Bad Blood Ch. 03 - Fine Day For a Reunion

Author's notes:

This is the 3rd chapter of the Bad Blood series. The first chapter was originally written for the A Song from My Story, a Story for My Song challenge theme, and I didn't intend to write a follow up but the characters took on a life of their own.

Bad Blood 3 involves an older man (63) and an older woman (51). It's not listed in Mature because the majority of stories there are OM/YM or OW/YM. This story is a Romance, first and foremost, and love knows no age limits, so here we are...

Thanks as always to RiverMaya for being my Muse and the writing angel on my shoulder. Thanks also to AzureAsh for being my 'editor with a thousand eyes'.

All sex between 18+ people.

++++++++++

It's a fine, fine day for a reunion,

It's a fine, fine day for comin' home.

You did your sittin', you did hard time,

But you ain't gonna sit no more; they can't keep you there no more

It's a fine, fine day.

And nothin's gonna take you, nothin's gonna take you away.

- Tony Carey

++++++++++

Hell's Kitchen District, New York City, 1967

The cop knocked on the door, and our father Mauro Montello answered, a scowl on his face. "What the fuck did they do this time?"

The local cop, Officer Krupke, told him, "They tried to sneak two bikes out of O'Bannon's Sporting Goods." He held his hand out. "$50 apiece."

"Shit," Dad muttered, pulled out his wallet and forked over two $50 bills. The officer tipped his cap and walked away. Thanks to me and Amedeo, the Krupke family would most likely be eating tenderloin tonight, while our family would be having pasta in marinara sauce with no meat. Again.

The old man looked at us, then cuffed each of us upside the head. "If you dumbshits wanted bicycles, it woulda been cheaper to buy them. Now I'm out $100 after payin' the cop off, and whatta you got? Not a thing, not even a damned bicycle!"

He turned to my little brother and snapped, "Amedeo, go wash up and help your mother set the table." I started to follow him, but Pops grabbed me by the collar. "Not so fast, Einstein. Get your ass into the cellar."

Oh, man. This usually meant I was gonna get my ass beat, but when we got down there, he kept his belt on. He pulled up a wooden stool and pointed. "Sit." I gladly sat, as it was a lot better than gettin' my ass beat. Pops worked as a longshoreman, and had the muscles that went along with it.

He leaned towards me, his face serious. "Listen to me. In a couple days, I'm gonna go away for a while. A long while. Probably Bedford Hills State Prison. Me and some guys did a thing, so now I got some jail time coming, you understand?"

"Yeah, Pops, sure thing," I said, to prove I was grown up. But I wasn't and I didn't understand, not really.

"You're the oldest, so while I'm gone, I need you to be the man of the house. You help your mother every day, and don't give her any shit. You got responsibilities now. Take care of her, and don't let her down." I had no idea what that meant, but like any good Italian boy, I loved my mother. She was a saint, plain and simple, and if anybody said anything bad about her, they'd get a knuckle sandwich from yours truly.

"Sure, Pops. I'll take care of Mama."

"Good boy. One other thing you gotta do while I'm gone, is keep Amedeo out of trouble, keep him on the straight and narrow, you got me? No more of this trying to steal bikes horseshit. You're the older brother, so you gotta watch out for him and protect him. That little bastard is smarter than you and me put together, so you gotta make sure he stays in school and goes to college. Promise me, Santo."

Nobody called me by my real name, Santo, except for my parents and that was only when shit got real serious. Any other time, they called me Sonny, same as everybody else. "I promise, Pops."

Pops leaned down and quickly kissed me on both my cheeks, and whispered, "Questo è il mio bravo ragazzo."

Two days later he was gone, and didn't come back until 6 months after Amedeo had graduated from Columbia University with a degree in Finance. It took a couple of scholarships Amedeo had qualified for, plus plenty of hustling and scraping on my part - I'd done more than a few things outside the law to do it - but I'd kept my promise to Pops. I'd taken care of Ma and made sure Amedeo stayed out of trouble and, most importantly, my kid brother had graduated.

++++++++++

High Desert State Prison, Susanville, California -- present day

"Prisoner 24601, Montello! Grab your nuts and move your butt, it's time to go!"

I stood up from the bench in the exercise yard and followed the guard. A few of the other prisoners shook my hand as I moved to the prison administrative center; these were not really friends, just guys who respected 'The Old Guy', wishing me well. I'd earned that respect; it took a few fights, but being over 60, it was mostly me being the grandfather figure who'd take new prisoners under my wing and teach them how to survive life inside prison. I'd learned a long time ago that nobody inside was ever a true friend, though. There was only one guy in the world that I considered my friend and trusted completely: my kid brother Amedeo.

These days, I was the only person still alive who called him Amedeo. After graduating from college and passing the CPA exam, he'd changed his name to Andrew because it was less 'ethnic' -- this was still the 70's, remember - and he thought it would help him get an accounting job with a Big 8 firm. It certainly worked out for him; by the time he'd retired, he'd climbed up the corporate ladder to the position of Senior Partner. Pops was definitely right when he said Amedeo was smarter than both of us.

During this time, he'd also married his super-hot girlfriend Janelle, and she'd given him two fine sons, my nephews Bradford and Steven. Steven looked just like my brother Andrew, while Bradford was tall and blonde like his mother Janelle.

Now Janelle, hooooo boy, she was a damn fine woman -- sweet, funny, and smart as a whip - who looked just like the Cheryl Tiegs, the swimsuit model. I was best man at their wedding, and I would have cut my arm off to swap places with Andrew. If a more perfect woman existed, I sure as hell hadn't met her yet..

My baby brother done all right for himself and had made our parents, and me, proud. I, on the other hand, did a great job of disappointing our folks. During my many hustles and deals, I'd crossed the line of the law a few times, and ended up in the joint for a couple of years here and there.

I was no genius like my brother, so I got involved with some shady people from time to time to pay for Amedeo's books and tuition bills, and keep food on the family table. Ma was distraught, but when he come home, Pops wasn't happy about it but he understood I done what I had to do.

After Pops got out of the joint, I was so sick of New York winters that I followed my brother to the Golden State and got my own place. I saw no reason to stop earning money doing what I was doing, so I kept up with the hustles and shady dealings. No matter what, though, I always kept my promise to our father and took care of my little brother.

Whenever I had extra cash, I sent some along to Andrew and Janelle. Even though he had a great job, I figured him having a little extra 'walking around money' couldn't hurt. Besides, I loved my brother and his family.

The last time I got caught was THE last time, if you catch my meaning. I got sentenced to 7 years for credit card fraud here in California, and since then I'd sworn off of crime. I made the best of those 7 years. I exercised and lifted weights on a regular basis every day, (was pretty buff for an old guy) and got a job at the in-prison sign-making factory as a quality assurance inspector, working there for five hours a day.

In terms of prison jobs, the pay was pretty good. I earned about $200 a month, half of which I would spend for snacks and magazines at the commissary, and the other half I'd send to Andrew. By now he was a bigshot at his company and I was sure he didn't really need it, but big brothers always gotta do their big brother thing, right? It made me feel better knowing that even locked up, in a small way I was still taking care of my younger brother and his family.

After passing through the property room and picking up the few items I'd brought in with me, I was escorted through a passage ringed with barbed wire until I reached an iron door. There was a buzz and it swung open, and I stepped out into the world, a free man once more. At 63 years old, I planned on staying that way...

A white four-door Mercedes-Benz E450 pulled up, and the tinted passenger side window rolled down. I leaned down, peered in, and saw it was Amadeo, er, Andrew behind the wheel. "Hop in, big brother! We got a few hundred miles to go to get you home!"

I replied, "Is Janelle going to be there? If not, I'll take the damned bus, because after 60 years I'm tired of looking at your ugly face." Hey, if I couldn't bust my brother's balls, he wouldn't be my brother, right?

"Hell yes, she'll be there. She might even kiss you hello if you promise to put a paper bag over your head afterwards." I laughed. When we'd insult each other, my smarter brother always had to have the last word.

I hopped in. "A kiss hello? Well, what the hell are you waiting for, Amedeo? This thing has over 250 horsepower, so make damn sure you use them all!"

And then we were off to Andrew and Janelle's place in Davis, California.

++++++++++

We arrived at the house just in time for brunch. When Janelle greeted us at the door, she looked every bit as good as I remembered. Even at 60, she was still a real head-turner. I couldn't help myself, when I saw her, I blurted out, "Holy shit, Janelle, you look like you're getting younger!" She took me in a big hug, wrapping those long arms around me and kissing my cheek. She smelled even better than she looked.

"Sonny, it's good to have you back," she said, then stepped back and gave me the visual once-over. "You've lost a few pounds, but you're still as handsome as ever." After spending 7 years locked up with more kinds of ugly than you can imagine, having this gorgeous woman gushing over me felt real good. Real, real good.

I told her, "It's great to be here, Janelle, and I got to tell you, this time I promise I learned my lesson and I ain't never going back. From now on, I'm gonna keep my hands clean, and get me a place nearby so I can see you, Andrew, and the boys regular. How old are they now? They gotta be in their 20s, right?"

Andrew chuckled, "They stopped being boys a long time ago, Sonny. Steven's 28, and Brad's 30, both of them are married, and each one of them has a daughter of their own. You're a grand-uncle now! Come into the dining room and meet the family. They've been waiting for you!"

On the one hand, I felt bad that I'd mostly missed the boys growing up. They were good boys, smart like their father. On the other hand, they never forgot about me in prison. They'd send birthday and Christmas cards, and even write me letters once in a while. I walked into the dining room, heard their voices shout, "SONNY" and was immediately crushed from both sides by their dual embrace.

Once they turned me loose so I could breathe, they introduced me to their wives. Brad's wife was a tall, freckled redhead with a curvy figure, and she was holding a little girl a few months old. She shook my hand and said, "Hi, I'm Darlene, and it's very nice to meet you Uncle Sonny." She held the baby up a little bit; and the kid had light red hair just like her mama. "This is your grand-niece Amelia."

I tickled her under her chin, and she gave me a smile. "Hello, little bit," I said, then Steven stepped up with his wife. She was shorter than Darlene, about 5'6", dark-haired and girl-next-door-adorable, holding a baby who looked about the same age as Brad's daughter. The smaller woman extended her hand, and I shook it.

"Hello, Uncle Sonny, I'm Steven's wife Misty. It's a pleasure to meet you, Steven and Brad both tell such great stories about you." In between my stretches in jail, I had managed to do a few fun things with the boys while they were growing up. I was glad to hear they'd had some good memories of me at least. Misty held up her baby, "And this little flower is Lynnette, Amelia's cousin."

I held my hand out to tickle her, and the baby immediately grabbed my forefinger with surprising strength for a little one. She had an intensity to her, that was for sure. I said, "Wow, you got a powerful little girl here!"

"I like to think so, it runs in the family," her mama said. I noticed Misty and Darlene both had a light sexy Louisiana-style accent.

"You and Darlene both got the same accent, were you raised in the same place?"

Darlene answered, "Misty and I grew up around New Orleans, we're half-sisters." I was surprised, my nephews married half-sisters and both had babies about the same time. This couldn't just be coincidence, there had to be a hell of a story behind it.

Misty explained, "We got the same daddy, but different mamas. Darlene's mama ain't here, but this is my mama." A woman I hadn't seen before walked out of the kitchen, carrying what looked like an egg and cheese casserole, and as she set it on the dining table, Misty introduced us.

"Uncle Sonny, this here's my mama Nicki Lynn Chantelle. Mama, this is Steven's uncle, Sonny Montello." I couldn't tell how old she was, but it was no exaggeration that this woman could have been Misty's older sister; the same facial features and height except with dark naturally curly hair, tied in a ponytail and long enough to reach the center of her back.

Nicki Lynn wore a bright yellow blouse with tight jeans that clung to her hips quite nicely. Unlike Misty, whose skin had a light mocha tone, her mother's skin was a bit darker, more of a dark honey brown. Combined with her dark brown eyes, she was quite the alluring package.

Smiling, she held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Sonny. This is my first trip to California, and I must say after meeting Steven's side of the family I'm impressed with what a handsome bunch you Montello men are."

I gently shook her hand, and was suddenly overwhelmed. Her face was as lovely as her daughter's; although physically she was the polar opposite of Janelle, she was still breathtaking. I'd heard the phrase 'smoldering presence' a time or two, but now I was seeing it firsthand. Even though I'd been behind bars and away from women for 7 years, I don't think it affected my perception that Nicki Lynn Chantelle was one of the most attractive women I'd ever met.

Just standing in front of her, her presence felt almost tangible, an invisible force like gravity. Whatever it was, it swept over me. I realized that for the first time since I'd met Janelle, I was looking at someone who was equally as attractive as my sister-in-law. The stirring I felt in my trousers made it clear to me that my feelings definitely did not stop at friendship.

Abandoning any pretense of nonchalance, I answered her, "Thank you for the compliment, Ms. Chantelle, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you." Although I'd spent a lot of time in the prison exercise yard, for some reason I now felt a little weak in the knees. I pulled out a chair for her. "Please have a seat. Allow me to be your waiter, Mrs. Chantelle. I'll get you a glass of juice or a cup of coffee, whatever you please."

"A glass of juice would be delightful, Mr. Montello, and please call me Nicki."

"If that's the case, then you have to call me Sonny. My real name is Santo, but nobody's called me that since our parents passed away." I noticed Nicki's accent seemed to be from somewhere other than New Orleans. Like Darlene and Misty's accent, it was certainly exotic, but not the same and I couldn't place it. Nicki was definitely a mystery, wrapped in an enigma.

The food now on the table, we settled in to share a great meal and chat. Janelle made ham and egg casserole, cinnamon rolls, fresh fruit, pancakes, while Darlene had whipped up a Cajun dish she called 'grillades and grits', along with some sweet potato biscuits. After being a guest in a California cellblock hotel for so long this was heaven, and I ate until I was about to burst.

While I was stuffing my face, everybody else was making small talk amongst themselves. I didn't have much to say, but really enjoyed just listening to them talk about normal things instead of inmate talk, which was 99.9% bravado and bullshit. I also enjoyed being seated next to Nicki, and she caught me looking at her several times.

Maybe it was my imagination, but Nicki Lynn seemed to be going out of her way to lightly brush up against me every time she walked past while helping Janelle do the serving. And damn, she smelled good! This was nothing like the penitentiary, that's for sure. It was good to be home.

As we were sipping our after-brunch coffee, she finally said to me "I saw you glancing at me several times while we were eating, Sonny. I'm just curious exactly what you find so interesting about a 50-something year old woman like me?"

The room was suddenly quiet, and I realized every adult around the table was waiting for my response. Fair enough. I was Sonny Montello, damn it, and this was my chance to remind them of who I was.

I leaned back in my chair and casually gestured towards her. "Frankly, Nicki Lynn, I know we just met, but there's not a damned thing about you so far that I don't find interesting. You strike me as a strong, intelligent woman, and just like my brother, strong and intelligent just happens to be my type. I just met Darlene and Misty as well, but knowing my nephews I'm guessing their wives are strong and intelligent, same as you." My words seemed to please her, so I pressed my advantage.

"One thing I got to ask: I love your accent, but it don't sound like Darlene and Misty's. Where's it from?"

When Nicki answered her smile was sweet, but her dark eyes were suddenly intense. "My maiden name is Lemke; my accent is from the Roma people, who most people think of as 'gypsies'. This is a derogatory term dating back to when the Roma people left India in the 11th century; because of their darker complexions, Europeans mistook them for Egyptian. The word has been used to describe the Roma people through centuries of oppression." Wow, ok, this woman was sure taking me to school!

The lesson continued, "My given name used to be Nikolina, until I was 15; I Americanized it so my classmates wouldn't use it as an excuse to bully me. I grew up in Baton Rouge, then after high school I moved to New Orleans. I spent my single days telling fortunes, casting spells, and selling love potions to tourists on Bourbon Street until I married Misty's father. This was right after he'd divorced Darlene's mother."

She shook her head. "Frankly, I should have known better than to trust Silas Chantelle. After years of marriage to me, that cheating bastard Silas got his much younger girlfriend pregnant. When he gave me the divorce papers, he told me he was leaving me because I was no longer woman enough for him, since I was getting too old to make babies."

I couldn't believe my fuckin' ears, and I didn't sugar-coat my reaction. "Not woman enough? That's a big pile of horseshit, Nicki. You're about the finest example of a woman I ever seen." I looked at Andrew and punched him in the arm, "Between Nicki and Janelle, the two hottest women in California are sitting right here at this table, ain't that so, little brother?"