Page 81 of Prince of Vice
"Is that why you came here?" I cut him off, anger flaring inside me. "To tell me you're choosing crime over me? You could've saved us both the trouble and just stayed away!"
"Wait, I didn't—" he starts, but I don't let him finish.
"Save it," I snap, yanking open the car door. "There's nothing you can say that will make this right." With those words, I slam the door shut and drive off, leaving him standing in the parking lot, a forlorn figure against the backdrop of the city.
As I make my way back to my apartment, a small part of me feels guilty for treating him so harshly. But then I remind myself – he's the one who broke my heart, and I won't let him get away with that.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Primo
The sky above is a melancholy gray as I make my way down the narrow cobblestone street in a quiet section of Boston. My footsteps click against the brick walls of the surrounding buildings, converging at the entrance to the little shop. It's tucked away discreetly, like a secret waiting to be unraveled. A weathered wooden sign hangs above the door, announcing its purpose with an intricate design of inked roses and skulls: The Iron Quill Tattoo Parlor.
As I push open the door, the familiar scent of antiseptic and ink envelops me, welcoming me back to a place that had become something of a sanctuary over the years. The owner, a man with a permanent half-smile creasing his face and a beard peppered with silver, looks up from behind the counter. His dark eyes glint with recognition, and warmth fills his voice as he greets me.
"Primo! It's been too long. What brings you here today?"
His arms, covered in a tapestry of vibrant tattoos, bear testament to his life's work. There's a sense of quiet strength in his gaze, the sort of wisdom one acquires after decades of listening to stories etched into skin.
"Hey, Joe," I say softly, feeling an unexpected tightness in my chest. "I lost someone very special to me recently. Charlie. I'd like to honor him properly."
Joe's smile falters for a moment, and he nods solemnly. He gestures to the worn leather chair in the center of the room, inviting me to sit. "Tell me about Charlie," he says, his voice gentle and understanding. "What did he mean to you?"
"Charlie...he was more of a father to me than my actual father," I begin, my voice shaking slightly. "He taught me many things, always watched out for me. We were navigating through a dangerous world, and he was my compass."
As the words spill out of me, a heavy weight settles in my heart. "He died, Joe," I choke out. "And it was my fault."
Joe listens intently, his eyes never leaving mine as I speak. He picks up a pencil and begins to sketch something on a piece of paper. It's a fluid motion, his hand guided by years of experience and an innate understanding of the human soul.
"Your grief is clear, Primo," he says quietly, presenting the design he has created. "Let this be a testament to him and to your bond."
My breath catches as I take in the intricate artwork: a black rose intertwined with a golden compass, its needle pointing north. The petals of the rose are tinged with crimson, representing both love and loss. At the center, in delicate script, is a single word: 'Charlie.'
I nod at him, giving him the approval he needs to get started. A lump forms in my throat as I marvel at the beauty of the design. Somehow, he has captured the essence of Charlie and our relationship in a way that transcends mere ink and skin.
"Let's get started then," Joe murmurs, preparing his tools with practiced ease. As the tattoo gun comes to life, buzzing like a swarm of bees, I brace myself for the familiar sting – a small price to pay for the permanent tribute that will soon adorn my body.
The hum of the tattoo gun ceases, and I feel the cool touch of Joe's gloved hand as he gently wipes away any excess ink from my skin. The pain has dulled down to a faint ache, a reminder of the story now etched into my flesh.
"Done," Joe announces, stepping back to admire his work. The black rose and golden compass gleam under the soft lights of the shop, seeming to come alive with every beat of my heart. Charlie would have been proud of this tribute, a symbol of our unbreakable bond that remains even after death.
"Thank you, Joe," I say, my voice thick with gratitude. He nods solemnly, understanding the gravity of what he's just given me.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Primo?" Joe asks, already starting to clean up his workspace.
A flash of determination sparks within me, fueled by the memory of Charlie and the need to honor him in every way possible. "Actually, yes," I reply, meeting Joe's gaze unwaveringly. "I'd like one more tattoo."
He raises an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "What do you have in mind?"
I hesitate for a moment, the image of the second tattoo clear in my mind but the words difficult to find. It isn't just about honoring Charlie; it's about embracing the part of myself I've kept hidden for too long. With Isabella's acceptance of my secret desire, I feel a newfound courage rising within me.
"Something...personal," I finally say, a hint of vulnerability seeping through my usual stoicism. "A symbol of who I am and what I want."
Joe nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "Alright, Primo. I trust you'll know it when you see it."
"Thank you, Joe," I breathe, preparing myself for what comes next. It's a step into the unknown, the uncharted territory of my heart.
As Joe begins to gather his tools once more, I find myself lost in thought, considering all the ways this small act will change me - and the world around me. My life is a web of decisions, a tapestry woven from strands of love, loyalty, and sacrifice. This new tattoo will be another thread, tying me to the person I am becoming.