry gaze focused on his feet. “I don’t mean to be such a piece of shit to him, not really.”

“I’m guessing being high as a kite doesn’t help,” the man said.

“It don’t,” Vito agreed in a whisper, his brow furrowed. “This the… the fundraiser you’re supposed to schmooze for money at?”

“Generally speaking. But I’m not out here to beg for a donation, if that’s what you’re asking. At these types of events, I just naturally gravitate to pretty Italians that punch other pretty Italians.”

Vito almost smiled at that, but his brain had already started down a much different path. “How do you know the… the people in charge?”

“It’s my dad’s organization. Or, it was when he was alive. My step parents are in charge now.”

Vito turned just enough to look at the man again. “You’re…? Mickey’s your dad?”

“Mickey?” he echoed. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone other than his biker buddies call him that,” he said with a little laugh. “Yeah, he’s my dad.”

“Oh, my God,” Vito whispered, gaze shifting back to his feet.

“Are… you one of his biker buddies? Or, were you, I guess, would be… more accurate.”

“Sorta. He taught me everything I know about bikes. He was sorta assigned to me to try and make me less of an asshole.”

He chuckled. “Well, I guess he didn’t do his job then, did he?”

Vito couldn’t help but laugh as he wiped his nose with his fist. He shook his head. “Not good enough, no. He tried though. He was, like, my best friend in… in the whole fucking world.”

“Mine too. Though I wasn’t being an asshole. Most of the time, anyway.”

“That’s checks out. The not being an asshole part.” Vito sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m… I’m sorry about your dad. I know losing him like that had to have… I know it sucked.”

“And I’m sorry you lost your best friend.”

Vito ran through last night’s conversation in his head, what he could remember of it, his brow furrowed. “You said you were in a car accident.”

“Yeah.”

“Was it…?”

“The one that killed him?” he asked. “Yeah.”

“Jesus,” Vito whispered. He laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. “That’s when I, like, really started drinking. I don’t know how you’re okay.”

He laid a tentative hand on his shoulder, but Vito shrugged it off. “Would you like to talk about him? I… I know I like to. I think it helps.”

“No.”

“That’s okay.” He tucked his hands back between his knees. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“Yeah.”

“Did… you get any sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Could I offer to… take you out for a coffee? Give you something in your system other than beer and whatever you took before coming here? We don’t have to talk. We can just sit.”

“No.”

“Okay,” He whispered. “Do you have someone to take you home? Or are you stuck on the stairs for the rest of the evening?”

“I can take care of myself, dude. I don’t need your fucking help. And Jesus, do you ever stop with the fucking questions?”

“Okay.” He pushed himself to his feet and squeezed Vito’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming, even if you didn’t make it far before, y’know, punching yourself in the face. I appreciate you showing up for my dad regardless of how long you were here. Or the state of your arrival.”

“Yeah,” Vito whispered. He reached up and grabbed the man’s hand the second it left his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I really don’t mean to be a cunt. I just… am. All the time. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t the greatest person in the depths of my grief, either. I hope you find peace, Vitelli. True, genuine peace. My dad would’ve wanted that for you. He wouldn’t want you suffering so greatly on his behalf.”

Vito let out a broken sound and squeezed his hand tightly before letting go, and the man whose name he still couldn’t fucking remember headed back inside. It wasn’t long before Tito came outside, his undereyes already beginning to bruise from the fist to the face. God, Vito was such a piece of shit. “I’m so sorry, Ti.”

“Let’s just go,” Tito said, holding out a hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“I heard you the first time. Let’s go.”

“Are you mad?”

Tito let out a breath, closing his eyes briefly. “No. I’m worried, but I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Vito whispered, grabbing his brother’s hand. Tito tugged him to his feet. “Can you take me to Mom and Dad’s?”

“You’re high, Vi.”

“Yeah?”

“They don’t know that about you, Vi. Remember?”

“Oh,” Vito whispered. “Yeah. Okay.”

“We… I could see if Uncle Malik and Luca would let us stay at the house here in LA?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Tito whispered back. “Let’s, uh, let’s get you to the car, and then I’ll give Uncle Luca a call. Okay?”

Vito only managed to offer a nod, worldlessly following Tito down the stairs and through the parking lot. Once he was in the car, he stuck out his hand to keep Tito from closing the door. “Please don’t let Jamal drag me to the next one of these. I can’t, Ti. I just can’t.”

Tito reached into the car to push his brother’s hair from his face. “I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Tito said softly. “Let’s find you somewhere safe to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, Ti.”

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