Truths and Chains – Chapter Three

NOT EDITED

Vito awoke tucked into a bed in the guest room of Luca and Malik’s modest little home in Los Angeles. Like Jamal Pitman’s little brother and a former Lucchese soldier couldn’t afford a fucking mansion instead of a one-story, three-bedroom home. He tossed the covers to the end of the bed and sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. Tito was asleep in a chair in the corner of the room, a blanket pulled up around his shoulders, his fist digging into his temple. In classic Tito fashion, he must have kept guard all night, just to make sure Vito felt safe.

Shocking? Not really. Made him feel like an even bigger piece of shit than usual? Definitely.

The smell of actual food lured Vito to the kitchen, where he was thankful to find Malik instead of Luca at the stove, flipping pancakes. “Morning, Uncle Mal.”

“Hey, kiddo.” Malik reached out and squeezed Vito’s arm. “When Luca told me your brother called last night to see if you guys could stay the night, I wasn’t sure I believed him.”

“Because I’m, like, an asshole?”

“No, honey, of course not. Because we just don’t see you two as much as we’d like to, that’s all. We love having you around.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Vito grabbed a pancake from the plate on the counter and artfully folded it into his mouth.

Luca, a tattooed and scarred Mexican who was a giant even by Vito’s standards, walked into the kitchen, leaned down to kiss Malik’s temple, and promptly smacked the back of Vito’s head.

“Oww.”

“Luca,” Malik scolded.

The giant ignored him. “Remember all those fun talks we had about doing drugs and how they ruined my fucking life?”

Vito sighed. Jesus. Now he remembered why he didn’t hang around his uncles often. “Yes.”

“And you still couldn’t bring yourself to listen? Couldn’t even listen for once in your Goddamn life?”

“Luc, come on. He’s just a kid,” Malik said.

“No, he’s a stupid fucking adult making stupid fucking adult decisions. Decisions that affect everyone around him.” Luca jabbed a finger into Vito’s chest. “You think I didn’t see the bruises under your brother’s eyes? Like I don’t know you punched him in the damn face before he spent the evening calling around to find somewhere you felt comfortable staying? Think your dad didn’t call me up yesterday when you were on your little spree with the car because he was worried you were out trying to get yourself killed?”

Vito wanted to point out that Tito had only had to call one person, but his mouth ran a hell of a lot faster than his brain. “He’s not my fucking dad.”

“He’s one of the closest things you’ll ever get to one. ‘Real’ Mommy and Daddy don’t know anything about what their little boy’s up to, do they?”

Vito shoved Luca back into the island. “Least I don’t walk out on my boyfriend and knock up some rando every time I’m high. How many bastard children you got running around these days, Uncle L? Any ballpark guesses on just how many times you’ve been someone’s worthless daddy?”

Luca let out a huff of a laugh, his lips parted in that way that usually meant someone was going to try and kick Vito’s ass. Heavy on the ‘try’.

“That’s not fair,” Malik decided, stepping between the pair, eyes on Vito’s face. “Something like that has not happened for a long time, and you know it.”

“Yeah, that you know of. Who knows what he does behind your back these days. Or who.” Vito laughed. “You’ve turned so many fucking blind eyes to what he does, that I’m not even sure you’d see it if he fucked someone right here in front of us.”

“I want you out of my goddamn house. Right now,” Luca said from behind the shorter man.

“Luca.”

“Your brother can take you, or you can find your own way out. Don’t care where you go, but if you’re not gone by the time I’m back in this fucking kitchen, I’m dragging you out myself.”

“Luca.” Malik turned off the burner and set the spatula on the counter before following the giant out of the kitchen. “Can we talk about this?”

Vito snatched another pancake from the counter and headed back to the guest room. Half a pancake shoved in his mouth, he kicked Tito’s shin with his toes. Tito let out a quiet grumble, pulling his leg away from him. “Luca’s kickin’ me out. You takin’ me, or am I findin’ a ride back to my truck?”

“Luca…? What?” Tito rubbed at his eyes before forcing them open to look at his watch. “It’s not even noon. How’d you…? Why are you even up? What’d you do?”

“Why’s it gotta be my fault?”

“Because it usually is. What’d you do?”

“Don’t matter. I’ll see myself out. See you back home.”

“Vi.” Tito grabbed his arm, but Vito shook him off. “Just… chill, okay? Give me a second,” he said through a yawn. “Can I talk to Luca first?”

“For?” Vito asked, folding the rest of his pancake into his mouth.

“To see if I can change his mind?”

“If the dude he sticks his dick in can’t change his mind, I doubt you can.”

Tito winced, pushing himself to his feet. “I wish you wouldn’t say shit like that. They’re family. They’re our uncles, dude.”

“We’re not related to them.”

“We’re not related to anyone, if you wanna be an ass about it. Adopted, found, and chosen family is all we got, Vi. You and me are the only blood there is.”

“That’s how it should be. Just be you and me,” Vito said. “No one else. Just us against the rest of ‘em.”

Tito laughed, grabbing his shirt from the floor. “What are you suggesting? We run away to start our own crime family and start killing anyone who stands in the way?” he asked as he tugged his shirt on over his head.

“No more bowing down to Carmine and Venetia or Jamal or Bo.”

Tito’s brow furrowed, eyes locking on Vito’s face. “I was kidding.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Jesus, Vi.” Tito laid his hands on his brother’s cheeks. “How high are you?”

Vito tried to smack his hands away, but he wouldn’t budge. “You want a second fucking lesson, Tito? Get your hands offa me.”

Tito dropped his hands back to his sides. “This isn’t from last night. You… What’d you do? Sneak out and buy something after I fell asleep?”

Vito snorted. “Like I had to sneak out. Not like you frisked me when you got to the charity thing.”

Tito stared at him for a moment before grabbing Vito’s suit jacket from the bed. When he didn’t find anything in the pockets, he turned to his brother. “You still have some on you?”

Vito shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Oh, a junkie always knows.”

“Fuck you.”

Tito shoved his brother into the wall, an arm pressed against his chest to keep him there, free hand trying to pat down the pockets of his pants. Vito drove a knee into Tito’s groin, shoving him away as soon as the pressure of his arm faltered. Tito stared at him, shoulders rising and falling at an alarming rate. “Give me the bag, Vito.”

“I’ll find my own way home.”

“Give me… the bag.”

“What I do with my own fuckin’ money is my damn business.”

“The hell it is. Not when it’s destroying everyone around you.”

“Then get the fuck out of my life, Tito.”

“I can’t! I promised to protect you. I promised to keep you safe. Always! A Pitman—”

“You ain’t a fuckin’ Pitman! You’re a fuckin’ Minetti! And you know what Minettis are, Tito? They’re pieces of shit. They’re pieces of shit who knock up their girlfriends and leave ‘em scared and alone. So fuckin’ scared that they give birth by themselves, who the fuck knows where, and take their newborn babies to some random fuckin’ apartment and drop ‘em on the stairs, hope someone finds ‘em and takes ‘em inside and out of the rain. Such pieces of shit that she still ends up dead in the middle of a field afterward, unidentified because a Minetti doesn’t even care enough to make sure the mother of their children gets to be buried in a grave with her fucking name on the headstone! So be the Minetti you are and not the Pitman you think you’re worthy of being, and get the fuck out of my life!”

When Tito didn’t do anything more than stare at him, chest heaving, Vito deduced that he’d won yet another battle for the day and walked out of the room. He didn’t make it far before Tito tackled him face first to the ground. Tito yanked his hands behind his back, his knee pressed between his shoulders to keep him grounded. “You can be a Minetti all you want, Vi, but I’m a fucking Pitman,” Tito said, his voice shaky and a little broken. “And Pitmans don’t let their brothers kill themselves like this. Pitmans… Pitmans stop being cowards and get their brothers the help they need.”

Vito struggled against him, desperately trying to free himself, but Tito’s grip was tight and unwavering. “You check me into some fuckin’ white room, Tito, I swear to God, I’ll kill you the second I’m out.”

“Then at least you’ll do it sober.”

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