Written in Ink

Twenty-eight | Alonzo

 "Capo." Matteo knocks, popping his head into my office.

"What?" I answer back, not looking up.

There is a pause and I look up to see him looking at me curiously. "English?"

Merde. I didn't even realize or even think about it. "It's all Reagan knows how to speak so I've gotten used to it the past few days." I explain, although I don't need to explain myself.

"She is cute." He chuckles, sitting across from me all relaxed. I felt bothered when he said that but I shook it off quickly. "Anyway, I came to get you. It's just about dinner time and I'm starving." He explains.

"You go on. I'll be here for a lot longer. I won't be done for a while." I wave him off and focus back onto my laptop.

"Look, I respect the hell out of you, but you've been working late and too early. How about you leave now, go hang out with your wife and come back in after lunch tomorrow?" He suggests.

I sigh. Even though that sounds wonderful, I can't. "I have work to do, shut the door on your way out."

"Come on man. Lets go have a drink." He pushes.

It's taking so much into me not to get up and leave all this behind. "Matteo..." I urge him to stop pressing.

"Alonzo..." He copies. "Look, man, we were friends before all this. Even then you'd leave the house— no escape the house to get a drink with me." He stands up, throwing his arms in the air.

I drop my gaze off my laptop, leaning my forehead into my hands letting out a sigh. It's fine, I'll just come in tomorrow and work. It doesn't matter anyway, I'm the boss, therefore they can't fire me or do anything to me if my work isn't completed. Joder.

"I could use a glass of bourbon." I close my laptop, standing from my desk.

"How do Americans say it? Ah— Hell yeah!" He celebrates. "Come on buddy!" He swings an arm around my shoulders but I push him off. "Right, baby steps."

I just chuckle.

I drive fast back to the house with Matteo in the passenger seat, nodding his head to music, talking my ear off. We've always been buddies. He is my only friend, the only person I trust. His father worked closely with my father before his died. I was never positive on how, but somewhere I got wind that both our fathers got into a fight and well, Matteo's father died.

"And then! He was all like 'no! I have family!' blah blah blah. I am really getting sick and tired of victims saying the same thing over and over again." He laughs as he tells his story. "Man, this is so nice talking to you again. It's been forever."

"You're being dramatic, we talk at work everyday." I respond.

"No, but yeah." He laughs. "But this talking American thing is fun to be honest!" For the rest of the ride home he speaks in a— how he describes it— a "hillbilly" accent that annoys the shit out of me but it just goes to show how goofy he is.

We soon arrive home, and both walk into the house. Matteo knocks off his accent going back to Italian. When we walk into the dinning hall, I see a frustrated and tense table. Matteo gives a curtly nod before taking his seat across from Reagan. She looks so pissed off. But when does she not?

I catch a look at her and see something odd about her chin and neck, it looks fake, and discolored. Like poor makeup painted over certain spots. I can't help but want to reach out and touch, so I just do.

My thumb runs across her chin, smearing a layer of makeup off that uncovers dark finger like bruises. My eyes harden looking at the marks. I take her by the arm, pulling her up and out of her chair as I pull her to our room upstairs. I drag her into the bathroom putting her in front of the sink.

"What are you doing?" She snaps as I drown a rag underneath the running tap.

I shove the rag into her hands. "Wipe it off." I command.

She gives me a shocked, angered look. "What? Why?" She questions, putting the rag down.

I pick it right back up, putting it into her hands again. "Wipe it off yourself, or I will." My voice is low and demanding but she just looks at me with a look of amusement.

She even giggles. "I could have just left it uncovered for everyone to see. I could have. But instead I tried to be a makeup artist and cover it. It fooled everyone else that I saw today. Just not you!" She swats at my chest laughing again.

What the hell? "Reagan..." I press.

"Alonzo..." She replies.

I rip the rag from her hand and with my other hand I yank her hair back so her neck is exposed to me. I wipe quickly, and harshly across her skin to rid it of the makeup. A hand print clear as day holds both her chin and her upper neck, leaving a dark bruise. Who the hell gave this to her?

"Who did this?" I question with a low tone.

She scoffs, trying to push me away. "Doesn't matter, and like you care." In one quick move, she kicks off her heels and gets out of my grip, walking away. "Thanks for getting me out of dinner, I really didn't want to go. But your daddy is such a prick—"

"My father did that?" I hold her tightly by the upper arm.

Reagan stops for a moment, staring into nothing. "He is not the nicest person in the world." She chuckles under her breath before pulling her arm free.

My blood begins to boil. Why would he lay a hand on my bride. He hits my mother enough as it is, now he goes for Reagan? All I want to do is kill that man for the hell he has put us all through.

I can't even speak right now. I'm so angry. I strom out of the room and right down stairs with full intentions of ripping my father's head off. That is until I see him.

Whenever I look into that man's eyes, I can't help the fear that creeps up inside me like it did when I was a child. The man that beat me and my mother until he was satisfied. He wanted me to fear him and he succeeded. Even after all these years the man still has an effect on me. I will overcome that fear today. I will kill him with all the reasoning in the world.

I was about to storm into the dinning hall when someone grabbed my arm, yanking me away from the door. I go into defence mode, pulling my fist back until I lock eyes with my mother.

I release a hold I didn't realize I was holding on her neck, and I pull my fist down. "Mama, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Alonzo." She holds my cheek in one of her warm hands. "I know what you are about to do, and I beg you not to."

"He deserves it!" I shout in a whispered volume.

Both her small hands move to my shoulders in a pleading way. "I know, I know. J-just don't waste your energy. He has just had a long day and..."

"I don't understand how the hell you still protect him." I grimace.

She doesn't even know how to respond. "Alonzo, please." She begs with teary eyes.

How can she continue to defend him after all he has done?

"Just walk away." She pleads.

I stand there for a second, contemplating whether to listen to her or go finally do what I've always wanted. The man at that dinner table deserves nothing but hell. Nothing but the hell I will rain onto him.

"Please." Her words are soft like they've always been. Soft and calming. Not calming enough— I'm still pissed, but it makes me respect her wishes and I just walk away.

I don't walk to the room, I just walk to the liquor room that is connected to the kitchen, deciding to take Matteo up on his drink offer.

Thoughts?