by Bethany-Kris
She didn’t reply, simply waited him out.
Nursing her cold coffee all the while.
“I’m not disposable, Camilla.”
She hesitated on her next drink. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not some toy for you,” he said quietly. “I’m not something you get to play with and then dispose of when you’re bored, or had enough. I won’t be some new and shiny thing to keep your attention for a while before something else comes along to take my place. I’m not disposable. Just so that’s clear—you’re not to treat me that way, either.”
“I—”
“This little game you play was fun at first. I don’t mind a good cat and mouse chase when I know there’s something worth waiting for at the end of it all. Problem is, you haven’t shown me that there’s going to be anything at the end. Oh, you’re absolutely worth the fucking chase, sure, but you have to be there, too. I don’t think you’re going to be.”
Tommaso shrugged, adding, “So that’s where I stand, Cam. I think I could love you—fuck, maybe I already do, but you won’t give me the chance or time to figure it out—but love’s not a one-sided thing. Not for me. It can’t be.”
He kept staring at her, waiting.
She didn’t know what for.
Camilla looked away.
The coward’s way out presented itself once more. Only this time, she would really hurt him by using it. She knew it even before the words came out of her mouth.
“Have a good flight, Tom.”
“Have a good life, Camilla.”
She didn’t look away from the wall until she heard the door of her apartment click when it closed. She held it all together—kept all the hell inside—until she heard that one sound. She blinked, and the tears fell.
She cried, and drank cold coffee all the while. She let the pain out while she was alone, and no one was there to see it or help. The hollow space in her chest filled with the air from her sobs, and the ache it caused spread outward like an infection threatening to poison the rest of her.
She shouldn’t feel guilty.
She shouldn’t have regret.
Camilla looked for a fun time, not a long time because that was supposed to be easier. Wasn’t this supposed to be easier?
The Band-Aid was gone.
The pain should be over.
Or maybe it was just her.
Maybe she was broken.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TOM DRAGGED—more like forced—his way through another round of phone calls. To some made men, sitting behind a desk or being the Capo out on the street making the rounds and calling the shots was like being at the top of the world.
Not to Tom.
If anything, work was another fucking chore to add to his days now. Something else he had to do, and not something he particularly wanted to do. He had been somewhat getting better with the crew and Capo position, and then New York happened three weeks ago.
Or rather, Camilla happened.
Tom’s gaze darted to the cell phone on the desk. His personal one, not the burner he was currently talking on for business.
Not once had his phone rang.
Not once had Camilla called.
Not in three long weeks.
Not one fucking word.
Tom’s irritation spilled over into the phone call to a fellow Capo. “You know what, fuck it, go to Theo, then.”
“That’s what you want, Tommaso? Me to take this to the front boss?”
“If that’s what you think is going to get this settled, then do that.”
“Or is it because you know you’re so shoved up Theo’s ass, he’ll just bend to whatever the fuck you want?”
“Theo’s not going to bend to whatever I want, Marty,” Tom replied, barely keeping his cool. “If anything, he’ll come back on me harder because he thinks I should know better. But go ahead and make my fucking day. It’ll be one more thing for me to have to deal with right now. At this point, I don’t give a fuck. I am done talking about it.”
Tom hung up the phone, and tossed it to the desk without care. He was pretty sure it cracked the screen when it landed on the face, but who gave a shit? Not him.
The damn thing was eighty bucks.
It could and would be replaced.
Tom was coming to learn not everything could be fixed or replaced so easily in his life. Actually, he had known that for a while. It was Camilla that had yet to get up to speed with shit like love and whatever else.
Fuck.
Tom scrubbed a hand down over his face and jaw, determined not to get in another one of those moods again. The last one had lingered for a couple of days, and spilled over onto anyone who came too close to him.
He was trying to keep this shit controlled.
He tried to keep people out of his business.
“You look like you’re ready to kick somebody’s ass.”
Tom turned fast at the new voice, and found Lou leaning in the warehouse’s office. “Marty is still being a fucking cocksucker, that’s all.”
“About the whole truck thing last week?” Lou asked.
“Yeah, that nonsense. He was under the impression that his guys would get the goods to sell, and we would get a cut of the profits. I figured since my guys nabbed the truck, even if it was on his territory, he would get the cut, and we would get the right of sale for the goods.”
“I mean, that’s how shit usually goes with other Capos and crews,” Lou said.
“Little late, anyway. The goods are all gone.”
It wasn’t like they could keep a whole truck’s worth of stolen luxury goods on hand. Anything with a designer label had to have the serial number filed off—if they could—and it needed to be turned around on the street, and fast. Otherwise, they were risking the cops getting a lead on the stolen goods, and finding them in one of their warehouses. That spelled bad news all the way around the damn board.
“The guys got the last of it sold today, right?” Lou asked.
Tom nodded. “First time in forever they actually decided to get off their asses and do something correctly.”
“Come on, Tommaso. They’re a good crew.”
“Yeah, when they want to be, and we both know they don’t want to be good for me very fucking often.”
Lou sighed, and leaned against the doorjamb. “They have gotten better.”
“They don’t respect me, Lou. They fear me, and that’s why they behave now. Because I killed a couple of them, and beat the shit out of a couple of others.”
“It did settle them down, though.”
“Sure,” Tom agreed, “but for how long? Fear and respect are not the same things, and it won’t get me anywhere with them in the end. If even one of them thought they had a chance to get rid of me, or whatever, I don’t doubt for a second that they would pull the trigger on it. As long as they could get away with it.”
“Give them a bit of trust. Turning on you likely means somebody’s coming after them. Or hey, turning you over to the cops likely means some of their friends on this crew might get caught up in that mess, too. I don’t think that’s something you have to worry a whole lot about right now, man.”
Tom chuckled. “Like I said, as long as they thought they could get away with it. Right now, they can’t. I’m safe at the moment.”
Again, for how long?
Sadly, Tom wasn’t even exaggerating. It was just a sad fact of the business. Capos either had really good relationships with their crews, or they had a shitty one. Tom was the latter, and he knew exactly why that was.
“I’m from a whole different world than them,” he said. “I grew up in a mansion, and they were brought up in crowded, rundown apartments. I attended a private school, and some of them didn’t even graduate public high school. I drive around on their streets in my Benz, and they’re … yeah. Trust me, I get it, Lou. I don’t ask why. I know why.”
Lou cleared his throat. “I’m from their world, too, man. I still respect you.”
Tom smirked,
and came close enough to his friend to clap him on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, you saw something through the pretty rich boy exterior, I guess.”
“Nope.”
“No?”
Lou shrugged. “A lot of these guys on the crew forget, Tom, that regardless of where you came from or how much money you have, you’re still made. You still earned your spot just like every other made man in the business. That’s how it works, and that deserves some kind of respect.”
Tom laughed, and smacked Lou on the shoulder again. “You know that’s the kind of shit that gets you the button, right? That’s the kind of attitude that gets you made, Lou.”
Lou let out a bitter laugh. “Doubtful, Tom. How many made men do you know come from the streets; guys who come from nothing?”
Tom knew a lot. They weren’t from his generation, but from his father’s. He didn’t tell that to his friend.
What mattered most, was that Lou would eventually be rewarded and recognized. It would happen someday. Tom would make goddamn sure of it.
“You know what, fuck this whole place,” Tom said.
Lou cocked a brow. “That’s not very … Capo-like.”
Nope.
“And fuck Marty, too.”
Lou chuckled. “Someone’s thinking about causing trouble, Tom. Pretty sure you’re the one always telling us to stay the hell out of trouble.”
“Maybe, or maybe I just need to blow off some steam.”
Get out of this mood.
Get Camilla out of my head.
Move on.
“You got something in mind?” Lou asked. “Or do you trust me to take you somewhere good?”
Tom shoved his friend out of the office. “Fuck you for even asking.”
“Hope you like whiskey, man.”
Tom did like whiskey.
Quite a lot, actually.
He also tended to favor the cozy, homey feel of the small bar that Lou had brought him to. Sure, the tables were a little wobbly, and the leather stools had a couple of rips, but that gave the place its history. The dark wood paneled walls and neon lights that spelled out different drinks reminded Tom of a time when he hadn’t even been alive.
The bearded, massive man behind the bar liked to scoff when someone asked him for anything other than a spirit or a beer.
Understandable, really.
Nobody was coming here for specialty drinks.
Unfortunately, as much as Tom liked the place, and the top shelf whiskey burning his throat with every sip, it just wasn’t doing it for him. It, being thinking about something other than the fact Camilla hadn’t once tried to call him in three weeks.
That girl was under his skin something bad.
He just didn’t realize how much before.
Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to really think about it because of what it would mean in the end. That he had allowed himself to become attached to a woman who was in no way available. That he had somehow fallen in love with Camilla, and she couldn’t offer that back to him.
Fuck his heart for hurting.
Fuck his chest for aching.
Fuck his life for all of it.
Tom tipped up his glass and swallowed back the remainder of the amber-colored whiskey in his glass. It burned all the way down his throat, and he sucked air through his teeth in an effort to soothe the sensation as he set the glass back down on the bar.
“Another?” the bartender ask.
Tom nodded, and waved two fingers over his glass. “Double it, though.”
“You got it, man.”
The white bearded man topped Tom up, and then headed down the way to a girl in a too-tight dress standing on wobbly legs.
“Are you going to hug the bar all night, or what?”
The feminine voice came off sweet and yet concerned at the same time. Tom turned around on his stool to face a woman he had never seen before in his life.
The first thing he thought?
She’s not Camilla Donati.
She was tall, black-haired, and blue-eyed.
Thin as could be.
Pretty, sure.
“I beg your pardon?” Tom asked.
The woman smiled.
“Your friend …” She pointed at Lou across the bar currently playing a round of pool with a guy and another girl.
He’d asked Tom to join, too, but he hadn’t been in the mood. Instead, he stared at his phone for a good hour and a half while he got drunk on whiskey. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
“He said you were a little lonely, and I thought maybe I could cheer you up,” the woman said.
Tom cleared his throat, and wet his lips.
He usually appreciated a bold woman.
Hell, bold was what drew him to Camilla.
Camilla.
Fuck. His. Life.
Pushing off the stool, Tom gave the woman a smile.
Every bit of it was forced.
“Tell Lou thanks for the concern, but I don’t need cheering up,” Tom said.
“You sure?”
Baby blues and painted red lips.
He didn’t doubt she would be a fun time.
She just wasn’t Camilla.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
With that, Tom headed out of the bar without a goodbye to his friend. His phone was still dead to the world in his hand.
No calls.
No texts.
Tom had to hide the phone in his pocket, and busy his hands by running them through his hair in order to keep from calling her.
Fuck Camilla, too.
Fuck her for making him feel like this.
Fuck her for ruining him like this.
“Apparently you get to be the lucky fuck who drives my ass around today,” Adriano said as he peered into the car’s passenger window. “I could have used an enforcer, but you make for better conversation.”
Tom gave his uncle a look. “Yes, lucky me. I get to drive around the spoiled Capo because he doesn’t want to use a rental while his car is in the shop.”
“I hate rentals.”
“We’re going to completely ignore that I called you spoiled, then?”
“Shut up. It’s not like you have anything else better to do, Tommaso.”
“Get in the car, Adriano.”
“Tommas wants you at tribute next week,” Adriano said as he slid into the young man’s car. “Usually I show up for both of us, but he’s asked for you to show face, too.”
“He didn’t mention that to me when I went over there yesterday.”
“Sunday.”
Tom nodded. “No business on Sundays.”
“Well, not in your father’s house, anyway.”
“Fine.” Tom steered the car onto the road, and headed in the direction that would lead them back into the heart of the city. “Any reason he wants me to show up?”
Adriano glanced at the black bag on the floor of the Benz. “Money, Tommaso.”
“Well, yeah. That’s why there’s tribute. I mean, you usually pay my tribute.”
“Except you’re the main Capo now for the crew, so you need to be doing that.”
Ah.
Tom sighed.
More politics.
“Why does your face look like you smelled something bad?” Adriano asked.
“What?”
“Your face, Tommaso. It’s like saying tribute was as bad as dumping shit on your car.”
“No, I’m just … not in the mood to play mafia politics with other made men. Not lately, anyway. Plus, I’ve got that issue with Marty, and I know he’ll bring it up at tribute just to make a fucking show of it.”
“Huh.”
Tom glanced over at his uncle. “What?”
“You used to love going to tribute when you were younger. Never thought I would see the day when you dreaded it.”
“I don’t dread it.”
“Sounds like it.”
Tom sighed. “I’m just …”
In a fucking mood.
Or rather, he was still in a damn mood.
“Ignore Marty,” Adriano said, shrugging. “I know all about the truck scheme, and what happened between the crews. Listen, you were in the right on that, Tommaso. Did he threaten to call Theo on you? Like the fucking front boss of the organization would step in and slap you on the wrist or something?”
“Basically.”
“Of course, he did, the asshole. You think he’s going to bring that up, seriously?”
“Why wouldn’t he? Seems like anytime someone has a chance to knock me down a peg in this business, that’s exactly what they try to do.”
“He’s not going to bring it up just to look like a foolish prick, Tommaso.”
“You say that, but—”
“I say it because I know it.” Adriano shook his head, and stared out the window as they headed onto the highway. “You did the standard thing all crews do when it came to that, and you even offered him a higher cut of the profits to make him relax when he did try to throw a fit. He’s just pushing you because you’re young, and he thinks he can. Trust me. I know—I have dealt with dozens of fuckers just like him.”
Tom’s shoulders loosened a little from the stress that had been weighing them down lately. He kept his gaze on the road as he asked, “How did you do it?”
“Hmm?”
“All those years being the youngest Capo controlling a crew. I mean, I know a lot of your friends had moved up in the organization by then—my dad, Damian, and Theo. So that left you managing a crew, right?”
Adriano smirked when he glanced over at Tom from the passenger seat. “You know, there was a time when all my father wanted was to be the boss of the Outfit.”
“Wasn’t he for a time?”
“A very short time.”
“So what’s that got to do with you being a Capo?”
“The position was only supposed to be a stepping stone for me, Tommaso. At least, from my father’s perspective. Eventually, he saw me being like him. A boss—at the very top, doing what he thought I would do best.”
“Him, not you.”
“Exactly.” Adriano turned back to the window, saying, “Some men are meant to be bosses, and some are far better on the streets with a crew, and the soldiers of the organization. It just depends on the man, Tommaso.”
