Mad Mafia Love

by Jamila Jasper

“Well, I figured you’d write me a fuckin’ check.”

  * * *

  Paul’s Boston accent appeared to be getting thicker as he was confronted with more money than he knew what to deal with.

  * * *

  “No time for checks.”

  * * *

  “What kind of bullshit are you up to buddy?”

  * * *

  “Bullshit that you shouldn’t worry about,” Nico said, flashing Paul a smile while his icy blue eyes bore into him, warning him against asking too many more questions.

  * * *

  “Great. The Audi’s out back.”

  * * *

  Paul knew better than to ask too many questions too. He didn’t have any specifics about what Nico was up to, but he was also too smart to ask.

  * * *

  “Perfect.”

  * * *

  Paul picked up the duffel bag and Nico dropped the keys to his old ride into Paul’s leathered palm. Paul dropped the duffel on the ground in the center of the garage and continued to lead Nico to his prize. Nico grinned from ear to ear when he saw the car, exactly as he’d ordered it. A brand new 2017 Audi A4. Sleek, black, Italian and just cheap enough that it would fly under the radar.

  * * *

  “She’s beautiful,” Nico said.

  * * *

  “Isn’t she? Nice fuckin’ car. Drives real nice.”

  * * *

  “Well, maybe you’ll get a chance to hold onto this one.”

  * * *

  “If you head back to old Italia?”

  * * *

  Nico smiled but didn’t reply. He didn’t think he’d be going back to Italy. He figured that he’d die here, right on American soil. It hurt to think about, but everything had hurt since she had died. There wasn’t a single moment of Nico’s life that wasn’t pure agony.

  * * *

  “Keys?”

  * * *

  “Sure. Sure thing buddy.”

  * * *

  Paul fumbled around in his deep pockets and pulled out the keys.

  * * *

  “Well, why don’t I take her for a spin. I’ll drop by tomorrow if I have any issues.”

  * * *

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  “I’ll remember this favor Paul.”

  * * *

  “T’was no problem buddy.”

  * * *

  Nico got into the driver’s seat. The smell of new leather intoxicated him instantly. He pushed the button to start the car. The engine was smooth, silent and sexy. Mmm. Maybe he’d sworn off women but he could love the hell out of a brand new car. Nico waved to Paul and eased the beauty out of the garage.

  * * *

  Nico’s buddy Paul was his “car guy” but Nico also had a guy who was renowned for making people disappear. He needed to be invisible in Boston. He knew if he walked down the wrong streets, walked into the wrong shops, he’d be vulnerable in an instant. Giuseppe would slit his throat and dump him into the harbor if he got the chance. Nico approached the park where he was supposed to meet up with Nolan. Nolan Lamb was a real scummy kind of guy, the kind of guy who made the back of your hairs stand up. He smiled at the wrong times, he stood too close to you and he was all around bad news.

  * * *

  But he was also loyal. Nico waited patiently in his new car, scanning his surroundings while he waited to see Nolan marked by his signature blue Red Sox cap. Nico relaxed as he realized he hadn’t been followed. Setting foot in the United States had driven him to perpetual agitation. Nolan was late. Of course. But it wasn’t too long before Nico saw the tall, strapping man sit down on a park bench and adjust his Red Sox cap. He sat patiently, waiting for Nico to appear.

  * * *

  Nico got out of his car; he didn’t allow Nolan to spot which car he’d come out of and he walked around the park out of sight until he approached Nolan from behind.

  * * *

  “Signor Lamb,” Nico greeted him.

  * * *

  Nolan knew who he was from his greeting and he turned around slowly.

  * * *

  “Nee-Ko,” He greeted him, stretching out the syllables in his thick Boston accent, rolling Nico’s name around his mouth.

  * * *

  “I assume you found a suitable place for me?”

  * * *

  Nolan nodded, “Sure did. It’s fuckin’ nice too.”

  * * *

  “Yeah?”

  * * *

  “Oh yeah. Townhouse near Cambridge. You’ll be invisible among all these Harvard fucks.”

  * * *

  “Cigarette?” Nolan continued.

  * * *

  “No thank you,” Nico replied.

  * * *

  Nolan pulled out his box of Camels and lit up.

  * * *

  “Here’s the address,” He said, fishing for an index card in his pocket.

  * * *

  The smell of tobacco on his breath was pungent. Nolan had a wound on his right hand that looked like he’d grabbed onto a knife. Nico mused that whoever had tried to stab the guy probably had very good reason.

  * * *

  “Keys?”

  * * *

  “Yup,” Nolan replied, taking a long drag and then searching his deep pocket for a single bronzed key.

  * * *

  “What’s the security like on the place?”

  * * *

  Nolan grinned.

  * * *

  “Heh. We’ve done a good job of it. Trust me. Some motherfucker would need to really want to get at you.”

  * * *

  “Excellent.”

  * * *

  “Plus, I got my wife to decorate the place. I know you said you wanted it furnished.”

  * * *

  “Thank you Nolan.”

  * * *

  He wondered how the hell someone like Nolan had ended up married in the first place. Nico imagined his wife was some poor Massachusetts girl who had never left Boston and settled for anyone who would put food on the table and babies in her belly. Nico knew her well enough to know his guess was probably accurate.

  * * *

  “No problem pal. You know I owe you one.”

  * * *

  Nico smiled. Nolan didn’t. Nolan did owe him one. Nolan’s inappropriate behavior had nearly landed him in a whole lot of trouble a few years ago. Without Nico, he’d be rotting in some state prison somewhere. Nico didn't do it because Nolan was a good guy, but because his wife was a decent woman and there was no way she’d be able to feed their kids on his own.

  * * *

  “I’ll check out the place then.”

  * * *

  “Sure thing,” Nolan said standing up, “Call me if there’s any trouble.”

  * * *

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Nico sat on the park bench and watched as Nolan walked away from him. Nolan was grinning as he walked to his old Chevy pick up and drove away. The money Nico had paid him to arrange all of this was probably going to make his wife a very happy woman. Once he was sure that Nolan had left and there would be no funny business, Nico returned to his car.

  * * *

  The fear of his father haunted him even when he knew he was safe.

  * * *

  The townhouse Nolan had arranged for him was in the middle of the apartments rented by college students. Nico wanted a nice place to live but he didn’t want to be distinguishable from the crowd. That meant dressing to blend in. Once he moved in, he’d hang his leather jacket up in the closet and stick to bootcut denim and white t-shirts. Blending in was never something that Nico was too good at.

  * * *

  He had Giuseppe’s striking face, the scar on his neck and of course, the shiny golden crucifix around his neck. He was markedly Italian and markedly Catholic in a city where that got you noticed. And he looked like a model too. That might have helped him remain anonymous in New York City, but in Boston, Nico looked almost too beau
tiful to be there — an obvious European transplant.

  * * *

  The car drove smoothly and he parked it behind the building. Nolan had paid careful attention to Nico’s criteria. Nico opened the townhouse door. It smelled like bleach. Nolan (or his wife) had clearly done a bang up job getting this together. The furniture possessed that Martha Stewart charm with blues and whites pulling together the decor of each room. Nico carried his bags into the house and locked the door behind him. He walked over to the alarm and read the instructions that Nolan had scribbled onto the back of the index card.

  * * *

  Nico set the alarm on. Once he was in the house, he planned to keep it on at all times for security. He could feel his level of paranoia turning him into his father. Nico unpacked his bags, neatly hanging his white t-shirts in the closet and folding his jeans. He placed his three pairs of shoes neatly beneath the white t-shirts and then sat on the bed once he was done.

  He didn’t have much time before he was supposed to meet the boys — his loyal band of followers who had agreed Giuseppe should be unseated from his dictatorial throne over the local Italians. Nico had come all the way from Italy for his revenge on that motherfucker.

  * * *

  He unpacked his guns, stashing them around his house in the locations that Nolan had arranged. His townhouse had become a fortress in under an hour. Nico slipped a knife into the holster strapped around his calf and slipped a gun into his back waistband. In a sense, it felt good to be back in Boston.

  * * *

  In some ways, this city was just as much of his home as Italy was. Having to exist underground like this felt like an alternate reality. With her he had vowed to put all of this behind him. But Giuseppe had been persistent. If he couldn’t control Nico, he needed to destroy him. And as for Luca… Luca had been born with the same cruel streak as his father, but he would no longer be a problem.

  * * *

  That made Nico’s job much easier. He would have never been able to complete this mission if his twin brother were still alive.

  * * *

  Nico thought about their childhood and he wondered if somehow, he’d always known it would come to this. Luca and Nico had always been so incompatible. And the way their lives had turned out, it was as if there had been no other choice but for only one of them to survive. Based on how he’d grown up, Nico had always figured he would be the one to die first. Luca was cruel. He had always been cruel.

  * * *

  Nico wandered out of the house and set his alarm. The streets were filled with college students. Their oversized spectacles, flannel shirts and tight skinny jeans that both men and women alike wore created this androgynous crowd of intellectuals. Nico picked up on what he would need to fit in quickly. A leather messenger bag. Spectacles. No beard. A haircut. Blending into Cambridge wouldn’t prove too difficult. Everyone here was so homogenous, that Nico found it too easy to pick out the trends. Dressing like these younger folks would be easy.

  * * *

  In a way, Nico felt like he’d been robbed of the youth they all had. College had been out of the question for him. The Riccardis didn’t do college according to his father. All they needed to be educated on was how to serve the family and maintain the family wealth.

  * * *

  He walked to the bar. He fully intended for his new car to remain anonymous, even to the men that he trusted. If anyone went to report that Nico Riccardi was back in town, he wanted to leave them with nothing else but that simple useless fact. Before he went to the bar, Nico walked into Urban Outfitters and bought himself a large flannel shirt and a pair of fake spectacles. He ripped the tags off both and put them on the moment he left the store.

  * * *

  Nico had become Nicholas Ricardo to anyone else he met. His accent might be the only thing that gave him away. He hadn’t been in America long enough to tone it down the way he used to. Italian had given his voice a heavy, deep sound. It worked on the ladies but it wouldn’t do to maintain his anonymity.

  * * *

  The bar was a dive. The blue-collar clientele occupied all the seats, eyes glued to the Patriots game broadcasted on the television. Nico had never understood the fascination with American football. Nothing could get his heart rate up so easily after the life he’d lived — well, the life he’d been forced into. Nico nodded towards the bartender who pointed towards the back room.

  * * *

  Even in a dive like this, greasing palms could get you a VIP room. In this seedy side of Boston, Nico had dredged up men who had a bone to pick with his father. That hadn’t proved too difficult. Nico was glad to see that the men who he’d chosen had done his bidding. He commanded the same fear as Giuseppe. Good. Nico didn’t have the cruelty that his father had, but he knew how to command a room. He knew how to use fear and uncertainty to his advantage in order to get what he wanted. Valuable lessons from Papa Riccardi.

  * * *

  Nico entered the room and the men fell silent.

  * * *

  “Good evening gentlemen,” Nico said quietly.

  * * *

  The men grunted in response.

  * * *

  “What are you waiting for? Someone bring me a beer.”

  * * *

  Power. Nico resented it, but he knew how to wield it too.

  * * *

  Nico sat down at the head of the table while the men around it looked him up and down. Nico knew what this was. They were assessing his strength and calculating whether Nico was deserving of their respect. Nico hoped that no man would try to test him. While he didn’t enjoy cruelty, he was capable of doling out punishment if someone crossed him. This mission was serious enough to draw out a bad temper.

  * * *

  A local American-born Italian man named Tommy brought Nico the beer. He sipped the frothy dark ale with a hint of resentment that it wasn’t a full bodied dry wine.

  * * *

  “Thank you all for meeting with me today… I’d like to discuss a few business matters. Phones off and on the table,” Nico started.

  * * *

  Each fella turned their phone off and placed it face down on the table. Tommy stood behind Nico, making sure that there were no snakes amongst them. Nico had inherited his father’s paranoia, his father’s ability to inspire loyalty and his father’s charisma. What he hadn’t inherited was his father’s bloodlust.

  * * *

  If they were going to make money in Boston, he didn’t want to do it the way his father had. They weren’t here to incite violence, but to stop it. Nico needed to protect his community in a way his father hadn’t. His father gave Italians a bad name.

  * * *

  Nico began to speak. His voice emanated from his chest and Nico could feel every man in the room hanging onto his every word. First he needed money. Then he needed men. Then he would get his revenge on Giuseppe. Nico had been patient and this would require even more patience.

  * * *

  As he spoke, he looked at all the men in the room and analyzed each one. Tommy was a good right-hand man. Leo and Paul were the brawn. Their arms were sinewy, naturally strong and they knew their way around guns. Two eighteen year olds who worked down at the docks would make good ears — listening around the city for valuable tidbits about Giuseppe’s movements. There was only one person missing from the crowd.

  * * *

  After he had finished his first speech and the men started talking amongst themselves, Nico grabbed on Tommy’s shirt.

  * * *

  “Tommy,” He whispered, “Where is…”

  * * *

  Tommy interrupted before he could finish.

  * * *

  “The boy? He finished school fifteen minutes ago. He should be here by now.”

  * * *

  Nico nodded. He hated the idea of getting someone so young involved in this. But when he was his cousin’s age, he’d been involved in far worse. His father had given him a gun from the time he was old enough to know how to use it
. Nico waited patiently for a few more moments, letting his men plan and discuss their next moves amongst themselves.