“When your second was killed? Yeah, I remember.”
“He was my fucking brother-in-law. Michael was married to my sister and she was six months pregnant when he was killed by your family.”
Egan had never shared this information with me before. Not that it mattered. “And you got your revenge when you killed Big Tone,” I said.
“That wasn’t nearly enough,” he growled. “My sister sank into a depression after Michael’s death and tried to kill herself in March. She survived, but the baby didn’t. My sister hasn’t been the same since – I can’t even trust her with a pair of scissors.”
He shifted and I followed his movements with my gun, ready to pull the trigger. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Egan snorted and flexed his neck muscles, rolling his head until something popped. He ignored my apology. “You don’t understand family. I thought all you Italian bastards did, but you killed your uncle. That’s some stone cold shit. Then like a disease, you destroy my family.”
He took a step forward and then another while clenching and unclenching his fists. With his flattened nose, cracked lip and black eye, he did look menacing and while I knew his fists could do some damage, I was holding a gun and I could hold my own in a fight. We were the same size, same build and had the same purpose. Despite what Egan thought, family meant everything to me and I was not going to let any harm come to mine.
“So you tried to set me up, keep the Feds on my ass,” I said, luring Egan back into conversation.
“It was so easy too. Except when I put the order out on Agent Phillips, I didn’t know you were out of town. Bad timing there.”
“So the drop, where Anthony and Demetrius’ guy were killed, that was you too?”
Egan’s grin confirmed my suspicion. A faint pop sounded from behind and something rushed past my ear right before Egan’s head blew out and he fell backwards from the force. It felt like slow motion when I spun around to see Joey lowering his Glock right before chaos erupted in the form of gunfire as Egan’s men opened up on us.
Dropping and rolling under a table for a more defensive position, I started returning fire. I took out one of Egan’s enforcers at the knees. When he landed on his side, he took aim, but I ended it before he could get off a shot.
It didn’t take long to come to an end. My ears were ringing and my black shirt was covered in dust and splinters; miniature shrapnel created when bullets hit the wooden tables and booths. Grant held a gun to the last of Egan’s men who had already handed his weapon over. He wasn’t a big guy and had more tattoos than body fat. The ink on the left side of his neck stood out; a four-leaf shamrock that had blood dripping from the stem.
“What your name?” I asked. The guy glared at me and refused to answer. I nodded at Grant and he whipped his gun across the guy’s face, breaking open the skin above his cheekbone. I asked him his name again and this time he answered.
“Mike. Mike Lynch.”
“Alright, Mike,” I said, looking around the pub at the bodies on the floor. Egan was clearly dead and I spotted his second Aidan lying in a pool of blood near the entrance, his eyes were open and already had the cloudy vacant stare of the deceased. The man Joey had cold-cocked earlier had regained consciousness and was slumped over in a chair, bloody drool hanging off of his swollen bottom lip, staining the white wife beater he was wearing. “Who is next in line to be in charge? I want to talk to him.”
Mike glanced around at the bodies, his face draining of color as he took in the carnage. He swallowed heavily and when he turned back to face me his eyes were watery. “That would be me. Everyone else is dead.”
“We need to talk.” I stepped around a chair that had been knocked over and broken glass crunched underfoot. The big flat screen TVs were still on. ESPN was recapping that night’s Phillies game. Grant kept a grip on Mike’s arm and led him over to a booth on the other side of the pub. This hadn’t suffered any damage and was away from the dead bodies. Joey D. had a grip on the other guy and he shoved him into the booth, sliding in after him.
“O’Doyle, are you okay?” Mike asked.
“I’m alibe,” he responded, his swollen lip made it hard to speak and he sounded like he had a head cold.
Dante ducked behind the bar and emerged with a bottle of Glendalough 13 Year Old Single Malt Irish Whiskey. Egan did keep a nice top shelf selection. He brought this to the table with enough glasses for everyone then he went back and grabbed a bar towel. He wrapped some ice up in it and handed it to O’Doyle; a peace offering of sorts.
“Mike do you want to pick up the torch of Egan’s grudge or do you want to stay alive and make some money?”
Mike slammed back his whiskey and refilled his glass with an unsteady hand. “I want to stay alive. I can manage the H, that infrastructure is in place, but this here,” he gestured at the bar, “and the BNB was Egan’s show. I don’t know have a fucking clue how I’m going to manage that.”
“I think we can work something out. Running bars is what my family does.” And that’s how I became a silent partner in a K&A Gang business, securing a foothold for the Grabano’s in the Northeast. As a goodwill gesture, I called in our clean-up crew to dispose of the bodies. Right before leaving, Mike and I shook hands, sealing the deal.
The sun was beginning to rise on our drive back to the city and Vinnie’s garage was humming with activity when we dropped the van off. Dante drove me to my condo. I opened the front door and noticed my suitcase was propped against the kitchen island. Leo was stretched out on my sofa, snoring away; his gun on the coffee table. Some security he was since he didn’t hear me enter the condo. I chuckled and walked down the hall to my bedroom without experiencing the usual pang of loneliness from Natalie’s absence because I knew she would be home soon. With everything right in the world again, I crawled into bed and slept like the dead.
Chapter 49
Natalie
LOS ANGELES
Dominic’s sudden return to Philadelphia left behind a lot of unanswered questions like, where was I going to live? I didn’t want to assume that we’d pick right up where we left off and I’d move in with him.
“What do you mean, you’re going to look for an apartment?” he asked when I brought the subject up. He had called me his first day back in Philly. “I was planning on you living with me.”
“Oh, you were?”
“Well yeah, I kind of like having you around. And I really love waking up next to you,” he said and my stomach quivered in response to the suggestive tone of his voice. It was like I was fifteen again a guy I had been crushing on first talked to me.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Baby, you’re my girlfriend and this is as much your place as it is mine. It’s been so empty without you.”
“Okay, I’ll move in with you, but only if you promise to cook for me every once in a while,” I teased.
“Deal.”
Cutting ties in Los Angeles was harder than I thought it would be, especially when I gave my two-week notice at Dirty. Callie got choked up when I told her I was leaving for good, but she understood. Claiming she recognized the signs of true love, she insisted I follow my heart.
Chelsea came over to help me with the grant application since I only had three days to draft a business plan to accompany the application, but I finally submitted it the day of the deadline. Time slowed to a crawl as I waited to hear whether I’d been selected as a recipient or not and I stalked my email waiting for the response. The confirmation email said it could take up to a month; guaranteeing the two recipients would definitely hear by July 31st.
One of the advantages to having a month-to-month lease was that all I needed to do was give a thirty-day notice so in between stalking my email and working, I packed. Chelsea stopped in and helped herself to items I wasn’t taking with me. She boxed up plates, silverware, and glasses.
“What about the futon?” I asked her.
“You’re not taking it?”
&
nbsp; I shook my head and we both stared at the one piece of furniture we’d had since our freshman year in college. I’d replaced the mattress and cover after Victor had bled all over it, but the frame was the same and had survived years of abuse. Chelsea didn’t have space for it in her home. My bed and all the other furniture wasn’t coming with me back to Philadelphia. The plan was for Dominic to fly out and we’d drive cross country in my car, towing a small trailer. Aside from clothes, books, DVDs and linens, the flat screen TV was the only thing I intended to keep. Chelsea suggested I donate everything to a battered women’s shelter and so that’s what I did, scheduling for everything to be picked up before noon on the day Dominic and I were to begin our journey east.
The end of the July was rapidly approaching and I’d yet to hear anything on the grant. The day before Dominic was set to fly in, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number and almost ignored it, but decided to answer at the last minute.
“Miss Ross?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“This is Carol Schmitt with the University of the Arts Alumni Office and I have a few questions about your application.”
A sinking sensation settled in my stomach as worst case scenarios, all of them resulting in me being denied, ran through my head. “Okay…”
“It says here that you already have a space for your proposed gallery. Can you tell me about this arrangement?”
I told her about the arrangement I had with Grabano Enterprises where the rent started out low and increased each year over a five year term. The utility deposits were already taken care of and a low security deposit of one month’s rent made up the bulk of the start-up capital. I explained to her my plan to work with students at the university to display their art for a commission. She really liked the fact that I was going to hire another alumnus as my manager.
“This is a very detailed and well thought out business plan, Natalie,” Carol said after I answered her questions. “One of the better applications I’ve seen,” she added. I held my breath and crossed my fingers, praying in my head for her to approve the grant.
“Congratulations. I’m going to approve your application and will send a follow-up email. Is this the right bank account number for us to wire the funds into?” She read off the bank name, account and the accurate routing number.
“Yes. That’s correct. Are you serious? Is this for real?” I didn’t bother controlling the excitement in my voice.
Carol chuckled and congratulated me again before ending the call. After she hung up, I stood there in the middle of the living room with my mouth hanging open. Holy shit, I was the owner of an art gallery!
I immediately texted Grant and swore him to secrecy. I wanted to tell Dominic in person. When I called Jillian to give her the news and officially hire her as assistant manager, she squealed so loud my ear rang for a few minutes after. My mom was just as excited and offered to help with painting and whatever I needed to get the gallery ready. Knowing Chelsea was at work, I texted her and she immediately called me, shrieking and carrying on like she had won the lottery. I decided both she and Jillian needed to chill on their caffeine intake.
Since it was my last night in L.A., Chelsea stayed over, showing up at my door with a celebratory sausage and mushroom pizza and six-pack of beer. We sat down on the futon and Chelsea raised a bottle in the air.
“To new beginnings,” she said and we tapped our bottles of beer together. We talked until after two in the morning about life and love. She made me promise to be out for her wedding at least a week before the big day. I promised then we both drifted off to sleep next to each other in my bed.
The next day I was up at the crack of dawn. Pure excitement woke me up. Chelsea was still asleep so I went for a run to burn off the nervous energy. When I returned, I had enough time to shower before leaving to pick Dom up at the airport. Chelsea was awake when I got out of the bathroom.
“You’re going to be here when I get back, right?” I asked her. She was sitting cross legged on the bed with a cup of coffee watching me comb out my wet hair.
“Yes and I’ll let Victor in if he gets here before you do. We went over this last night.”
“I know, just making sure,” I smiled at her and she rolled her eyes.
“You’re not excited or anything,” she teased, taking a sip of her coffee.
I was excited and it showed on my speedometer as I had to ease off the gas pedal several times. Finally, LAX was in sight and then I was parking at the lot near arrivals and baggage claim. When I got inside, I learned that Dom’s flight was delayed by twenty minutes. I paced and looked at the time, paced some more and looked at the time, which had slowed down to an agonizing crawl. The arrivals board updated, indicating Dom’s plane had finally landed so I took up a post at the bottom of the escalator and waited. Paparazzi were hovering nearby awaiting some celebrity like a pack of hungry hyena, but I ignored them. Dom appeared at the top of the escalator and our eyes locked. His face lit up in a brilliant smile that matched mine. He wore a mint green tee shirt that clung to his muscular frame and made his olive skin seem darker. His hair was a mess, but sexy. I licked my lips in anticipation.
As soon as he was off the escalator, I was in his arms. Our five minute marathon kiss was not appreciated by the people who had to move around us. The paparazzi did appreciate a good reunion and even though we weren’t famous they snapped a few pictures.
“God, I fucking missed you,” Dom said when we separated. He bent down and picked up his duffle bag that he had dropped at his feet when he got off the escalator.
“Me too, you have no idea.” We held hands and Dom pushed through the crowd in order to get to the exit.
Once we were on the freeway and zipping toward my apartment, I told him the news.
“Yes! I knew you’d get it. Congratulations, baby!” He was still holding my hand and raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the back. “You’re going to kick ass too.”
We stopped on the way home and picked up a small U-Haul trailer. It took a little longer than planned as a hitch had to be installed on my car. By the time we got to my apartment complex, Victor was already there and he brought Jimmy along.
“Jimmy! What are you doing here? You should be home with the baby,” I admonished him.
“I can’t stay long, but wanted to say goodbye,” he said.
Having Dom, Victor and Jimmy there to help, the trailer was loaded quickly. A box truck with the women’s shelter logo pulled up and they helped the two volunteers move the heavy furniture. Jimmy left, following the box truck out.
After a quick wipe down of surfaces and a thorough vacuuming, the apartment was clean. It was time to turn in the keys go.
“Stay in touch, Princess,” Victor said and pulled me into a sweaty hug. “And you guys take care of each other. You give this player hope, ya know?” he kissed my cheek and released me before giving Dom a hug.
Chelsea was next and we stared at each other with tears in our eyes. She threw herself against me and I was engulfed in a bone crushing hug. We held each other and cried, promising to call, text, email, Facebook and Snapchat daily. Sniffling, I pulled away and Dominic comforted me by placing an arm around my shoulders. “I love you, Chels.”
“I love you, Nat.”
“Best friends forever?”
“Always.”
Fresh tears spilled and I wiped them away before sliding into the passenger seat. Dom shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He got in and turned to me.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes. Let’s go home.”
He put the car in drive and pulled away. I didn’t look back.
THE END
Acknowledgments
Where to begin…
When I decided to self-publish The Beautiful People in October 2013, I had no idea what to expect. The pessimist in me prepared for the worst and I’d be happy if I sold 100 units. I didn’t anticipate that readers all over the world would read my boo
ks and fall in love with the characters that made me laugh as much as they infuriated me. It’s been an amazing journey, but I haven’t traveled it alone. For all of you loyal TNMT fans who have accompanied me and been my cheerleaders every step of the way, you’re amazing!
I need to thank my husband for supporting me and pushing me. He knows writing puts a smile on my face and that it’s my passion. Thank you Steve, I love you with all of my being!
My mom is probably my number one fan, but not in a creepy Annie Wilkes kind of way. She’s attended author events and shared her copies of my books with countless others. She doesn’t miss a Facebook post and is constantly cheering me on. Mom, thank you for being my number one fan! Love you!
There are too many people to list that have helped make Endings & Beginnings a reality. A big thank you goes to Marlee and Nicole for shooting me straight at writers group and another thank you to my BACA family for giving Bubba stuff to do while I ignored him (LOL).
About the Author
E.J. Fechenda has lived in Philadelphia, Phoenix and now calls Portland, Maine home where she is a wife, stepmom, and pet parent all while working full time. Crazy is how she likes it.
She has a degree in Journalism from Temple University and her short stories have been published in Suspense Magazine, the 2010 and 2011 Aspiring Writers Anthologies, and in the Indies Unlimited 2012 Flash Fiction Anthology. In addition to writing The New Mafia Trilogy, she is working on The Ghosts Stories Trilogy. E.J. is a member of the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance and co-founder of the fiction reading series, “Lit: Readings & Libations”, which is held semi-quarterly in Portland.
E.J. can be found on the internet here:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EJFechendaAuthor
Twitter @ebusjaneus (https://twitter.com/ebusjaneus)
Tumblr: http://ejfechenda.tumblr.com/
Endings & Beginnings: Book Three of The New Mafia Trilogy Page 32
