For Blood and Beast: Tomas, For Blood (Garko Book 1)

by Gia P. Leonne

  Oh, yeah.

  The fight

  I needed her to see me compete, although I don't expect this fight to last long. A perfect ending to my pseudo underground fighting career.

  I concentrate on anything that might calm the boner in my shorts. Santorio Santari, low-level street thug turned major crime lord, I see has come to support his new venture. Diablo my competition. Santari is bankrolling the kid. Sources say he has not turned from business at the Port. The loss of shipments and part of his crew has not deterred him. He has not become my problem directly, however, he is like shit that rolls downhill. It's only a matter of time if Reece does not take care of him as he has promised.

  My nonno is in the crowd. Yeah, that a do it.

  I throw out a one-two punch to the air, my signal I am ready to move into the ring. I point a tapped fist at her. She smiles, I bet she just wet her panties. I enter the makeshift ring and the crowd goes fucking wild, and chant

  GRAVITY, WIND, EVIL, FORZA.

  CHAPTER 16

  Bodies Hit The Floor

  Tomas

  I remove my hood revealing my oiled naked skin, my tatted sleeve is fucking badass, and the gold boxing shorts, not tight but fitted. Gasps can be heard from women in the crowd,

  "Oh My!"

  That’s right baby appreciate the merchandise.

  "Oh's," and

  "He's fucking hot as hell,"

  Well, thanks.

  "Exactly, what women under me moan just before they scream my name."

  "I want to have your baby, Force." a shout from a female in the crowd.

  A dude says, "Shit man, me too," the crowd erupts in laughter.

  The crowd does not disturb me in the least; I continue to get loose, stirring the air, punching at ghosts.

  The announcer sings,

  "In one corner we have El Di….abbbb…..looooo……" The crowd cheers.

  My opponent receives an acceptable reception, but nothing like mine.

  "In the far-right corner, we have —the crowd chants, gravity… wind… evil — "That's right you know who he is, Gravitee, wind' dah, eve' il,

  I give you Forceee." He hisses like a snake at the end of my name. The roar is slightly deafening.

  I look over to Evelyne one last time. Her face is the color of freshly fucked, flesh. She is breathtaking. She loves being here, as I knew she would. The bell rings jarring me away from my thoughts.

  Immediately, I beat the shit out of my opponent. Maybe two minutes have gone by and I think the ref is going to stop it, not just because of the bloodbath, I've created, but this kid is done. El Diablo falls to one knee. Stay down boy, I mentally urge. I run as close to the ring border as allowed and raise both my arms in victory.

  The bloodthirsty crowd loves the grotesque scene and my arrogant antics. My beast wants to keep giving it to them. He may be vainer than I am.

  Unfortunately for El Diablo he gets up. I keep giving it to him. The crowd is stunned, but they want it, the bloodlust feeds them. From the side of the ring somehow a voice breaks through all the others,

  "Fuck it already, he's done."

  I do not know how but I hear Evee and I stop. Well, not before I offer El Diablo a small push and he plummets to the ground, hard, his body lifeless. The ref if you want to call him one has not done shit but let a kid get beat and inch from death. Finally, he holds up my right hand. The announcer shouts, once again, I give you the victor, by beat down, by knockout, GRAVITY, WIND, EVIL' FORZA … He shakes his head vigorously as he carries his dramatization. I signal for Donny on my right side. He gives me his ear to listen and looks into the crowd. I can tell when he finds her. We look at her. Donny nods.

  I would go to her myself, but I have business waiting for me downstairs. Jengo, acting as the host needs to keep these men on the positive high, I am sure watching the fight conjured. I quickly shower and allow Sylver to tape up any cuts.

  Congrats of, "Boyee', you fuck him up, good," a couple of, "Shit man you tried to kill Diablo ass," and "White boy can fight," comes from men who for right now talk as if they are fans. The heroism will wear off as soon as we get to the business at hand. I let them go on for a minute, while we pass bottles of Moët, blunts (cigars stuffed with marijuana), actual Cuban cigars, and Patron. Jengo informed me this is what relaxes because they'd be too hyped up from the fight to concentrate on business. Jengo always makes perfect sense, had he been Italian I'd consider for a capo.

  I pass, on the blunt rounding the table. I indulge in an occasional rolled marijuana cigarette but never any I didn't roll myself. Even though I provide the cigars and marijuana, and I know it is sweet, straight from my garden in Curitiba, I hadn't seen who rolled it.

  "Jengo, where you get this top shit from?" TeKay, leader from the 12th -street gang says as he inhales deep and quick.

  "That shit right there comes straight from the earth to this here table, from Bolivia," Jengo responds.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah." Jengo nods.

  It was time to get shit started.

  "Gentlemen war is coming ..."

  "We're already in hell, what's the difference." These young boys, I need to get used to being interrupted.

  "He's gonna tell ya the difference if ya shut ya trap. No patience having 'mothafucka'." I guess Jengo was going to act as my enforcer of sorts.

  Everyone shifted glances around and back to each other, but no one spoke. For this reason, I knew my gut was right choosing Jengo the Blood King as Guard to my pseudo Captain of this ragtag crew.

  "The war will shake New York from inside out. Your families need to be prepared, your territory if you still have any, need fortifying, weapons, stock up, everyone willing, needs a couple. Settle petty beefs inside your territories. People will see how serious you are and focus fully on the imminent bloodbath. I hear how fucking bad it is now; people are not going to believe it can get worse, your job— convincing them it can and will.

  During this war, anything that can be locked down needs just that. Anything that can't move it far away. This includes mothers, wives, and kids and, every crutch. Recognize this is the type of war coming."

  "We ain't rich motherfuckas with Long Island vacation homes. Send them where?"

  "You have six months, eight at the most to arrange that, before people start dying and coming up missing, across this city. They will want us to believe we are doing it to each other. When they see that it does not work, that we are not retaliating against each other, they will up their game. Come at us head-on. I might be able to move the Kanun out, but believe me, on the day the Kanun departs the next flunky Illyrian gang arrives. Their aim will be to teach us a lesson. The 'us' being New York, Americans. This is one time we will all be treated equally."

  "Your proposal to move on them and protect our own sounds valid. But I don't see the Kanun killing no Italians. When the dust settles, how do we know you don't move in and take their place?"

  "You're new here. I grew up here. Before most of you were shooting out of your daddy's dick swimming to get lucky, I was turning street corners slanging, while protecting money houses. I've swept enough bodies down certain alleys; they had to build brick condos on the land, to stop the stench. My family does not want what is yours, and gonna kill anyone from now on coming in to get ours. My family made a ceasefire agreement with the Illyrian, while I was gone. Now, I am back, and I do not like what I see. They snidely moved around the agreement to stab us in the back. I don't see honor in their methods. As far as I'm concerned, they broke the agreement."

  "But you rich now, I hear you own shit everywhere, don't want to be a gangsta mob boy, no more. Now you the 'Man' coming to move us out and the hippie white people in."

  "Yeah, that's what you hear. This is what I'm telling you.

  First, I was always rich. Now ... I have wealth, but that doesn't change my love for this city. The Burroughs are separated for a reason, the rich want to forget poverty exist, regular folks want to live decent in a place they can afford
without some yahoo moving next to them driving up rent prices. Some of you wanna live dirty enough, that the cops are scared to come your way.

  We are still disconnected for whatever reason. This is how it has been; this is how it can stay. But if we don't run these bastards out of this city, no one is going give a shit about what Burroughs you from, what territory you claim, because the government is coming to wipe out anybody not wearing fucking blue, real soon. I'm talkin' martial law.

  They will declare the purpose is to eradicate outside agitators coming into The City violating our laws and customs. They will sweep the streets first, with mandatory curfews, and identification checkpoints, how many of you have a legit ID, and no warrants. When your peaceful leaders and youth try to March and rally, the news will report, the government opened fire on an outbreak of lawlessness and mob action, today."

  "So, the crumbs you're picking up now won't be there any longer," Jengo added.

  We discussed how to go forth, more preparation until the voices in the room became loud enough to cause us to adjourn.

  Jengo told them to get the fuck out.

  The meeting dissolved Jengo and I took a ride to each Port where he and I alone, had business to take care of.

  In the car, he played a recording of the organized rats at the docks. "We can't trust them, or our own."

  "Dissenters, pretenders, and liars on both sides must die, swiftly. Time is short and relationship building is not our goal. Every man present tonight needs this to happen to get his shit back to 'the normal'. If not him ... his crew ... his territory ... his people. If he can't fight for them, we don't need him. New York doesn't need him."

  "Word," Jengo's equivalent of Amen, and I guess I was preaching.

  CHAPTER 17

  Feast Of San Gennaro

  Evee

  The annual Feast of San Gennaro held in Little Italy attracts more than one million people from all four corners of the world to take part in the annual eleven-day Salute to the Patron Saint of Naples.

  Yes, a million people.

  Last night after the fight, as we reached my car to leave the warehouse, a stun gun disguised as a cell phone attached to my wrist, I heard someone favoring their right leg, approach me from behind. "Walk away whoever you are," I said without turning around.

  "I got a message for you from the fighter, who won." I turned quickly; he stayed a safe distance, smart man.

  "Hand it here." Gaining permission, he approached with an outstretched hand, in it a card.

  "Chica, everything all right?" Cynthia asked already out of the car and hand inside her purse. She's definitely Jengo's sister.

  "What's the message?"

  "He says to call him or next time he won't stop when you ask."

  I laughed. "Who says I'm coming back."

  He laughed this time. "You fucking loved it, anyway he won't be back here ever again. This was his last fight."

  "Awesome, he nearly killed the guy. Why didn't they stop it?"

  "We're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

  Safely seated inside Boss, with the doors locked, I pull away. I glance in my review mirror, the guy stands there watching no doubt casing my license plate number. Sorry pal, I am sporting a government-issued plate, untraceable thanks to my internship with the DA. The entire trip home, I wrestle with indecision.

  "I am without doubt ignorant of illegal fight rules." In kickboxing, if an opponent bleeds, the fight stops, temporarily or permanently. "But did my intended just beat an innocent guy to death in front of a thousand people?"

  "Oh, that was your Tomas?"

  "Yeah."

  "He didn't kill him, though. The sexy beast stopped. Well, we know where the Pit invite came from." Cynthia says.

  Yes, Tomas or Force thought to invite me to a massacre.

  "He doesn't want to know me if he thought a public execution would attract me."

  "Sometimes our beasts get away from us, chica," Cynthia says softly, as we pull into the parking garage. I decide to disappear from Tomas' life. Choose someone else to stalk. I couldn't even temporarily defend someone like him.

  With this in mind, my phone pings, a text, Tomas Garko, it read simply,

  "I want you."

  Three words.

  Instantly my body tingles with emotion, which should be anger.

  Talk about timing, avoidance is necessary, I'll block his number later.

  This morning I had Mass and watched the procession of the statue of San Gennaro carried through the streets of Little Italy. We ate cannoli's vendors passed out to the crowd for breakfast, listening to music, and enjoying the atmosphere. Now as we stroll on the main street of the parade, the disappointing imprint last night event left, fades with each step. Along with my vow to avoid Tomas Massimo Moraes Garko.

  The sun setting now, it was time to remove my Rag & Bone pecan Fedora and oversized sunglasses not only protecting me from the sun but from the recognition of the stars evident in my eyes. I placed hat and glasses in my large purse. Yes, I do own one purse. I am a lady. I pull out the intricately wrapped paper bag of crisp almond biscotti I baked at four am this morning.

  "For me?" Tomas smiles.

  Yes, Tomas. Fucking sue me, I'd tossed and turned all night, until I gave up sleep, rubbed on my clit to orgasm, and text him back. As if he had been waiting by the phone all night, he responded instantly. This entire day, I spent with the monster, the beast, as I'd called him, now I gazed into his eyes, without a care in the world, awed by Tomas' mere presence. What did that say about me? I would deal with the self-analysis later

  "Si," he likes when I use my mother's southern accent. He bites into one right there on the street. I made extra anticipating he would hand them off to his security for inspection.

  "These are fucking delicious," wrapping the paper around the rest.

  I frown, "Eat them all, I made extra for your men."

  "We've been eating all day; I'll finish them later don't worry they're wonderful."

  "They won't be the same riding in your pocket all day."

  "You want me to eat them all, now?"

  "Words are just words; show me you love them." I smile and he opens the wrapper eating every last one as we stroll.

  Tomas stops, faces me, and holds my chin firm in his large hand when he finishes the last.

  "Delicious." I am fucking beaming inside and grinning like a fool on the outside. "Bellissimo." Beautiful

  "Grazie." I manage to squeak out flustered by this singular attention. Many people walk around us while we gaze at each other. Tomas could care less about how we obstruct the pathway.

  A store owner runs out of his shop, "Ciao Tomas, it's pleasing to see you well. How is Ernesto?" He says handing us both pastries. Tomas groans-- the man waits for us to eat them.

  "Ciao Milo, nonno was well last I saw him." And pops the pastry in his mouth. "Superb as always, better than Italia." The man gushes.

  "Bene, bene. Come by, I have something special for you and your beautiful young lady. Encantanto, she reminds me of my Mira the first time I saw her. Vavavoom, I told my brothers, she will be mine."

  "And she was," Tomas replies smiling as if this was a well-rehearsed script.

  "Yes, still is."

  Tomas laughs, heartily, head thrown back, as I watch, my heart flips, and I fall a little deeper. As we stroll people from shops and restaurants, approach Tomas in the same manner. He is the prodigal son returned. The streets still love him.

  The entire day his large hands either hold my hand or press against my lower back, as we walk, more than once he's said excuseme, for accidentally swiping across my ass. Whom is he trying to fool? Our day has a girlfriend, boyfriend quality, not at all how I imagined, except for the female attention he receives. Women are panting and smiling, some even gawk. Tomas rocks a laid back, I am on my way to a beach wedding, black linen, dress shirt, and pants tied tight above his ankles, casual shoes, well $800 flat touch-strap sandals from Marsèl. Females young and old eye-fuck hi
m as if he were dressed in Tom Ford, or naked.

  Especially this cougar coming to speak to us now, "Tomas so good to see you out and about." Was that a dig?

  "Sophia, how are the boys?"

  "The boys are growing into little adults, smart as hell they are."

  "Good, we need strong smart men to carry our family into the future."

  "You speak as if you are an old man, Tomas."

  "Ughem." That's me.

  "This is Miss Basso, my friend, Evee this is Sophia Garko, my uncle Torro's wife."

  When they… yes, she has companion, a younger version of herself, finally notice me, I see judgment come alive on both faces. Am I worthy? He could certainly do better.

  "Well hello dear. Tomas have you met Vito's Daughter she just graduated from Brown and has recently interned in Italy. Hmm, not her daughter.

  "Ciao, Tomas you look well." She peaks in Italian. Desire and disdain mottle her expression as she glances toward me. She is a tricky one.

  "Ciao, Angelica, of course, I remember you. You've grown into a very beautiful young lady, intelligent too it appears. I am sure you've made your family proud." Tomas responds in Italian.

  "Thank you. Hello." She says to me in English.

  "Ciao, nice to meet you. Did you enjoy Italy? It is my home, and I miss it so very much." I of course speak in my native tongue and lay my accent at their feet.

  They are surprised I am from Italy. "Well aren't you just a prize." That's Sophia. "Torro and I were just telling Angelica we needed to visit you. Are you staying on that mountain, fulltime or back in your penthouse, now that you are free from that awful, teller device?" She smiles as if she didn't just put his business out in the middle of the street.

  "Sophia, I haven't decided where I will be at the moment, however, you'll need to excuse us, we have a way to go while we enjoy the festival." He smiles, but I see the tick in his jaw.

  Who do these women think they are? Forget watching my back for Force, the mauler, I truly expect one of these angry females to shank me first. As we leave the cougar aunt and her mini-me, I glance around, where in the hell are his guards, anyway? If they are near, I have not noticed them.