by Kelly Wood
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I said. I continued to wait with my arm extended.
Sal and Tony both stared at me for a moment before giving in and stepping forward to shake my hand when Frank cleared his throat, the sound a clear warning to the men. My body wanted to shiver at their touches. Both men gave me the willies, especially Sal, the shorter one. He had hard eyes. Tony smiled at me, but Sal continued to watch me with his dead stare. I decided then and there to avoid them as often as possible.
“Oh, knock it off, Sal. Regan is harmless,” Gray said. He moved to stand slightly in front of me, his arm draped across my shoulders protectively.
“Am I missing something?” I whispered to Gray.
“No, babe. We’ll see you later, Uncle Frank. I just wanted to pop in and say hello,” Gray said. He steered me toward the door, but I looked over my shoulder as we exited.
As I glanced back, Sal’s eyes locked with mine. His stare didn’t break until the door closed between us. I gave myself a little shake to lose the chill running down my spine before entering the elevator.
“Only you could have gotten yourself into this mess,” Gray said. “Don’t say anything now. We’ll talk in a minute.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I said.
Gray led us down the elevator, through the casino and back outside. Neither of us spoke the whole time. We stopped along the sidewalk to watch the Bellagio water show again. He said we needed some privacy, but I didn’t know how standing on Las Vegas Boulevard gave us any. I went with it, though.
“Why are we out here? I need to actually get some work done.” Gray raised a finger, silently asking me to give him a moment. We stood with our arms resting on the railing looking out over the water. The show began but I turned my head to look at Gray.
“We need to talk away from the eyes and ears of casino security. You need to watch what you say and do, whenever you are even near a casino,” Gray said.
“We are near a casino now,” I pointed out.
“The sound of the splashing water will block out almost anything we say.”
“Why? This is ridiculous. And what was going on back in Frank’s office? I felt like I was the only one not in on the joke, so to speak.”
The water show continued in front of us, people in the crowd oohing and aahing over it.
“It was my mistake, Regan. I already made it clear I think you shouldn’t take this job. I never thought it would be Uncle Frank’s hotel.”
“Shouldn’t it be a good thing? You know, insider info and all?” I asked, nudging him in the stomach with my elbow.
“No. You don’t even know what you are getting into and you won’t be able to stop yourself.”
“Will you just tell me whatever it is?” I put my hands on my hips and gave him a little head shake for emphasis. Gray locked eyes with me before speaking.
“Uncle Frank is the head of the Bianchi crime family. The mob is still in Vegas.”
“Uncle Frank? The Don? The big cheese? The...the...Dickweed?”
“Don’t ever call him that to his face. He hates that name.”
“Why is he called that?” I asked.
“The two men you just met are the sons of Antonio Bianchi. He used to own Vegas. He had his finger in every money scheme here. He was a ruthless man, but those two sons are morons. He had another son who disappeared back in the eighties. Everyone assumes he is dead, but no one really knows. With these guys, dead is a safe bet.”
“You aren’t answering my question,” I pointed out. Gray leaned down even further, our heads almost touching as we talked. To any observer, we were just a couple watching the show.
“I am. You needed a little background first. Frank was a friend of the sons. He always hung around them but wasn’t ever part of the ‘family.’” Gray used air quotes with his fingers and kept talking. “He’s not even Italian. He changed his name to Donato when he was nineteen.”
I was hanging on every word. A true-life mob story?! Heck yeah! I zoned out and let the picture of the story unfold in my mind while Gray continued to talk.
“Because Frank wasn’t Italian, he had to prove himself that much more. Now, you don’t have to be Italian to move up in a crime family, but when Frank and the Bianchi boys were younger, your Italian heritage still meant a lot.
“Frank followed the Bianchi boys around like their shadows. He mimicked everything they did. Antonio got to calling him ‘Dickweed’ because he was always popping up where even he didn’t want him.
“Frank was always on the streets hustling scams and money to kick up to Antonio, hoping to prove his worth as more than just a driver. Frank’s goal was to be a ‘made man.’ Antonio let him. Antonio wasn’t about to turn down the extra income, but no one ever thought Frank would actually get anywhere in power in the family. Frank would always just be a part of a street crew. Basically, street crews are the low men on the totem pole. They do all of the dirty work while the ‘made men’ get part of the money. The street crew members in return get the protection of the family name and can work their way up in the organization.
“The next boss of the Bianchi family was always supposed to be Guy Bianchi, the missing son. He was smart, tough and diplomatic. Guy had everything going for him, but when he went missing and never returned, Antonio had to figure out another protégé. That’s when he really noticed Frank. Frank was everything that Guy was, including loyal. He may not be Italian, but he was what Antonio needed.
“What do you mean? Everything that Guy was? And, why not the other two?”
“Guy was a charmer. People naturally liked him and wanted to follow him. He was a born leader. Frank has those qualities, too. Sal and Tony don’t. They both have a dark side that can’t be hidden. I’m sure you felt it.” Gray’s arm tightened around me. “I saw the way you looked at them.”
“I did. I guess I get it. I would go out of way not to see them again. Go on with the rest.”
“Antonio started grooming Frank. Frank went everywhere with him, sat in on every meeting, was part of every decision. Antonio made it very clear that Frank was his and everyone would show him respect.
“That’s it. That is why you need to be careful. If you overhear something you are not supposed to hear or go snooping around, which is exactly what you would do, these people will make you disappear,” Gray said.
“But how are you related to Frank? You called him ‘uncle.’”
“We’re not biologically related. He’s a close friend to our family so we’ve always called him uncle.”
I snorted at the word ‘family.’ It was proving to have too many meanings. The nosy Nellie in me was interested. I wanted to read everything I could on Frank and on the history of the mob in Vegas. I tried to tamp down the urge. I realized Gray was trying to keep me safe by warning me, but his actions seemed otherwise. Why would he take me up into the lion’s den itself if he was just going to warn me away from the story? Why introduce me at all? I wanted an interview with Frank for my article, but in all honesty, I probably would’ve only gotten some time with a PR rep for the hotel. Now Frank was even more likely to notice me because of Gray’s actions. What would be the point? Unless...
“But how do you fit into this? Frank pointed out I was your fiancée to those men like it meant something. Like a warning almost?” I voiced my thoughts as I had them. “Was it a warning? Were you also warning Frank who I am, too?”
Gray raised an eyebrow at me, causing me to backpedal as fast as I could.
“I mean...other than the obvious importance of...just being...your fiancée...I mean. You know? Like it had two meanings.” I tried to dig myself out of the verbal hole I was in.
“It does. Remember when I told you about the ‘made men’? The mob was built on a weird form of respect amongst each other. The two remaining families here in Vegas still live by those rules. A hit can’t be taken out on a ‘made man’ or his immediate family without the permission of the ‘boss’ of his mob family. My telling Frank
, Sal and Tony you were mine set their boundaries regarding you.”
I slowly put the pieces together. Gray staked his claim on me providing me with protection. I gasped as the dots connected.
“Are you telling me you’re a ‘made man’? That’s why being with you protects me?” I asked the questions slowly, not quite processing what the implications would mean.
“No, Regan. It’s worse.”
“Worse than being a killer for hire?” I asked. Gray stood up straighter waiting for me to catch up with what he was trying to tell me.
“You’re immediate family? No way,” I said.
“Way.”
Chapter Three
Gray gave me exactly five minutes to process the news that his family was mob-related before he walked me back into the hotel and proceeded to show me all he knew. I decided to reserve judgement on Gray’s bombshell until I had a chance to further evaluate the information. The idea of Gray’s father, Michael, being a crime boss was throwing me for a loop. He exuded kindness and warmth. I looked forward to hugging him hello whenever I saw him and being enveloped in him. Michael had a way of making you feel protected. Like nothing could ever happen to you. Gray was similar in that way but I knew Gray could be dangerous. Michael? I was having a hard time believing. My mind played devil’s advocate, pointing out Gray’s tough streak would have to come from somewhere. Of course, the somewhere could be his mother. Mary Francis was a force to be reckoned with. I’d seen servers shake when her glare was turned on them for any perceived mistake, like clearing her plate from the wrong side. She could make a rattlesnake second-guess biting her.
I followed Gray blindly. My hand loosely held in his while he guided me along. Gray had many aspects from his dad and not many of his mother’s. Thank God. If he had, we wouldn’t still be together after five years. I had an inkling Gray was sharing the information with me only because he wanted me to be leery and afraid instead of more curious and nosy.
“Just walk and look around like a tourist. I’ll point out what you don’t see,” Gray said.
I looked around the entrance to the casino. To me, it looked like every other casino in Las Vegas. The standard tourists were present; the group of women on a girls’ trip giggling at every chance, the heroin-chic guy wearing a wife-beater and smoking a cigarette while playing a penny machine, and the Midwestern couple in tennis shoes, wearing fanny packs. Stragglers and loners were dotted between the groups. To me, Vegas was just a repeat of the same stereotypes over and over again. There was no real heart or substance to it.
“How do you know what to ‘see,’ so to speak?” I asked. Gray led us to a bar area situated in the middle of the chaos of machines.
“I am not going to dignify that with a response. Look to your right. See the woman sitting at the bar alone?” Gray said.
“The one sipping her cocktail and leaning her back to the bar?” I asked after peeking out of the corner of my eye. The woman looked to be in her early to mid-twenties wearing heels and a black wrap dress. Her outfit was nice, but didn’t stand out, even amongst all the fanny packs. She leaned against the bar watching the crowd. There was nothing special about her, in my opinion. She was pretty, but I wouldn’t remember her enough to pick her out of a lineup later.
“Yes. That one. She’s a prostitute, or a ‘pro’ as they are called here. I’m guessing she is given a room upstairs daily. She takes her clients up, services them, cleans herself up and then comes back down to find her next one. The maids change the sheets while she’s gone.”
“Other than being gross, how is she mob-related?” I asked. The wrap dress would make for easy on/easy off, I thought.
“Part of her nightly earnings go to Uncle Frank. A capo is the leader of a street crew. His crew will make the rounds of all of the girls working their area for their cut. They keep part of it, and part of the cut gets tossed up to Uncle Frank. The ‘pro’ keeps the rest of her earnings.”
“What if one of the girls doesn’t want to pay?” I asked.
“They always want to pay. If one of the girls holds back, she will get ‘tuned up’, as they say. A working girl can’t make any money if she has to wait for her face to heal.” Gray and I sat at two of the bar stools. We turned to face each other while we whispered back and forth.
“Does that hurt Frank’s income too? Since the girl can’t work while she’s healing?”
“In the short term, yes, but not over the long haul. If a girl wants to work this casino, she learns early to pay her dues. One girl getting knocked around sends a message to all of the girls. It doesn’t need to happen often to be effective. Her beating is never severe, just a few bruises preventing her from working. The lack of income hurts her more than Frank.”
“How chivalrous,” I said regarding the ‘never severe’ beating. “So, what if a client doesn’t want to pay?”
“Most likely, some of the security guards here that work in street clothes help to protect her. One will follow her up to the room and wait outside of the door in case she calls for help. They also get a cut of her earnings each night. Getting beat up is a hazard of the business for the women, but they get more security here giving up part of their earnings than they would on their own. They also get a higher level of clientele than they would on the streets.”
Gray ordered two bottles of water from the bartender, leaving money on the bar for the order. He nodded his head in the direction of the woman, signaling me to watch her.
A man came up and sat next to her. They engaged in some idle chitchat. I wanted to move closer to hear what they were talking about, but Gray kept his hand on my arm. I couldn’t look away. Watching them was like watching a slow-motion train wreck.
Within just a few minutes, both the man and woman got up and headed toward the elevators. As I was watching them, I noticed a large man in chinos and a polo shirt casually stroll after them toward the elevators. He didn’t stand out in any way. I wouldn’t have pegged him for muscle, except that Gray had just mentioned it.
“Wow, that was fast,” I said after they left my line of sight.
“Of course, it was. Neither of them wants to waste time. She needs to be as efficient as possible to make the most money, and he wasn’t here for the talking.”
“How did he know she was a pro’?”
“If you are the type of person to frequent prostitutes, you always know how to find them,” Gray said.
“Riffraff always finds riffraff.”
“What’s that?” Gray turned his head back to me.
“That’s what my dad always says. You can move a delinquent to another city, but they will always find the type of friends that they want to be around. That’s why his program focuses on personal change,” I said.
My dad ran a halfway house for young men in need of help with alcohol and substance abuse. Dad was an ex-Marine drill sergeant and a recovering addict himself. He whipped those boys into shape by teaching them how to be men, as he said. The ways to becoming a man included hard, physical labor on his farm and taking responsibility for one’s own actions. Dad swore taking responsibility was harder any day of the week than the physical labor.
One of Dad’s favorite sayings was riffraff always finds riffraff. People tend to flock to those most like themselves. Dad taught the riffraff to be men first, so they would flock to other men as they got their lives together.
It wasn’t an easy program to get through. Dad only took people he felt were truly ready to commit and change their lives. I’d seen dozens of people go through Dad’s program. It was amazing watching their bodies go from malnourished and emaciated to healthy and strong. I could only imagine that was happening to their minds, too.
“Well, your dad would be the expert on it. Let’s move on.”
“To?” I asked. We left the bar and started back on the main walkway through the casino.
“To the sports bar.”
“And what will I learn there?” I asked.
“Online sports betting.”
We entered the sports bar and I turned into a fat kid in a candy store. I loved sports; football, and baseball especially. My sister, Peyton, refused to even go to a sports bar with me because the games on the TVs put me into a coma.
I just couldn’t stop watching.
“Focus, Regan. Look around the room. What seems out of place to you?”
It was the middle of the day without any big games going on. There was a decent crowd in the bar because horse races and baseball were available. A group of businessmen sat in a corner booth, finishing a meal and casually watching the TVs. Two men sat at the bar separately watching the horse races. Two women sat at a nearby table, chatting and drinking. I thought they were out of place because they weren’t paying any attention to the games or races, but as I watched them eye the table of men, I realized they thought this would be the best place to find a man.
That left the guy sitting at a table by himself with a computer and two cell phones in front of him.
“Him,” I said and pointed.
“Don’t point. We are supposed to be casual tourists just walking around.” Gray led us to a table where we pretended to browse the appetizer menu.
“You know subtlety is not in my DNA,” I said.
I tried to be classy... most of the time. It was hard work to keep your mouth shut and think before you speak. Sometimes it was hard enough to pick out an outfit in the morning, let alone to remember to be dignified at all times.
“No, it is not,” Gray agreed.
“What?” I was mortified that Gray agreed with me that I was not dignified, but then reality set in and I realized that he couldn’t actually read my thoughts. He must have been referring to my comment.
“What do you find out of place about him?” Gray asked. The waitress brought two glasses of water to the table and took our order for mozzarella sticks. We sipped our drinks and pretended to watch the televisions mounted over the man’s head.
“He’s checking the TVs, but his primary focus is on his computer. A loud sports bar isn’t the best place to work, in my opinion. Plus, he’s touching his Bluetooth a lot. It makes me think he taking multiple calls.”
