by Harley Stone
So why did my chest suddenly feel like a gaping hole?
Unable to reason my stupid emotions away, I focused on scrubbing my station until it sparkled. Then, because I didn’t know who—if anyone—would be waiting for me outside the restaurant, I asked Brandon if I could bum a ride.
“Yeah, of course,” he said, grabbing his keys out of the break room. “You want to grab a drink at that bar on the corner first?”
A drink? My chest hurt so bad I wanted to down the liquor of an entire bar to kill the pain.
I must have hesitated too long, because Brandon hurried to add, “Just as friends. To celebrate that this dinner is finally over, and things can get back to normal.”
Now that was something I could drink to. I hoped to never see Dominico again.
Forcing a smile, I said, “I’m in.”
Ten minutes later I sat on a barstool beside Brandon and ordered something fruity and loaded with alcohol. I downed it and nibbled on the pineapple slice while I ordered another, and another. In fact, I have no idea how many drinks I downed that night. Thankfully Brandon must have been a gentleman, because I vaguely recall him pouring me in and out of his car and helping me to my front door. Everything after that was a blur.
Turns out alcohol only made things worse, because the next day, my head hurt right along with my heart.
CHAPTER NINE
Dominico
FOR THE MOST part, the engagement party went off without a hitch, yet still managed to be a complete nightmare. Thanks to Annetta’s culinary wizardry, the seafood pasta was great—I heard nothing but compliments about the other dishes as well—and all the bosses appeared to enjoy themselves. But being around Valentina gave me my first peek into my own personal Freddy Krueger-inspired nightmare to come. And judging by the forced smile stretched across Abriana’s face, she felt trapped in the same horror flick.
I sidled up to my sister and asked, “Hey, how you holdin’ up?”
“It’s like I’m not even here,” she replied, glaring daggers at her fiancé. “I think he’s talked to everyone in the building but me. If this is any indication of what our marriage will be like, I’ll need pets—lots of pets—to keep from talking to myself.”
Mobster wives were often lonely, and Abriana and I had witnessed enough of Mamma’s isolation to know how often Father neglected her. Mamma never seemed to mind, though. She stayed busy with us, through volunteering with the PTA, and, in more recent years, by surrounding herself with other wives. In fact, Mamma seemed happier and more relaxed when my old man stayed out of the house. Whenever he was home the whole household tiptoed on eggshells, careful not to piss him off.
Since I didn’t want to tell Abriana she might be better off not having the attention of her fiancé, I squeezed her shoulders and did my best to reassure her. “You’ll get through it. We’ll help you.”
She frowned. “I know, Dom. It’s just not what I expected.”
Curious, I asked, “What did you expect?”
“Some sort of acknowledgment of my existence would be nice.” She raised her chin and looked across the dance floor. “You have a borderline stalker on your hands. My God, Dom, she’s just a kid.”
I followed her gaze and suppressed a groan at the sight of Valentina Pelino smiling and waving at me. I’d never realized how young she was until that night. “I know! She keeps talking about her high school prom like she’s waiting for me to ask her to it.”
Laughter bubbled up from Abriana’s chest. I glared at her.
“Better tell her you didn’t even go to your own prom,” she said.
School was never for me. I’d spent barely enough time at a desk to learn the necessities before Father yanked me out and put me to work. I could read orders, write a coded message, count money, and tell when someone was skimming off the top. What more did the second son of a mob boss need? I didn’t even make it through tenth grade.
“Well, at least she’s into you,” Abriana said. “It’s kinda sweet.”
“Yeah. Sweet.” I forced a smile and returned Valentina’s wave, which unfortunately encouraged her to approach.
“You look beautiful, Abriana,” Valentina gushed. “Congratulations on the engagement.”
“Oh yes, I’m so lucky,” Abriana replied, her sarcasm clearly lost on the girl, who giggled and batted her lashes before tugging me toward the dance floor like an overzealous puppy.
I didn’t want to be rude and offend her or her family, but I’d mistaken Valentina for boring, never realizing how annoying she could be. I missed her boring side so damn much I wanted to shoot her just shut her up. I’d rather be chained to a corpse than babysitting some bubbly idiot. She blabbed on about high school drama while I bit my tongue and zoned out, nodding whenever she paused. She spoke of no goals beyond graduation, marriage, and children, and bragged about her old man like he was some sort of superhero who solved all her problems, rather than a crime lord who made people disappear.
I suffered through two chatter-filled dances before Mario slipped in through the side door and waved me and Michael over. Thankful for the interruption, I excused myself and followed my brother. We slipped out the side door to where Mario waited.
“What’s up?” Michael asked, looking up and down the street. “Where’s the crew?”
Since pretty much my entire family had been roped into entertaining, Mario was running security. We should have numerous men within sight, and I didn’t see a one. Something must have happened. My back tensed, and I reached for my pistol. Michael already had his gun in hand.
“Busy, but don’t worry.” Mario glanced at the two nearest buildings. “Snipers still have eyes on this entrance and two more of our soldiers will be here soon. We caught some kid sniffin’ around the cars. Got him detained in the storage room and thought you two might want to be there when we question him.”
“Yes,” Michael and I both said, sounding entirely too enthusiastic about the interruption to our evening. My brother’s selection of a Caruso girl must have been going about as well as my time with Valentina.
We circled the building and Mario unlocked the back door, letting us in. We could still hear the music from the party in the front of the restaurant, but it was muted to a dull roar, which meant nobody up front would overhear our questioning. Good to know.
The storage room was about ten-feet by thirty-feet, and all four walls were lined with shelves full of supplies, leaving a small rectangle of empty space in the center. Currently crammed into that space were four soldiers surrounding a kid roped to a chair and gagged with a hand towel. The kid couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, his clothes were baggy, his legs and arms were scrawny, and he was sporting one hell of a shiner. As I drew near, I couldn’t help but notice his dilated pupils and runny nose.
“Has he said anything yet?” Michael asked as we squeezed into the small space with the others.
“Won’t shut up,” replied one of the soldiers. “Hopped up on coke and runnin’ his mouth, but not a damn word of it was useful. We had to gag him to get some peace.”
Michael nodded. “Go back to your assignments. We can handle it from here.”
All four soldiers filed out of the room, and Mario closed the door behind them. Michael approached the kid’s side, fisting his shaggy blond hair to pull his hair and force him to look up. The kid grunted around the gag.
“Do you know who I am?” Michael asked.
The kid shook his head.
Michael roughly tugged the kid’s head down to see me and Mario. “What about them? You know who they are?”
The kid shook his head again.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Michael said, pulling the kid’s face back up to look at him. “I need you to focus. I’m gonna take this gag off and ask you some questions. You answer them truthfully, you walk out of here alive. You lie to me, I’m gonna break every bone in your body. Slowly. You get me?”
Eyes wide, the boy nodded.
Michael didn’t ev
en bother untying the gag. He whipped out the switchblade strapped to his ankle, stared the boy down, and he sliced through the towel. The boy was trembling by the time Michael asked the first question.
“Who hired you?”
“N-n-nobody,” the kid stammered. “I was just lookin’ for a car to steal. I have this friend who wants a nice Lam and I saw one out there and thought I could nab it and make some money for my mom because she’s sick and—”
“Shhh,” Michael said, pressing the flat end of his switchblade to the boy’s lips. “I thought I told you to tell me the truth.”
“But that is the truth. As I was saying, my mom’s sick and she needs to get to the doctor, and we don’t got no money, so—”
Michael looked like he was about to bust a blood vessel. “Shut the fuck up before I shut you up permanently,” he growled.
The boy’s mouth snapped shut.
“I don’t have time for this shit.” Michael’s gaze swept the storage room, landing on some sort of meat mallet. “Hand me that, Dom,” he said, pointing at the object before folding up his switchblade and putting it away.
I picked up the tool and passed it to Michael.
“I need something to put his hand on.” Michael pointed to a step ladder in the corner. “There. Get me that.”
Mario retrieved the ladder, opening it beside the chair.
“Put your hand on it,” Michael ordered.
Face twisted, the boy looked up at me like I would help him.
“If you spread out your fingers wide, he might just crush one or two,” I said helpfully.
“You can’t… I don’t…” the kid stammered, looking from me to Michael.
“Oh, he can,” Mario replied. “And he will. I’ve seen him do it more times than I can count. If smashing bones was an Olympic sport, he’d have the gold.”
I moved forward and grabbed the kid’s hand, tugging it away from his body. He resisted, but it only took me seconds to get his hand splayed out on the step ladder. “Here?” I asked.
My brother nodded and raised the mallet. “On the count of three. One. Two.”
“Wait,” the kid said, his voice cracking.
Mallet still prepared to strike, Michael eyed the kid. “Wait for what?”
“Can I talk now?” he asked.
Michael eyed him. “Depends on what you have to say. Better not waste my time.”
“I… I don’t know his name, but I can tell you what he looks like.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The dude who hired me.” The kid tried to pull his hand back, but I held it firm.
“Start talkin’,” Michael growled.
“D-d-dark hair. Not much taller than me. Maybe five foot five. Big guy.”
“That’s all you got?” Michael took a couple practice swings before lining up again. “You just described half the men in Vegas. Better give me more than that.”
The kid started trembling. “Guy who sells me blow told me about the gig. Said I’d score a free bag if I messed with a couple of cars in the lot.”
“Messed with how?” I asked.
“Slash a few tires, bust a couple windows, nuthin’ serious. It was all for fun. He said nobody would get hurt, and I needed a fix.”
His employer wanted to send us a message and make us look bad in front of our guests. We needed to find out who it was.
“Y-y-you see? Whatever you think it is, it’s not. I was just tryin’ to score a gram.”
Michael was still poised to strike. “Who’s your dealer?” he asked.
“I don’t know his name,” the kid said.
Michael made eye contact with me and I saw what he was about to do. He swung as I released my hold on the kid’s hand. The mallet slammed down with a bone-breaking crunch.
“What the fuck?!” the kid shouted, cradling his injured hand. His pinky was noticeably flatter than the rest of his fingers. “Goddamn, you didn’t have to—”
“Who’s your dealer?” Michael asked.
“I told you I don’t know his name.”
“Dom,” Michael said, nodding to the kid. My brother could be a scary motherfucker when he needed to be.
When I reached for his hand, he shook it away from me. “I’m tellin’ you the truth, dude. I don’t know his name. Nobody does. He just goes by Lucky.”
I only knew of one Lucky in Vegas. Giacomo “Lucky” Borghi was the point man for the Durante’s drug operation. Could it possibly be that easy to connect this kid with our enemies?
“Where’s your drop point?” I asked.
“The Columbian. Lucky has a room there.”
Yep. The Columbian was one of the two casinos owned and operated by Maurizio Durante himself. No doubt he’d ordered his drug man to find a junkie desperate and stupid enough to mess with us. If the kid got caught, he could finger Lucky, but that wouldn’t hold water with the families. They’d need more than some junkie’s confession. But something still didn’t make sense.
“Why him?” I asked, gesturing at the kid. “If Maurizio wanted to make us look bad in front of the De Luccas, why not just send soldiers and shoot the place up?”
“Maurizio’s crazy, not stupid. He’s not gonna start a war with the De Lucca’s. Just wants us to look incompetent.”
Since we hadn’t been able to sniff out Chains and his crew, our family’s competency and power were already under question. We couldn’t afford for anything else to go wrong.
“Did he do any damage before the men nabbed him?” I asked.
Mario nodded. “Sliced two of the tires of De Lucca’s Lamborghini. I already called for replacements. If Triple A isn’t out there now, they will be soon. We’ll have the whole thing handled before dinner lets out.”
“Good.” Michael handed me the mallet. “I better get back to the party. Dom, show our uninvited guest out and make sure he’s dissuaded from making another appearance.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t do that,” the kid insisted. “If you let me go I swear you’ll never see me near this restaurant again.”
Michael shook his head and walked out the door.
“Just shut up,” I said, untying the rope to free him.
“You’re not gonna kill me, are you?” he asked. “I mean I don’t know anything and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell anybody and—”
I jerked the kid to his feet. “I said shut up.”
Mario and I took the kid out the back and released him.
“You’re really not gonna kill me?” he asked. “When I turn around, you won’t shoot me in the back, will ya?”
I chuckled. No point in killing him since he already had one foot in the grave. He just didn’t know it yet. “Look kid, I’m the least of your worries. You just rolled over on the craziest son-of-a-bitch in this city. If you don’t leave town, you’ll be dead by morning.”
He looked like he was gonna say more, so I pulled my sig out of my pocket and turned off the safety. “Now, get out of here before I change my mind.”
The kid took off.
“Think he’s smart enough to take your advice?” Mario asked as he lit up a cigarette.
I watched the kid disappear around a corner as I slid a smoke out of the pack and joined him. “Not a chance. But if I know my brother, he slipped out to put a man on the kid. Hopefully when the Durantes pop him, they’ll lead us back to whoever issued the order.”
A Triple A truck drove into the parking lot. Mario flagged them down and we led them to the Lamborghini with the slashed tires. They got to work as we leaned against the building and watched. Grateful for the reprieve from Valentina, I let my mind wander to Annetta. Thinking about her plump lips and her round ass served as a nice escape from the evening. I wondered how she’d held up tonight and what she was doing after work. Glancing at my watch, I realized she was probably already gone for the night.
“Damn,” I said, snuffing out my smoke.
“What?” Mario asked, glancing around.
“Annetta. I forgot about getting her ho
me.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “The engagement dinner’s over, Dom. You don’t have to look out for her anymore.”
Right. My babysitting duties were over. I should feel relieved, but instead I felt… disappointed. Didn’t matter, though. Father had already set his sights on hitching me to Valentina, and Annetta didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d be a side piece. Whatever had been developing between us needed to end. Reluctantly resigned to walk away from her, I lit up another cigarette and watched the crew finish up with Don De Lucca’s Lamborghini.
CHAPTER TEN
Dominico
WITH THE ENGAGEMENT party out of the way, the family went back to business as usual. Since no one had unearthed Chains and his crew, Father was still on the warpath, making it clear our heads were going to roll if we didn’t bring him theirs. Michael and I split up to increase our chances, me riding with Mario while my brother teamed up with one of Carlo’s soldiers. Regardless, it took five more days before we found Chains.
I knew Chains was dead before we got the call. I knew it because we’d been watching his usual haunts, including his mom’s house and his girlfriend’s apartment, and hadn’t caught so much as a whiff of him. We had, however, tapped into her phone and listened as his mom called the cops, the news, local politicians, and anyone else who might be able to help her find her missing son.
See, Chains was Italian. And any respectable Italian man would tell you that if his life was in danger he might go a couple of weeks without getting laid, but there’s no way he’d make his mom worry like that. He would find a way to let her know he was okay. To do otherwise would be downright disrespectful, and she’d never let him hear the end of it.
Chains’s body showed up in a landfill northeast of Vegas. Carlo called me and Michael in and sent us up to look it over and see if anything on him would point back to the Durante’s. Chains’s killer had dumped his body naked, though, and judging by his ripe condition, more than a week ago.
