The Price of Honor: The Making of a Man Read online

  It would be different once we were married.

  We told each other that.

  Sometimes our time with one another was merely in passing as I came and went from her uncle’s home. Other times I was there to eat with the family, but with the understanding there would be other responsibilities following. Angelina and I would steal a touch or a kiss when we could. Her blue eyes would look to me longingly, and I’d do my best to spend a few minutes in her presence.

  Slipping up the stairs to her room was a new kind of torture. I couldn’t stay, but my body and heart didn’t want to leave.

  I had a new mindset, a repetitive reel that played in my head. The promise of more. The dangling carrot kept me in the race. Once we were married—I surmised—we’d live together, fall asleep in each other’s arms, and wake that way the next morning.

  As I drove to whatever location Vincent wanted me to meet him or wherever Carmine had arranged for a gathering, my thoughts often slipped to my parents.

  Are our memories accurate? I wasn’t sure.

  Perhaps the scenes weren’t as loving as I recalled, yet it was difficult to think of one parent without the other. Dinner scenes came back. My father was almost always present. I neither appreciated nor disapproved of our nightly gathering. During my teenage years, I wasn’t as open to sharing my daily accomplishments or failures, yet my mother always asked. Even when I started working nights at the dockyards, my mother made an effort to spend a few minutes with me—assuring herself that I was well fed and always listening.

  I’d never realized that I missed my father during those times, until I looked back at them from a distance. His shift and mine ran one after the other. Sometimes I’d see him in passing. Most of the time I didn’t. I was too preoccupied with my own life.

  As I strived to be the man Carmine expected me to be for Angelina, I came to the realization that along with my new goals, I wanted what my parents shared. The kicker was that I also wanted more. What I was doing would provide the more. Demetri Enterprises would provide more. Connections would provide more.

  The end justified the means.

  This was just an adjustment period. Everything would be different once we were married.

  The structure of Demetri Enterprises was simple and yet complex. It was an umbrella, growing in size as it covered multiple entities, large and small. No one business was more important than another. Together they created the umbrella—my protection from the storms. When one was having financial difficulty, another would flourish.

  As I’d mentioned, a gambling parlor fronting as a nail salon was as lucrative as some Fortune 500 companies. The difference now was that I was suddenly on both sides of the aisle. I owned the building. I accepted the rent. Now, with Vincent by my side, I learned to oversee the collection of funds from the activities within.

  Gambling was an addicting pastime. Carmine had told me that he bet only on sure things. The knowledge that good men would lay down a week’s wages—always with the hope of making it more—was a sure thing. I hadn’t given gambling a lot of thought until I saw the dividends for myself. One thousand to twenty or even fifty thousand a night. When people talk of dirty money, they rarely mean literally, and yet it was. Oftentimes, the activities wouldn’t end until early in the morning. By the time the profits were counted, my hands were black with smudge and grime from the bills.

  Vincent had worked his way above the collection of taxes a long time ago, but I hadn’t. My ‘spending time’ with Vincent was designed as an orientation that became a crash course in Costello family businesses. Above all, it made me known and recognizable to the others in the family as well as to those outside.

  I was about to marry Angelina Costello.

  Oren Demetri’s presence with Vincent Costello gave not only my name, but also my reputation credence.

  The Demetri umbrella was not relegated to illegal activity. That wasn’t my goal. I incorporated legitimate businesses. I was Salvatore Demetri’s son. I was an NYU graduate. Legitimate business was my ambition. Those also came in varying sizes.

  There were the mom-and-pop laundromats where I owned fifty-one percent, liquor stores and resale shops where my ownership percentage was the same—greater than fifty but not too high. Allowing the individuals their percentage created their incentive for success. Like pebbles on a beach, the sizes of businesses varied. While one- or two-person establishments had their use, the larger and more dependable profits were found in businesses such as real estate and construction.

  That was the task Vincent and I set into motion as we oversaw the Demetri holdings. We pinpointed the business that could be of the most help to the Costellos. Since I was the owner with the most shares or highest percentage of holdings, the decision to help family was solely mine.

  Family helped family.

  My late nights or early mornings collecting taxes from the most recent gambling establishment earned me a percentage.

  That was Carmine’s help to me. Most of the money that came to me was reinvested in the building-supply and construction companies. Contracts were awarded to those connected with the family.

  Business was my forte. I’d made a name. And in the many months since I proposed to Angelina, my profits had increased at a steady yet reasonable rate. Nothing too much to set off alarms, but consistent increases nonetheless.

  “Soon,” I whispered as I leaned in for a kiss. It was a rare night with Angelina at my home, soon to be hers. She’d been making changes to the interior. Admittedly, prior to the proposal, my furniture was sparse. The kitchen and bedroom were the only rooms where I spent my time. The living room had a couch and a television, not that I had much time to watch it.

  Now as I looked around, everything was changing. There were curtains over the blinds. The couch was no longer alone, but accompanied by chairs and accent tables. There were lamps and rugs. It was the same space, yet it felt different—in a good way.

  “I miss you,” Angelina said.

  “Mio angelo, you’ll be tired of me once we’re married.”

  “Never.”

  The date of our wedding was approaching. Once we said ‘I do’ and the blowout of a party that Rose, Angelina, and Bella, Vincent’s recent bride, had planned was over, I had a two-week honeymoon booked in a remote location of Aruba. Guaranteed seclusion. That’s what the travel agent said. Hell, at the rate I’d been burning my candle at both ends, I was concerned that I might sleep the entire two weeks. Assuming I didn’t, there was more than a secluded suite. The resort had swimming pools, waterfalls, and chef-prepared meals.

  My recent increase in income production was wearing me down, but at least there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and more importantly, I had the extra cash to guarantee Angelina the honeymoon of her dreams.

  “I’m ready to move into your house.”

  “Our house,” I corrected as we sat on the steps of our back porch overlooking the courtyard. It wasn’t as nice as the Costellos’, but it was comfortable, especially on an unusually warm late-autumn evening. Without air conditioning, the porch was preferable to the heat inside.

  Of course, Angelina needed to be home—at least tonight’s curfew was midnight. And that was convenient because I had a pickup at two-thirty. Counting the money would probably take me until daybreak.

  Angelina laid her head on my shoulder and sighed as she held tightly to my arm. “I’d hoped...”

  I kissed the top of her head. “What, mio angelo, what did you hope?”

  “When I was younger, my uncle would introduce me to ‘nice men’ as he called them—from the family.”

  My chest tightened thinking of him trying to pair her off with anyone but me.

  “Good Italian boys, Aunt Rose would say. Boys who’d make your papa proud.”

  I reached for her hand. “I hope that he would be—”

  She didn’t let me finish. “He would, Oren. Never doubt that. It’s just that I never wanted that. I-I’ve never felt unsafe in Uncle Carmine’s h
ome or even when I was at NYU or in Florence, but still...my parents... I thought maybe with architecture I could move beyond it.”

  It—family.

  Her voice was low with a faraway tone.

  “It won’t be like this once we’re married,” I said again. “Imagine going to sleep with you beside me every night.”

  She nodded.

  “Your uncle, he’s home at night with Rose.”

  “Yes, but Vinny...Bella said he’s been gone a lot.”

  I knew he had. I’d been with him when I wasn’t doing what I did. “An adjustment period. I’m learning. Vincent is learning some things about Demetri. He’s especially interested in the technology ventures. There are so many possibilities. We haven’t even seen half of the advances.

  “Just think. They have telephones that go in cars now. In cars. They have prototypes of ones that you can carry with you. And computers in homes. My father and mother would be overwhelmed.”

  She sat back and brought her palm to my cheek, cupping my face and pulling it toward her. “Tesoro, that makes me happy.”

  “If you want a phone in your car or a computer for home, I’ll buy it tomorrow.”

  Her head moved back and forth as her smile grew. “No, your excitement. It makes me happy. I can hear it in your tone. Lately, you’ve sounded...tired.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just...it’s almost over. We’ll be married and I have Demetri Enterprises. It needs more of me than I’ve been giving.”

  Her smile fell. “I hope you’re right. I worry. Uncle Carmine, he approves of you and speaks highly of you. If you’re helping Vincent, if Vincent is helping you, then why would he want it to end?”

  I wouldn’t admit that I had the same fears. I couldn’t. “Not end, change. Become more manageable.”

  “I trust you.”

  “With your life, mio angelo. With your life. Because you’re my life. I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  Spearmint. I savored the flavor of her kiss.

  Wrapping my hand behind her neck, my fingers tangled in her long hair as I pulled her lips closer. As our kiss deepened, Angelina moaned and moved onto my lap. Her blue-jean-clad legs straddled mine. My hold dropped until I had her small waist surrounded.

  “I don’t deserve you,” I said, my tone deep and gravelly, wanting nothing more than to pick her up and carry her to our recently redecorated bedroom.

  “No, Oren Demetri, I don’t deserve you.” Her kisses peppered my cheek. “You work too hard.”

  “Baby, I’m hard, but it has nothing to do with work.”

  Her recently kissed lips curled upward. “If I spent the night, we could take care of that.”

  “If you spent the night, I suspect that I probably wouldn’t see you again until our wedding day. My workday would go from fifteen to twenty-four hours.”

  “I’m a grown woman.”

  My hands moved under her long, flowing top over her soft, warm skin and up to her bra. “Yes, mio angelo, you are.” As I unsnapped her bra, her head dropped, her forehead landing on my shoulder with a sigh.

  I continued to caress and knead. With each ministration, the night air filled with her whimpers as she fidgeted, our bodies wanting what couldn’t happen with the material of our jeans between us.

  “Take me upstairs.” Her command was thick, doused in desire.

  The watch on my wrist showed me that the impending curfew was near.

  “Soon, and then we’ll be just the two of us for two weeks.”

  “We may starve.”

  “Why? There’s a chef.”

  Angelina’s smile broadened. “As long as they deliver it to our bed.”

  Soon.

  The memories of the last months faded away as the periphery haze within the sanctuary thickened. There was no one else besides her. Only my angel.

  In the past week, we’d never been left alone. A chaste kiss was the best we could do. I hadn’t laid eyes upon her since our rehearsal and dinner the night before. It was difficult to believe that she could be more spectacular than she was in this same cathedral last night, wearing a sapphire blue dress, but now...she was. I feared I would be rendered speechless, a babbling imbecile when asked if I would take her as my wife.

  I do.

  I practiced the words in my head.

  Angelina’s gaze met mine through the lace veil. Her splendor was beyond my comprehension. Her beauty went beyond the surface. Yes, the surface was utterly stunning, yet it paled in comparison to her heart and soul. Deep within, she was perfection.

  Venus and Aphrodite were but mythical goddesses in lore. Angelina was my goddess of love and beauty. Standing in front of her family, friends, and associates, I willingly surrendered my all to her. Without a doubt, I’d been lost to her since the day we met, her existence affecting me like no other had or would.

  Star-crossed lovers?

  I didn’t believe it could be possible. Our destiny was together. It had taken too long to make it to this pinnacle. We were meant to be—forever. I knew that with every molecule within my body and soul.

  The organ’s music rang through the large pipes, vibrating through the air and rattling the old altar. I continued to grip my own hands, unable to take my eyes off of her, the white dress, veil, and bouquet in her grasp. She was the epitome of a blushing bride. Even beneath the lace, her gorgeous face with rosy cheeks shone through, not to be outdone but rather complemented by her piercing blue eyes and radiant smile.

  Was that a tear glistening upon her cheek?

  With each step Angelina and Carmine took toward me, I fought my own ongoing battle. The way Angelina’s gaze stared into my own, as if telling me without words that she deemed me worthy of her love and adoration. I wanted it to be. But how does one become worthy of his life’s desire?

  She and Carmine came to a stop beside me. I cleared my throat as we all turned to the priest.

  “Dearly beloved...”

  His deep, commanding tone replaced the organ music as he began the ceremony and mass. When it was time to give the bride away, I looked directly into Carmine Costello’s dark eyes. I didn’t waver. He lifted her veil and kissed her cheek. Though his lips said ‘Her aunt and I do,’ in answer to the priest’s question of who gives the bride away, when he looked up, his stare bore through me as it had months ago on that afternoon in his office when I’d asked for her hand.

  I nodded, accepting the responsibility, taking her petite hand to my arm, and turning again to the altar.

  Like the unexpected onset of a cool front on a stifling summer afternoon, the air cleared.

  With Carmine stepping back to his pew—his place beside Rose—we were finally alone. It was just Angelina and me.

  Yes, we were surrounded by family, friends, and others. Vincent was to my right with Bella beside Angelina. There were other people near and far; bridesmaids and groomsmen created a semi-circle. They were cousins of Angelina’s who’d desired to play a part. Within the mix was a small blonde flower girl. Apparently still hearing her own music, she spun in circles making the miniature bride’s gown, complete with a small tiara similar to the one in Angelina’s veil, billow around her feet. The ring bearer stood still as he’d been instructed, consumed with his own mission. The carpet surrounding his shiny shoes was littered with white strings as he pulled them from the small pillow in his grasp. The faux rings dangled from a ribbon.

  Beyond the wedding party, the pews were filled to capacity. Ladies in hats and men in their Sunday best—the standard black suit dominated the view. Only the slight rustle of hand fans created the background as the priest continued his prayers.

  Technically Angelina and I weren’t alone.

  And yet the absence of Carmine’s stare was a refreshing breeze to my soul.

  This day was what I’d worked to achieve, and staring back at me with the most intense blue eyes was everything I’d ever wanted.

  Between verses and prayers, the priest spoke about marriage and its role throughout
time. “Beginning with Adam and Eve, God intended for man and woman to be together...”

  A rather homely young lady strummed a large golden harp. Immediately the cathedral filled with a joyous melody, no doubt second only to the angels singing in heaven. As the music progressed, I regretted my first impression of the girl’s outward appearance. Undoubtedly this talented musician was the daughter of the man who would provide the music for the reception. Rose had known what was deceiving on the surface. This girl had been included in Angelina’s aunt’s plans made on the first night of our engagement.

  As the groom, I had more to say than my two-word answer.

  The priest turned to us. “Angelina Costello and Oren Demetri, have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”

  With her hands in mine, I answered truthfully. “Yes.”

  Her answer was the same.

  “Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?”

  It was my desire and perhaps, even longer. The jury was still out on life beyond our earthly bodies, yet at that moment, I didn’t want this restrained to a mere fifty or sixty years.

  “Yes,” we replied in unison.

  “Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his church?”

  “Yes.”

  And then the time came for the words I’d rehearsed. I remembered my line. After all, the script hadn’t been too complex. I’d confidently uttered my two words when Father Mario asked his question.

  “Do you, Oren, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and protect, to have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, until death do you part?”

  Something about the last line unexpectedly hit me hard. I didn’t outwardly flinch, but the pistol under my tuxedo jacket, the one that was never far from me even in slumber, was a reminder that death was more of an inevitability than a farfetched unpredictability. Probably every man in the church—save the priest—was armed. It was the way of life and death. Nevertheless, I’d spend my time on this planet assuring that Angelina’s and my time together would be long and fruitful.