{"id":593,"date":"2020-08-29T16:45:16","date_gmt":"2020-08-29T16:45:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/?p=593"},"modified":"2021-10-14T21:08:00","modified_gmt":"2021-10-14T21:08:00","slug":"book-ii-chapter-20-ciambelline","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/2020\/08\/book-ii-chapter-20-ciambelline\/","title":{"rendered":"Book II – Chapter 29: Ciambelline"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

\"\"Illustration by Eyugho<\/span><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Generally, dive bars were not known for being bastions of cleanliness. Men\u2019s bathrooms were exponentially worse. The men\u2019s bathroom in<\/i> a dive bar was an unholy duet of the most revolting environment Demos could think of. Yet, somehow, he was spending time in one.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

His small frame was pinned against the wall beside a urinal, the arms of his date caging him in. The man\u2019s face was pressed to Demos\u2019 neck, nipping at his poltergeist-toned excuse for a complexion.<\/p>\n

Demos hissed in discomfort. \u201cNo marks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou won\u2019t even let me kiss you out there,\u201d his date said. \u201cIt\u2019s like you don\u2019t want anyone to know about us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t<\/i> want anyone to know about us. I told you a hundred times.\u201d<\/p>\n

The taller man didn\u2019t stop his incursion on Demos\u2019 throat. \u201cWhat, are you ashamed of me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos shifted his weight, prying his date away from his neck with a strategically placed elbow.\u00a0 <\/span>Visible marks meant questions \u2014 questions he wasn\u2019t prepared to answer. It had happened before, his uncle or his cousin asking about an innocuous spot, asking if he had a girlfriend, asking if he was hiding something. He\u2019d seen Ferris\u2019 eyes fall on a reddened bruise, pause, then look away without a word. Demos hated that pause.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I\u2019m ashamed of you,\u201d Demos said. \u201cWhat grown-ass adult gives hickeys, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n

The man laughed. \u201cSorry. Let me make it up to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Arms dropped, followed by the clink of a belt. His date had slid to his knees and Demos tried not to think about whatever repulsive stains must have been on the floor. He rolled his head back against the wall, focusing on the ceiling. Somehow, the stains up there were worse. There was the fussing of a button, then a zipper. Demos closed his eyes, ready to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here.<\/p>\n

His phone rang. The chime echoed off of the tiny room\u2019s walls, jolting the two out of the moment. Only one person on Demos\u2019 contact list had been assigned that ringtone. Skinny fingers rooted through a pocket before Demos brought the phone to his ear.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Fish.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, uh\u2014 you busy?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos\u2019 eyes fell to the man kneeling at his waist, fingers slipped halfway beneath elastic. His date was staring up at him, lips brushing the skin just below his navel.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cDo you know a good place to get like, two dozen cookies?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos\u2019 brow tightened. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m supposed to bring something for the office Christmas party tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t be serious.\u201d Demos\u2019 lifted a hand, a \u2018stop\u2019 gesture to no one present. \u201cMeet me at the compound, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUh, yeah. Sure. See you there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos stuffed the phone back into his pocket, then proceeded to re-zip his pants.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have to go,\u201d Demos said. Leather rasped through belt loops as he fastened the buckle.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, shit.\u201d His date faltered, eyes wide with concern. \u201cIs it an emergency?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos looked back down at him, finally making eye contact. It wasn\u2019t much of a choice. He could either get blown in the men\u2019s restroom of a grimy bar whose name he couldn\u2019t remember, or he could spend an hour or two teaching Ferris how to bake a proper cookie.<\/p>\n

Was this an emergency? Was anyone going to die if his friend brought a pre-packaged box of baked goods from the grocery store to a workplace gathering? In the end, it didn\u2019t really matter.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Demos said. \u201cIt\u2019s not.\u201d<\/p>\n

The bathroom door slammed shut behind him.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

The recipe book in Demos\u2019 hands was at least a half-century old, easily. It had been bound in the old-fashioned way, the letters \u2018Ricette di Famiglia<\/i>\u2019 embroidered on the linen cover. The pages were aged, with additional slips of paper and notes tucked in between sheets. Demos flopped the book open onto the counter and, surprisingly, it didn\u2019t crumble into dust. He flipped through it, passing a dozen pages of Gino\u2019s handwriting before settling on one written in script.<\/p>\n

Demos ran a single finger down the page, then smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis one,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Ferris leaned back onto the counter. \u201cI still don\u2019t see why I can\u2019t just buy something.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos tore his eyes from the book to look back at his friend with a half-scowl. \u201cYou can\u2019t buy something, you have to make<\/i> it. You want to impress your boss, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris couldn\u2019t help but laugh. It was incredible, at times, how out of touch his friend was with normal life.<\/p>\n

\u201cI work in an office building, not a\u2014 a pastry shop. Nobody is going to care. And now people are going to think I can bake. I can\u2019t bake.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos held up a finger. \u201cWe<\/i> can bake. You like science, right? It\u2019s kind of like chemistry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKind of like chemistry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCould you stop whining and get me the leftover Bonarda from the fridge?\u201d Demos returned his attention to the recipe book, making a lazy gesture in the general direction of the refrigerator.<\/p>\n

\u201cWine?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re making ciambelline.\u201d Demos\u2019 smile was soft \u2014 somewhere far away. \u201cThey\u2019re easy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now Ferris could understand why Demos had asked to meet at the compound. The little kitchen in his apartment paled in comparison to Gino\u2019s. Sure, it had a stove, but it certainly didn\u2019t have miles of Italian marble countertops, two ovens, a range with six gas burners, and a pantry that held things like star anise<\/i>. Pots and pans in copper and cast iron hung from a rack beneath the ceiling, surfaces glinting under the dim yellow lighting. At least it was clear where Gino\u2019s priorities lay \u2014 family and food.<\/p>\n

Demos was on autopilot, moving from the oven to the pantry and snapping out idiot-proof instructions to his friend.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere.\u201d Demos guided Ferris\u2019 hands to the pile of flour, wine, and oil. \u201cCombine it, slowly.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris made a face as the dough welled between his fingers. \u201cIt\u2019s sticky.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen add some flour. Just a little\u2014 don\u2019t dry it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos had always made cooking look so easy. This was not easy.<\/p>\n

\u201cThese are best dipped in wine,\u201d Demos said as he spread baking parchment on a sheet pan. \u201cCan office parties have wine?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOurs does. Would have been nice if you could come, but\u2014 I don\u2019t think that\u2019s really your crowd.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos looked away. \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was nothing else to say. It was a world Demos didn\u2019t belong in \u2014 spreadsheets, reports, and paychecks. It was normal. Ferris\u2019 day job was the light side of his life, and his time with Demos was the dark. The Ghost\u2019s hands went still on the sheet pan. He looked down at his fingers with a flat gaze, silent.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, that reminds me,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cI wanted to ask if\u2014 I don\u2019t know if you remember Jake\u2019s wedding. It\u2019s next month.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos looked back up. It had been a while since his cousin\u2019s wedding had been mentioned \u2014 at the restaurant, with Alex. She and Ferris were supposed to go to New York together in January. Demos had pushed that piece of information somewhere in the back of his mind where it couldn\u2019t bother him. But, now\u2014<\/p>\n

Now, Alex was gone.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris paused in his struggle with the wine-drenched cookie dough. \u201cI already sent in a plus one. You don\u2019t have to, obviously, but if you wanted, would\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

Ferris cursed under his breath. Why were his ears warm? Why did it look like he was asking a girl to go to a middle school dance with him?<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you want to go with me?\u201d Ferris said.<\/p>\n

In an instant, Demos forgot he was supposed to be feeling sorry for himself. He tapped his lips in thought, as if giving the invitation serious consideration. A wry smile broke beneath his finger.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want me to be your date?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019ll have me.\u201d<\/p>\n

This was not the answer Demos expected. His attack had been countered, the teasing remark flipped tight and hurled back at him with lighting speed.\u00a0 <\/span>It hit him hard, a flush striking across his face and forcing him to lock his attention back on the sheet pan.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay.\u201d Demos re-flattened the already flat parchment. \u201cBut\u2014 but you have to dance with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMm, never mind. I\u2019ll just ask Seamus to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos scoffed. \u201cJust one dance.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll think about it,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cNo promises.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos stifled a smile, only partly succeeding. Maybe Ferris\u2019 life wasn\u2019t so light and dark, after all. Maybe there was more to it than that.<\/p>\n

Ferris sighed down at the pile of dough. \u201cI think I ruined this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Demos said. \u201cIt\u2019s perfect.\u201d<\/p>\n

They had just finishing dusting the cookies with powdered sugar when they heard the sound of tires on gravel. Through the wide window behind the breakfast table, headlights cut through the dark. Two cars had pulled up in front of the house. The first was one Demos would recognize anywhere \u2014 the Lincoln. The voices outside were muffled, two men grousing in the cold night air.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Uncle Vic is here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris dusted his hands, resisting the urge to wipe them off on his slacks. \u201cHey, maybe we can impress your<\/i> boss. Want me to put these in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet, it\u2019s not hot enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it says it\u2019s preheated. It made a noise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOvens lie,\u201d Demos said. \u201cGive it ten more minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n

There were places that Ferris could challenge his friend\u2019s judgment, but this kitchen was not one of them. If Demos said a household appliance was capable of deceit, then it was certainly capable of deceit. If Demos claimed that a cake recipe required newt eyes and frog toes, in this kitchen, then that was probably true, too.<\/p>\n

Ferris dared a look at the recipe book, still laid open on the page for ciambelline. The script was more graceful than Gino\u2019s longhand, black ink in rhythmic Italian.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhose handwriting is this?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos was drying his hands with a tea towel and glanced backward at the question.<\/p>\n

\u201cMamma,\u201d was all he said. A great deal of Demos\u2019 vocabulary had been Americanized \u2014 aunt<\/i>, uncle<\/i>, cousin<\/i>. Yet, he had never had the chance to use \u2018mom<\/i>.\u2019<\/p>\n

His phone buzzed on the counter. Demos reached for it, ready to switch it to silent when he noticed the initials on the screen. HM<\/i>.<\/p>\n

Hassan Masri.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello?\u201d Demos\u2019 expression held for only a moment, hardening as he listened to the man talk on the other end of the line. Ferris could see tension lining his eyes. Demos replied in brief, single word responses before muttering his thanks and hanging up.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d Ferris said. \u201cWhat did he say?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos took in a slow breath before speaking. \u201cThey\u2019re hitting Six Pines tonight. In a few hours.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShit.\u201d Ferris stole the discarded tea towel, rubbing sugar from his palms. \u201cGina said she was going to be up there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, for fuck\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos\u2019 attention returned to his phone. He rarely called Gina, and when he did, she often failed to answer. It was fair\u2014 he did the same thing to her.<\/p>\n

There were four rings before she picked up.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you bothering me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos fought the urge to just hang up and let her die. He closed his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you at Six Pines?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

There was a pause.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Gina said. \u201cWith Nadia. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n

It took Demos a moment to remember what Ferris had reported back just the other day. He and Gina had somehow persuaded Nadia into signing on with them. What the doctor was doing with her at an upstate casino was beyond Demos\u2019 processing power.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

There were voices in the background\u2014 faint, but just loud enough for Demos to gain context.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait.\u201d Demos narrowed his eyes. \u201cAre you in the spa?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFatti i cazzi tuoi.\u201d Gina\u2019s response hit him like a slap in the face. This, too, he ignored.<\/p>\n

\u201cNever mind,\u201d he said under his breath. \u201c<\/span>The Marianis will be there in three hours. About a dozen of them. You need to tell Don to clear the place out\u2014 that includes you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd how do you know this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d Demos said. His voice softened. \u201cPer favore, Gina. Fidati di me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He could hear her through the phone\u2014 a long breath in through her nose before releasing it in an exasperated sigh.<\/p>\n

\u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n

The line went dead\u2014 she\u2019d hung up without another word. Typical.<\/p>\n

\u201cClear what out?\u201d It was his uncle\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n

Demos turned toward the kitchen\u2019s entrance to see Victor and Sal walk in. The edges of their features were tinged with red from the cold. It had been a while since Demos had seen Salvatore. He was a short-tempered Brooklynite with a face like a vulture\u2019s\u2014 a long, straight nose drawing the eye up to a receding hairline. What he lacked in charisma, he compensated for with wrath. He was an asset to Victor\u2019s crew and a veteran of the Giorgetti\u2019s operations.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Marianis are on their way to Six Pines,\u201d Demos said. \u201cI\u2019m going.\u201d<\/p>\n

Victor slipped off his gloves, one at a time. \u201cNo, you\u2019re not.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t have any business being up there,\u201d Victor said. \u201cThis is their fight, not yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

Behind the counter, Demos\u2019 hands tightened into fists.<\/p>\n

\u201cI started this deal with the Hills. If they get destroyed, it\u2019ll all have been for nothing\u2014 I\u2019m not going to let it end like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos held in the rest of his appeal. Hassan had made it very clear\u2014 Aldo would be there. Aldo DeSimone, who\u2019d killed their family doctor, who\u2019d jumped Ferris in the street outside the gala. There was a single twitch in Demos\u2019 trigger finger.<\/p>\n

Victor wasn\u2019t moved. \u201cNo, it\u2019s not worth the risk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll go with him, Ash,\u201d Sal said.<\/p>\n

Every eye in the kitchen turned to the man. Sal was known for many things, but sticking his neck out for others was not one of them.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou too, Sal?\u201d Victor said. Some of the chill outside had found its way into his voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know how long it\u2019s been since I did anything but bust-outs?\u201d Sal made a campy hand gesture. \u201cI feel like a fucking accountant.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris\u2019 terse eye roll went unnoticed by the man.<\/p>\n

Victor\u2019s face had a moment\u2014 starting with a scowl before veering into something more weary. His attention went from Sal to his nephew, then back once more for good measure.<\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d he said. \u201cLook out for each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll meet you there,\u201d Sal said to Demos with a jangle of his keys. There was something wicked about his grin. \u201cDon\u2019t keep me waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos tried not to look too pleased. He hadn\u2019t expected a savior in Salvatore Viggiano, but he would take what he could get. He grabbed his coat from the back of a chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cUncle Vic, could you get the oven?\u201d<\/p>\n

Victor eyed the mess they\u2019d left on the countertop with disdain. \u201cWhat were you making?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCiambelline.\u201d<\/p>\n

With that, the two were gone, leaving Victor alone in his father\u2019s kitchen. With even steps, he approached the counter. His hand came to rest on the recipe book, coarse fingertips grazing the ink of his sister\u2019s handwriting.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

For once, Demos was driving. He had made a beeline for the driver\u2019s seat, startling Ferris into a momentary stupor. There wasn\u2019t any time for Ferris\u2019 \u2018proper old woman\u2019 approach to operating a vehicle. This was life or death.<\/p>\n

Even so, Ferris had feedback to share.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe highway is that way,\u201d he said. \u201cWhere are we going?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos didn\u2019t take his eyes off the road, only tightening his hold on the wheel.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m taking you home.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos could have sworn he could hear his friend\u2019s brain snap into two pieces from the passenger seat.<\/p>\n

\u201cLike hell<\/i> you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t need to be there,\u201d Demos said. \u201cI only have one rifle in the trunk, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris\u2019 next breath came through his teeth. \u201cWe already talked about this, Ghost. You said you wouldn\u2019t do this again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is different.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, it\u2019s fucking not.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat, you\u2019re hardly back for two years and I\u2019m supposed to just lose you again? Just watch you get beaten or tortured or\u2014 fuck. It was my<\/i> fault.\u201d Demos swallowed and his voice dropped to a bare mutter. \u201cEverything that happened to you was my fault.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos wasn\u2019t watching his friend, but could hear the ache in his voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I can\u2019t be by your side, then what did I come back for?\u201d<\/p>\n

The car was silent for a while. He was right\u2014 Demos knew he was right, and he hated it. He\u2019d made the wrong choice back then. He\u2019d said goodbye\u2014 he\u2019d said it, and spent every second of the next three years regretting it.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t want to regret this, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cDemos, the highway.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos didn\u2019t reply, only merging left to make the on-ramp.<\/p>\n

They were going together. He knew Ferris would never forgive him otherwise. He had no choice but to take the wheel, to drive willingly, knowingly into certain danger\u2014 to take his friend by the hand into what could be his last night alive. Demos was the dark side of his life\u2014 of all of it.<\/p>\n

He was poison that destroyed everything it touched.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t your fault.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d was all Demos could think of saying. It was a hollow word, meaningless, neither confirming nor denying Ferris\u2019 claim. Everything that had happened, the blood, the radio, the boiling water\u2014 there was no one to blame but himself.<\/p>\n

Anything that happened at the casino\u2014 that would be on him, too.<\/p>\n

Demos said nothing else, his eyes set on the white lines of the highway. He couldn\u2019t think about it, not right now.<\/p>\n

They still had a long drive ahead of them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Illustration by Eyugho Generally, dive bars were not known for being bastions of cleanliness. Men\u2019s bathrooms were exponentially worse. The men\u2019s bathroom in a dive bar was an unholy duet of the most revolting environment Demos could think of. Yet, somehow, he was spending time in one.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-593","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fishbones-book-02"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4oWx8-9z","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/593","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=593"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/593\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":835,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/593\/revisions\/835"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=593"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=593"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=593"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}