I take my first tentative steps around the room, my freshly plump ass swaying like a pendulum in these damn heels. I gotta get used to this if I’m gonna make a break for it. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. I’m gettin’ the hang of it.
Suddenly, my gaze falls on something that sends a chill down my spine. On the nightstand, a photo of me—the me I used to be—stares back. Next to it is a note written in some girly handwriting.
I take a deep breath and read the words: ‘You will wake up today. You’ve been sleeping for the past year. Don’t worry. Everything will be okay. You have been given a second chance. Come into the hall when you’re ready.’
My blood runs cold. A year? Someone did this to me? I want to tear the room apart, but there ain’t no time for that now. I gotta get outta here.
My heart pounds as I make my way to the door, my heels clickin’ against the floor. A second chance? What the hell does that even mean? One thing’s for sure—whoever wrote that note ain’t gettin’ one.
I grip the doorknob, and it turns in my hand. I take a deep breath and step out into the hall, my eyes darting around the unfamiliar environment.
A tall, gorgeous woman stands waiting for me at the end of the hall. She’s wearing a long, flowing dress, and her hair is pulled back in a tight bun. “Welcome back to the world of the living,” she says softly. “My name is Marissa. You used to be Rocco.”
I scowl at her and bark, “I’m still Rocco. Who the hell are you? And who the fuck did this to me? “
The woman’s smile is almost mocking. “I wonder if I looked that silly when I first woke up. Come, I’ll explain everything. Don’t bother trying violence. It won’t work. You’re not the same person you used to be.”
Now, I ain’t the kind of guy who hits women, even the mouthy ones. Everybody has a right to speak their mind. But I ain’t no pushover either. I take a step forward, my fists clenched. “Why the hell do I look like a... like a...” I can’t even bring myself to say the word.
“You look like a woman because that’s what you’ve become. Now, please, walk with me. We have a lot to discuss.”
She turns and starts walking down the hall, her long dress swishing around her ankles. I reluctantly follow, still in shock, barely able to focus on what she’s saying. The feeling of my inner thighs, smooth and hairless, rubbing together because there ain’t nothing there, is so damn surreal it’s like I’m walkin’ through a dream.
Finally, Marissa stops and turns to face me. “Rocco, you were on a hit list. Families got beef, you know how it is. The guy who owns this mansion is an assassin. He has asked us to call him the Spider, although he ain’t as—” she stops and shakes her head. “Sorry, he ISN’T as bad as that nickname suggests. Most of the time, he does what he was hired for. But sometimes, people don’t deserve to die. They’re just in the wrong spot at the wrong time with the wrong people. You were assigned to him as his next target. Poison is his style. He could’ve offed you with a meatball injected with cyanide—that’s how he took out Big John, remember him?—but he chose to save you. The families don’t know. All they know is the men they wanted dead have gone M.I.A. Everyone’s satisfied.”
“I sure as shit ain’t happy!” I cross my arms over my stupid tits and glare. “And how did he save me? But cutting off my cock? By turning me into a fucking woman?”
Marissa shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Yes. Of course, he didn’t perform the surgeries. He pays a plastic surgeon. She may visit you again if you encounter any…problems.”
My heart races with indignation. “Problems? I got a big fucking problem! Actually, two of ’em!” I grab my boobs and shake them for emphasis.
Marissa rolls her eyes. “She didn’t do those, actually. You grew them yourself during your sleeping beauty act.”
I want to scream at her. Demand answers. Beat some answers out of her if that’s what it takes. But I don’t. I just stand there trembling, my hands bunched into fists.
Marissa takes a step closer and sighs. “Look, Rocco. I’m...” she lowers her gaze as if embarrassed by what she’s about to say. “You know me. You even used to trust me.”
I gaze at the woman like she’s speaking a foreign language. “Listen, lady, I’m not great with faces, but I’d remember an Amazonian beauty like you. So, if you wanna jerk me around, you better—”
“Salvatore. From Queens. You used to call me Sally.” She laughs suddenly. “Guess that nickname would be more fitting now, eh?”
No way. No FUCKING way. But as I take in Marissa’s features, things start to make sense. Salvatore had big brown eyes. Marissa has big brown eyes. Salvatore had a gap in his teeth. Marissa has a gap in her teeth.
“Salvatore,” I whisper. “Oh shit. Shit! It is you!”
“Not anymore.” Her face becomes serious again. “I’m Marissa now.”
“But...they told us you moved to Florida.”
“Ugh. Florida? You believed that? No. The boss found out I was talking to the FBI. Now, I know what you’re about to say—”
“You were talking to the pigs? What the hell, Sally!”
Marissa throws up her hands, the light glinting off her painted red nails. “Rocco, listen. I had my reasons, alright? You weren’t in on it like I was. You don’t know what the bosses are really up to these days. But they ain’t too keen on snitches. Lucky for me, the boss went with the Spider, and, just like you, I went to bed one night and woke up a year and change later like this.”
I step back and check out Marissa, seeing her with new eyes. I’m about to ask another question, but she beats me to it. “Let’s go. I want you to meet the other girls.”
“O-Other girls?”
Marissa grins knowingly. “Yup. Girls like us. Rescues, I call them. Us. They’re out by the pool. They’re all jazzed to meet you. I mean, they’ve all seen you already—we all took turns helping with your care for the last year—but now they’ll get to meet the real you. Ready?”
“This...This ain’t the real me, Sally. I’m a man. I’m Rocco, the toughest motherfucker—”
“No.”
“N-No? What do you mean ‘no?’”
Marissa’s expression softens, and she lightly touches my arm. “You weren’t the toughest guy in Brooklyn or anywhere. You were never as hard as you kept telling everybody. How many times did you help Tommy haul stuff to the pawn shop? How many times did you cover him so he could meet his parole officer? How many times did you walk Mario to school so he wouldn’t get beaten up for being queer? A hard guy does things for himself first, Rocco. That wasn’t you.”
I drop my gaze, shame flooding my veins. He—she—whatever the fuck pronoun Salvatore used now is right. I always tried to be a badass, but... I don’t know. There are people you shouldn’t be hard toward. People you shouldn’t turn your back on.
“Rocco, that isn’t something you should be ashamed of,” Marissa says gently. “The Spider always watches before he acts. He knew you weren’t a bad man.”
“B-But I don’t want to be...this!”
Marissa gives me a look like she knows what I’m thinking. “I know it’s rough now, but I’ve been here for four years, and I promise it gets better. This is your chance to start over, and we’ll take it slow. I got you.”
“Slow?” I scoff. “What’s with the getup then?”
Marissa looks a bit sheepish. “Ah, well, it’s a bit of a tradition. Now, c’mon. The girls are waiting.”
We walk down the hallway. Sun blasts through the windows, and the smell of chlorine from the pool drifts through the air. I hear laughter. The high-pitched voices of women. They sound...happy.
Marissa turns and gives me a sly smile. “So, what should I call you?”
I almost say ‘Rocco,’ but I hesitate. “I... don’t know.”
Marissa grins, and I see Salvatore’s goofy grin on her face. “That’s a good start.”
She hooks her arm with mine as we head out onto the patio and into the sunlight. “Ladies!” Marissa yells, “Look who I found!”
A chorus of excited voices greets us. Women surround me, hugging me, kissing my cheeks, and talking excitedly. Part of me still hopes I’ll wake up from this nightmare, but another part is weirdly comforted.
Marissa smiles. “Welcome to the family, girl.”