by Tara Oakes
I say nothing. I show nothing. But inwardly, I’m clenching every muscle.
“He is a man who much has been taken from. To secure his cooperation, I have agreed to take ownership of the shares of stock in your company that were rightfully his by birth. These will be held as leverage for him continuing his impartiality toward your family. He promises to show no aggression or to move against you in any way. As long as he honors that vow, he will continue to benefit financially from those stocks and dividends, through me. If he reneges on his deal, he will be held accountable and will forfeit the ownership of those shares to me, as payment for my assistance in mediating this and I will join you in aligning against him.”
I see Mike shift uncomfortably in his chair. My eyes do not move though, they stay focused on my host. As part of the plea deal Rizzo had made with the feds, he forfeited his partial ownership in ATH in lieu of paying restitution to us for the losses from raids against our deliveries that he was found responsible for last year. With the lack of stock dividend income as well as the loss of business from other families after his release, he’s been left financially ruined.
This plan would seek to have him regain some of his wealth, and a steady income, although held hostage by Moretti, who will serve as its overseer. As long as EJ behaves, he’ll get his little allowance. Kind of like bribing a child to make him clean his room.
Conveniently, though, EJ escapes having to accept responsibility for anything and can’t be held responsible for what I know he’s done. He threatened my wife. And I’m being asked to let it slide, and then to reward him by giving him his stock back.
He’s trying to shake me down.
“I need to hear it from him,” I make my move.
Moretti watches me, eyes flicking back and forth between John and Mike to see their own acceptance for his offer, but ultimately they stay on me. “You will hear it from him.” He turns to one of his goons standing nearby. “Bring him.”
EJ must not have been waiting far, as he enters behind the man sent to fetch him in mere moments. I stay stoic, watching Moretti, knowing that every blink, every twitch, every movement despite how slight, will offer him something. I can feel Dom and Mike begging me to share a glance to give them some insight to my thoughts.
My nemesis moves to join the table. His appearance gives no evidence to his new paupered position, as he still tries to keep up appearances. His perfectly tailored designer suit and freshly cut hair are the same as they’ve always been.
He clears his throat awkwardly to Moretti who gestures for him to take a seat. Once seated, he sits straight, resting his forearms on the old table, the cuffs of his sleeves shifting back to show the golden glare of his Rolex as it catches the light. I can’t help but laugh to myself. Flash but no cash. Otherwise he wouldn’t be begging for his shares back.
I stare him down. The room turns awkward. He tries to hold his own, but the weight of my gaze is heavy on him. If he had any ounce of dignity, I could trick myself into thinking it might be a sign of a conscience. I’m not holding my breath for it, though.
“Say it,” I finally speak to him. I black the rest of the room out. The other men, everything in the room fades away. I only see his eyes. I’m reading them.
He looks to the left. It’s just a second but I see it. “Not sure what you want me to say exactly… but whatever Frank said… it’s fine by me.”
I exhale deep, controlled. I have him. “And what did Frank say?”
He squints his eyes. This is painful to his ego. That’s OK. I want it to hurt. “I’ll make sure nothing I do will in any way make you feel that I am a threat. And as a show of good faith, you’ll handle over my old shares to Frank.”
I nod. “And this business with V being tailed?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know nothin’ about that.”
I smile. “Of course you don’t.” I then turn to our mediator. “Well… this all sounds promising, but as you can see, we’re not the entire board of ATH here. I’ll have to get them to sign off on this before a transfer is made.”
I stand abruptly, buttoning my suit jacket. John and Mike are on their feet almost immediately. Rizzo glances nervously to Moretti. Moretti shakes his weekend body from strain as he lifts himself. Rizzo makes no move to help the old man even though he’s in arms-length. Prick.
Moretti extends his hand out, to shake on our deal. I know that if I take it, it will be an unspoken acceptance of his terms. I have no intention of accepting these under pressure. I need a distraction.
“Ever the gentleman, Rizzo. Can’t even help an old man stand. Maybe you’ve forgotten your manners in prison. Or maybe, it’s just that you’ve become less of a man from your time behind bars with the big boys. Maybe that’s not your thing anymore. Maybe you take more of a passive approach these days. A more feminine-”
“You son of a bitch,” he stands quickly, not liking the innuendo behind my words. Moretti’s men grow closer, ready to intervene if necessary.
“Enough! None of this,” the frail man interjects.
I give one last harsh glare to the source of the turmoil and then turn to Moretti who has blocked his arm out like a barrier to prevent Rizzo from moving forward.
“I’ll be in touch,” I announce my exit.
CHAPTER TEN
“What was that?” John admonishes me as we settle back into the car.
I loosen my tie as the car moves forward. “That… was a giant fucking chess game. And I have a feeling the pieces were put into place a while ago. I want everyone locked down at my house. Call Tony, Cecily, Mary, your mom… the kids will miss school for a few days, but they need to be at the house by dinner.”
The tone of my voice is serious enough for them to understand the urgency behind my words. Cell phones go to work, the mixture of our voices clashing and filling the interior of the car with intensity.
It takes a few calls by all of us to ensure that everyone is enroute. Surprisingly enough, one person made my job a little easier. Theresa’s already at the house. It won’t be an easy thing to sell them all on staying at my place, but it’s the safest thing right now, because there is a real chance that things are going to get serious very soon.
~*~
VINCENZA
Towels.
I need more towels.
Let’s see. Momma and Aunt Rosie can share her old room, Nonna can have her old room, Tony, Cecily and the baby can all share one room, John and Mary in one room, their kids in another. Theresa can have my old room, and Mike… where the hell am I going to put Mike?
“Aunt V! Can we watch TV? Can we have a snack?”
My head is spinning.
Towels. TV. Snack. I still don’t know where I’m going to put Mike.
I feel my head start to spin.
“Mrs. D, how many should I expect for dinner?” Juanita peeks her head in to ask, no doubt a little more than upset at the influx of family members turning up.
“Uh-” I have no idea how to answer that. If my husband were here, maybe I could get some answers rather than short cryptic text messages. I’ll just have to add this to the long list of questions I’m prepared to throw his way the second he walks through that door.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I can do this.
“Juanita. Call Alberti’s and have them deliver a catering order. Enough food for thirty people. We can keep any leftovers incase people get hungry. Have them send along a pizza for the kids. Then meet me in the guest room so we can make the beds. I’ll need all of the extra towels from downstairs in the gym.” She nods and leaves, visibly relieved that the takeout delivery will take the burden of cooking for the crowd off of her shoulders.
“JJ!” I call out into the family room, “You kids can watch TV until dinner time, but no snacks. It’s almost supper.” I leave the kids behind as they start to play with the remote control. The adults are gathered around the dining room table, talking in worried, hushed tones.
“Mikey?” I get hi
s attention. “Sorry bro, you’re officially camping out on the couch in Dom’s office until we can get a bed brought in for one of the empty guest rooms.” I move past quickly before anyone else asks me a question, presents another problem for me to solve.
I can only handle so much at one time.
Right now, I just need to get the towels.
~*~
“Can I have another slice Momma?” Gabriella asks Mary, who’s sitting next to me. Her little braids are showing their wear from a day of heavy play as she and her brother and sister have been rough housing, excited about their surprise sleepover at my house.
Mary reaches forward over the cluttered dining table and separates one more gooey slice of cheesiness from the rest of the pie to place on her young daughters outstretched plate. Once the child is appeased with a second helping, she happily skips along back to the kid’s table in the kitchen. I see Mary check her cell phone again.
“Anything?” I ask optimistically. Dom and John haven’t come home yet. They’ve missed dinner and I have no idea how late to expect them. I know something terrible must be happening, but Mike or Tony won’t tell me anything. I’ve tried though, begged them to at least tell me where Dom is. They keep telling me that everything will be fine, and he’ll be home soon.
~*~
DOM
“Let’s try this again,” I attempt to persuade the man.
He may be slightly more inclined to answer my questions than earlier this evening when Carmine brought him to the old warehouse. His lip is bloodied, swollen, a ragged tear in the flesh leaking out. His skin is pale, sweaty and battered in places.
It didn’t have to be like this. I mean… we did ask nice.
“So… who hired you?” I try one more time.
I can see his eyes flicker different emotions. I can see him weighing his options silently to himself. One person can only take so much.
Carmine has stepped away, shaking out his fingers, his heavy fists that must be tiring by now. The moment seemed perfect to offer our guest one last chance for a pardon. Carmine is lethal, I have no doubt he’s prepared to take this as far as he needs to, to get me the information I need.
John is keeping back, even more estranged to this sort of business than I was. Aside from the occasional cringe, he’s perfectly still, silent. As the oldest of V’s brothers he was insistent on coming once I got the call from Carmine that the photographer had been found. It’s his right. But, as V’s husband, it’s my place to set the tone to this interrogation.
“Alright Boss, I’m ready to go again.” Carmine has recovered from the last round. His words strike first against the stalker, with his hands bound behind his back, tied to the wooden chair that holds him captive.
I watch the prisoner closely, looking for even the smallest signal that he’s had enough, that he’s ready to give us what we’ll stop at nothing to get. The moment is tense. Besides the lone sounds of Carmine’s steps returning, the cavernous room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
The cameraman diverts his eyes from me to my soldier, Carmine, as he approaches, entering striking distance. The hostage swallows harshly, eyes growing wider as his attacker gets closer.
If that’s how he wants it.
Carmine rolls up his sleeve as it’s fallen lax against his wrist. He’s stone cold, hardened, he shows nothing through his steel-like facade. I know I must watch, but I turn to spare myself the first few moments. They’ve been the worst for me to have witnesse after every break we’ve taken.
The sound of flesh contacting flesh, the muted, dulled echoes as his body painfully absorbs the impact from Carmine’s strength. I lock eyes with John as we both try to cope with the noises coming out from the man.
One. Two. Three punches.
“Wait!” The photographer finally calls out. His speech is slurred, slightly gurgled as his bleeding mixes and interferes with his words. “Wait. No more. No more… I’ll talk.”
I turn quickly. He looks sincere. Carmine and I lock stares.
Hmm… he looks disappointed. I’ve never actually seen blood thirst before.
“Tell me,” I repeat my request from earlier, anxious to have validation for my theories.
He nervously glances at Carmine. “I-I don’t know his name. He sent me an email to send the pictures to. That’s all I have.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, in thought. “How did you receive payment?”
His breathing slows down. “Directly into my checking account. It was wired in. Electronically.”
“I want your account number and the email.” I risk believing him.
~*~
“It’ll take me a couple hours, boss,” Nick decides once I’ve given him the information we acquired from our interrogation. “I’ll have to hack the bank’s mainframe server to find out the transaction information. The email will most likely lead me to a bogus alias but I’ll check it out just in case.”
Asking me to wait another few hours shouldn’t affect me the way it is. I don’t know what scares me more… being right about what I suspect- or being wrong.
“ASAP, Nick. It’s crucial.” I’ve conveyed the importance of the information.
The prisoner very well may be bullshitting me. But, it’s a risk I’ve got to take right now. But, on the chance that he’s misleading us, I leave Carmine with him. In the meantime, with at least a few hours to wait until I know which direction to move against, I need to be with my family- with my wife.
I know John is just as eager to see Mary and the kids. The trip home is in silence, with my brother-in-law and I both somewhat traumatized from the efforts taken to extract the information from the cameraman. It was necessary, I know, and I’m pretty sure John has accepted that fact by now- but that doesn’t make it any less heavy to sit with.
Carmine didn’t bat an eyelash when we reached the point past words, but it was a side of myself that I had to accept, to be able to order my new soldier to do the deed. I know the photographer’s just a bystander in all this, a working man looking to make a buck. He may not have realized what he was getting into when he accepted the job, but he accepted it nonetheless.
“Evening, Mr. D.” Jim is the one from the packed guardhouse to greet us as we pull up. He’s done well, following my directive to bulk up security. I see three other uniformed men sitting behind the camera monitors, as well as at least two other men walking nearby, skirting the perimeter of the property.
I nod to the man, “How’s it all looking, Jim?”
He leans in closer to the car window. “We’re quiet, Mr. D. But prepared.”
I nod my thanks to the man. “Thanks, Jim. Call up to the house at the slightest bump.”
He waves to us as we travel up the drive, the heavy wrought iron gates mechanically closing behind us. We’re both exhausted, John and I. I know I won’t be able to get some rest until Nick’s call comes, but I do hope that John will be able to sleep. This has been a whirlwind of a day for him.
Until this morning, he hadn’t a clue as to what was going on. I’m sure in a way, he wished it stayed that way.
~*~
“Uncle Dom!”
My tired, heavy lidded eyes fix on them as they enter the dining room, all three with wet, freshly washed hair and matching pajama sets. The plate of food that V set before me still lies untouched, with several pairs of their eyes, V, Momma, Nonna, all looking on as I play with my food.
The kids are a welcomed distraction.
“Daddy says we have to ask you if we’re allowed to make a tent.” It’s funny how the tiniest bit of normalcy thrown into this crazy day manages to offer a bit of relief.
V, as serious as she’s been since I’ve walked through that front door, managed to crack a smile at the children’s request.
“I think it’ll be OK for you guys to make a tent. Maybe Aunt V can grab you some sheets to use for it?” My eyes plead with her to play along. It’s imperative that the kids think everything is normal tonight.
“Let�
�s go see what we can find in the laundry room, babies.” V stands to lead the charge.
With the children gone, Theresa takes advantage of the moment to speak about things not suitable for their young ears.
“Um… I don’t need to know everything that’s going on right now Dom. You’ll tell me when it’s time, I know. But-” her voice cracks. “Just tell me if Carmine is OK. Just… just a simple yes or no. Please,” she pleads.
My baby sister and I are close, always have been. Sure we’ve had our differences and I don’t even begin to think I have her figured out. But whenever I think I’m close to it, she throws me a wicked curveball. It wasn’t that long ago that I was separating the two of them like a pair of kids fighting on a playground, embarrassing each other not to mention me, in the waiting room of a hospital. Here she is, not much later, on the verge of spilling tears for him.
“He’s fine, sis. He’ll be here later, I promise.”
She nods, sniffling back the watery evidence of her weakness, and then leaves to regain her composure.
I give up on my dinner, and carry my plate into the kitchen. I have to silently motion for Momma and Nonna to both stay seated as they instinctively move to take the dish from me to finish the task. I know it’s their way, to take care of us… but they’re guests tonight. I want them to relax, to enjoy having us all together under one roof, despite the circumstances that warranted it.
The clattering of the ceramic dish against the hard enamel of the sink echoes loudly and snaps me to attention. My head pounds with the numbing ache of tension that’s been building. The crashing dishes don’t help.
A low groan crawls from my clenched lips as I swirl my neck around, trying to loosen the muscles.
“Very tired, Domenico?” Nonna’s delicate, frail, accented words ask me.
