by Sophia Gray
But why didn't it feel like one? Why did he keep reveling in the memories of her hands on his body, how soft her skin was, the smell of her hair? And those dark eyes, so full of wanting and needing, and all for him...
Stop it, he snapped. You saw a pretty girl and you fucked up, plain and simple. This isn't the first time it's happened, it probably won't be the last, and if you don't feel bad about it like you should, well, that's just because you're a selfish asshole like everyone says you are. The next time you see her, you'll just have to play it cool and keep your hands to yourself.
“You're quiet,” Crack remarked. His fat fingers were gripping the handle of a briefcase.
“You're one to talk,” Brock snapped. “Now pipe down. They should be almost here by now.”
A few minutes later, a vintage Italian sports car pulled up in front of the club. It was candy apple red, and its low stance and smooth lines made it look like a jungle cat pouncing forward. Turo Ricci stepped out from the driver's side, and Adamo emerged from the other side. Turo's face lit up with a smile when he saw Brock, and he ran over to him eagerly.
“There he is!” Turo laughed, throwing his arms around Brock and squeezing him hard. For someone so short and wiry, he seemed quite strong. “There's the kid himself. Maggie's protector, her knight in designer armor. Thank you, thank you, thank you for saving her life, Gabe. Thank you.”
Adamo walked over to Crack. “I hope you weren't expecting a similar greeting from me,” he sneered.
Crack shook his head.
“Hey, take it easy,” Brock chuckled, trying to extricate himself from Turo's firm embrace. “Like I said before, it's what anyone would have done. No need to thank me. That's one hell of a car you're driving around in, by the way.”
“Do you like it? That's a 1960 Ferrari GT Berlinetta Luso. When I proposed to Amelia, her father gave this to me. It's my second most treasured possession, after my daughter. I took it to my mechanic and told him to do everything he could to make sure it was in the same condition it was when it first left the factory. Even the paint job is new.” Turo jingled the keys merrily for a moment, then slapped them into Brock's palm. “And now, Gabe, it belongs to you, for saving my most treasured possession. And I'll tell you the same thing my father-in-law told me: 'May it take you everywhere you want to go in life.'”
Brock stared at the keys, dumbfounded. “Don Ricci—”
“Turo, please. And don't tell me you can't accept it, because I insist. My entire life, I've waited to be able to present this to my own son-in-law someday. Finally, I have the chance.” Brock saw tears shining in Turo's eyes.
“Thank you for this gesture. I'm very humbled and grateful. But with all due respect, Turo, I wouldn't want you to bestow such a gift prematurely. There's no guarantee Maggie and I are going to be married. I mean, we've only had one date so far, and I think you'll agree it was somewhat catastrophic.”
“Ah, but the next one won't be,” Turo said happily. “I have an instinct for these things, and I can feel it. All of this—you showing up with this deal just when my daughter needed a husband, and being there to protect her right when she needed you the most—it's destiny, Gabe. I know it in my heart. Everything that's happened, even this unfortunate business with your father overseas, has happened for a purpose...to bring you into our lives. I thank God for that, and for you.” To Brock's surprise, Turo kissed him on both cheeks tenderly.
“I'm very touched, Turo. Truly. But what about Maggie? Shouldn't she have a say in this, too?”
“Oh, she's completely smitten with you! You should have heard the way she's been singing your praises for the past two days. She can't wait to see you again. When you ask for her hand in marriage, I know she'll say yes.”
“But, Turo, even so...”
Turo put his small hands on either side of Brock's face, looking into his eyes earnestly. “Listen, I understand. You're a good son, and you're worried about your father. It feels wrong to make plans for your happiness while he's in the hands of those savages. I admire that about you. So we'll make the necessary arrangements for his release, and we won't discuss marriage again until he's free. By then, hopefully, we can celebrate with a wedding announcement.” He planted another kiss on Brock, this time on his forehead. “And he will be free, whatever it costs, whatever it takes. I promise you that, and I never break my promises. Now let's go inside and get this boring business over with, shall we?”
Before Brock could answer, Turo walked toward the entrance of the club, followed by Adamo. Brock looked at the keys in his hand for a moment, then stuffed them into his pocket and followed. Crack lumbered along behind him.
As they made their way through the crowd of patrons, a rat-faced man with long, stringy, unwashed hair tapped Turo on the shoulder. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, frayed cargo shorts, and sandals. His fingertips were stained yellow and brown from nicotine, and his feet were almost black with dirt.
“Don Ricci, I was hoping to find you here.” When he spoke, he revealed a mouthful of rotting blue teeth. His breath smelled like fish rotting in high heat, and Brock's eyes started to water.
“Not now, Murray,” Turo said, turning his face away with a look of disgust.
“But you haven't put in the, uh, order for next month,” Murray insisted. “I tried to call you a couple times this week, but I never heard back. I just want to make sure that you get the, um, product you need on time, without any hassles.”
“When the Don needs you, he'll reach out to you,” Adamo rasped, yanking Murray out of Turo's face and shoving him away. “Until then, you stay out of his face, or you'll have me in yours. Now fuck off.”
Murray took one last, forlorn look at Turo before staggering away, his lower lip quivering.
“Who was that sad sack?” Brock asked.
“Murray Morrow,” Turo replied. “He's the one who's been supplying us with heroin for the past few years. But he's a small-timer, a nobody, and his product has been stepped on more times than a gas pedal. Once this deal between our families goes through, we won't need to do business with that ignorant swamp rat anymore.”
Brock nodded as they walked to the door at the back of the room. He'd intended to learn the name of the person who sold Turo his heroin anyway, so this chance encounter was a stroke of good luck.
Adamo unlocked the door and they descended the stairs to the casino below. This time, it was empty. Turo gestured to the table in the corner where they'd spoken last time, and they all sat down.
“You have the stuff?” Turo asked.
Brock turned to Crack, who set the briefcase on the table and opened it. He removed a small brick of powder wrapped in plastic, placing it in front of them.
Adamo produced a switchblade and a small vial of opaque liquid. He cut into the brick, using the tip of the knife to gingerly lift out a bump of the powder. Then he unscrewed the cap of the vial and dropped the powder into it, swirling it around. After a few seconds, the liquid turned bright orange.
Turo laughed, clapping his hands together. “Excellent! That's at least ten times purer than the garbage we've been selling. We could cut this four, five times, and it would still be some of the most potent stuff around.”
Brock smiled. “As advertised.”
“Well, then I'd say it's my turn, wouldn't you?” Turo reached under the table and came up with a large black valise, handing it over to Brock.
Brock opened the bag and looked down at the crisp bundles of hundred-dollar bills. There were far more than he expected, and the sight almost made him light-headed. After a lifetime of scores where the payoffs were handfuls of crumpled bills or hastily-scrawled bank account numbers on cocktail napkins, seeing this much money in one place was surreal, like seeing a unicorn stroll down Basin Street.
“Five million dollars. The entire ransom amount. You should save your half. Spend it on your honeymoon, maybe.” Turo winked playfully.
“Turo...you're a very generous man, but this is really too much...”
&nbs
p; Turo shushed him. “I told you I'd do whatever it took to free your father, and I meant it.”
Brock nodded, still gaping at the bag full of money. “Thank you. I'll contact the rebels in Myanmar and arrange the trade-off immediately.”
“Good.” Turo slapped the table briskly and stood up. The others followed suit. “When you've made the arrangements, let me know and I'll choose some of my best men to act as bodyguards during your next trip to the fields.” He turned to Adamo with a grin. “How about it? Do you feel like taking a little jungle vacation?”
Adamo shook his head. “Louisiana's enough of a jungle for me already, thank you.”
“So now that we've got business out of the way,” Turo continued, “when would you like to take Maggie out again? Tonight? Tomorrow? Name the day, and I'll make reservations at the best place in the city.”
“How about three days from now?” Brock asked. “That should give me some time to make my calls to Myanmar and straighten things out.” He felt a nervous twinge in his stomach. What if Maggie wanted him again? Crack would be watching him, so he'd have to say no. The thought of that made him uncomfortable.
“Good,” Turo said, shaking Brock's hand. “I'll give you a call tomorrow with the time and place. I promise, it'll be the most romantic night of your life.”
But what if I've already had the most romantic night of my life? Brock thought.
Chapter 16
Brock
Brock gave the ten-beat secret knock, and Hammer opened the door to the warehouse. Crack had his usual blank expression, while Brock did his best to look dejected as they walked in. Ben, Franny, Robby, Greg, and all the Twisted Saints stood frozen like figures in a tapestry, trying to decipher the look on Brock's face and his body language.
“Well? Did it work?” Hammer asked. “Did you get the 2.5 mil?”
Brock sighed. “No, I'm afraid not.” He opened the valise, tossing it onto the floor so they could see the contents. “I got five.”
Hammer's eyebrows jumped halfway up his head. “What? Five?”
A slow smile spread across Brock's lips as he nodded. “Five. Million. Dollars.”
The room erupted into cheers and applause. Even Franny smiled, pumping her fist in the air triumphantly.
Hammer gave Brock a bear hug, lifting him up. “You're a genius! You're a goddamn motherfucking genius! Five million! You took that asswipe for five million fucking dollars!”
“Take it easy,” Brock wheezed. “I can't breathe!”
Hammer put him down, then started jumping up and down in the air. “Holy shit, I can't believe we got away with it!”
“I gotta hand it to you, Brockie,” Ben said, shaking his hand. “Rocky start, but a hell of a finish.”
“So how are we splitting up the loot?” Robby asked. “I don't know how you were thinking of dividing it up, but I figure I should get at least a million for making the introduction...”
“Actually, if you count it as a seven-way split with Hammer representing the Saints as a whole, we should each end up with just under eight hundred and thirty-four thousand dollars,” Franny pointed out.
“Nobody likes a math geek, lady,” Robby said with a grin.
“I wouldn't go calculating individual shares just yet.” Brock picked up the valise again, closing it. “We're just getting started.”
The celebratory sounds died down. Hammer frowned. “What are you talking about? We won. We got the money. It's over.”
Brock smirked. “You guys don't know much about much out here in the bayou, do you? I keep telling you, this is the Spanish Prisoner con. This was just Phase One.”
“I don't like the sound of that,” Robby said uneasily.
“You should,” Brock countered. “Didn't I promise you more money than you'd ever seen in your life? 'Fuck you' money? 'Spend the rest of your life spending' money? Do you really think eight hundred grand is enough for all that? Come on.” He turned to Hammer. “And you. Sure, you got your money back four times over. But is that really enough after the way Ricci humiliated you? Don't you want to make him bleed?”
“I ain't worried about making him bleed,” Hammer said. “I'm worried about how he's gonna make us bleed if we don't quit while we're ahead.”
“Yeah, pushing our luck is a bullshit move,” Robby chimed in. “I've run enough casinos to know this is that moment everyone has after they've hit the jackpot. The smart ones take the money and run. Only the losers keep standing there until they've fed every coin back into the machine and they're left with nothing.”
“I think I'm with them,” said Greg. “These aren't random rubes we're ripping off, here. This is the mob. By the time they realize they've been scammed, we should all be long gone or there'll be hell to pay.”
“Well, by that rationale, it won't matter how far any of us run,” Brock insisted. “They'll still be powerful and influential enough to catch up with us. Our only shot at escaping in one piece is making sure that by the time we're done with Ricci, he's a joke among his fellow gangsters and his entire operation is crippled beyond repair.”
The others looked at each other uncertainly.
“Look, I know you're scared,” Brock continued. “I know you think it's time to get while the getting is good, but you have to think it through. We can either break Ricci completely, or we can all spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. I don't know about the rest of you, but I doubt I'll get much enjoyment from the money if I'm checking under my bed for hitmen four or five times a night.”
Franny stepped forward. “I hate to admit it, but Brock is right. When dealing with something as potentially volatile as this, the only smart move is to stabilize it completely before turning your back on it. No risks, no half-measures, or you're just begging for the whole thing to explode.”
Hammer thought this over for a minute, then nodded slowly. “Okay. You've got a point, even if I'm getting a little tired of being surprised by you. So what's the next step?”
Brock smiled. “I knew you'd see reason. The next step is actually a two-pronged approach. First, I've got another date with Maggie set up for three days from now.” Everyone in the room began to protest at once, but Brock waved them down. “Relax, okay? Nothing's going to happen. I'm just keeping things smooth and staying in the picture so I can keep Ricci happy.”
“And what's the other part of it?” Hammer asked.
Brock put an arm around Hammer's shoulder. “Tell me, have you ever heard of a dirtbag named Murray Morrow?
Chapter 17
Maggie
Maggie checked her reflection for the fifth time in the mirrored wall of the Lafitte Lounge as she waited for Gabe to arrive. Adamo sat in the corner, watching her closely.
Her mother had tried to apply Maggie's makeup and choose her outfit for the evening as she usually did before Maggie's arranged dates, but this time, Maggie refused and stood her ground. To Maggie, this second date with Gabe was even more special that the first. Now that they were both aware of the intense passion that burned between them, there'd be no need for small talk or pretense. They could bask in each other's presence completely, holding hands and embracing and kissing as they pleased. It was important to Maggie that for such a magical night, her makeup and clothing represented her, not her mother. It would make things more personal between her and Gabe, more intimate.
Amelia had protested for twenty minutes, but finally, she threw her hands up in frustration and stalked off. When Maggie emerged from her room almost an hour later, her mother raised her eyebrows in surprise and admitted that Maggie had managed to look beautiful all on her own. It was one of the nicest things Amelia had ever said to Maggie, and she had to stop herself from crying so her eye makeup wouldn't run.
Beautiful. Maggie couldn't remember the last time she'd heard anything from Amelia that wasn't harsh criticism, but today—when her heart was already singing with anticipation—her mother had actually called her beautiful.
Excitement tickled Maggie's stomach
like rows of marching ants as she inspected her makeup in the mirror, then spun around slowly, watching the pleated hem of her dress twirl. How would Gabe arrange for them to be together after dinner, despite their respective bodyguards? Maggie didn't know, but she was sure he'd find a way. He was so brilliant and charming, she was sure he could get away with anything if he tried.
And then their bodies would be entwined again, and he'd be inside of her, and all would be right with the world.
When the menu comes, I'm going to order anything I want, Maggie decided firmly. I'll start with an appetizer—some kind of crab dip with thick, rich, gooey melted cheese—and some hunks of crusty garlic bread to slather it on. And then maybe a big Caesar salad with lots of parmesan and dressing. No, forget the salad...I'll go straight to the entree, something fried and spicy that'll make me feel like I want to burst by the time I'm done. And dessert! Something with dark chocolate and a mountain of whipped cream on top. Let Adamo tell my mother whatever he wants. I'll already have eaten, and it'll be too late for her to do anything about it. Tonight is my night, and no one can take it away from me.
