“No-one beyond this point, ma’am,” the officer said.
But Gemma, her heart hammering, had already unbuckled her seatbelt and was getting out of her car.
“Stay in your vehicle, ma’am, didn’t you hear me?”
“I live here,” Gemma responded to the cop. “Where’s my husband? I need to see my husband!”
Three beefy security guards ran out of the gate just as Gemma was speaking those words, and ran toward her. They lifted the tape to let her in as if they were the real authority on scene. When the officer began to object, a sergeant on scene came out too and ordered the cop to let her through.
Two of the guards blanketed Gemma, placing their arms around her waist as they ran with her toward the home. The third guard ran to her car and drove it toward a back street that led to the backside of the Gabrini compound. The neighbors were stirring, murmuring about gangsters and how they get away with murder, and some even began to verbalize their disgust. They can’t get to their homes further down the street, but Mrs. Gabrini get to go inside of hers. Where’s the justice in that, they began asking.
But Gemma wasn’t trying to hear the complaints of nosy neighbors. All she could think about was Sal.
“Is he alright?” she was asking his bodyguards as they hurried her toward the entrance. “Is Sal alright?”
“He’s alright, Mrs. G. He’s alright.”
“What happened?” she also asked, but Sal’s men knew not to discuss anything that went down with her or anybody else. If the story was going to be told, it was going to be told by Sal.
Gemma knew it too, she knew Sal better than they ever would, so she didn’t press it. Besides, she cared more about seeing Sal alive and well than the details.
As soon as the double doors of their front door flew open, and Gemma hurried inside, she got what she wanted. Sal, who had been sitting on the sofa talking with detectives, stood up quickly. “Gem!” he said and hurried to her.
“Sal!” she said and hurried to him. He wanted to embrace her, she wanted to see that he was okay. She won. She ran her hands through his hair while she inspected his eyes. Sal’s eyes always told his story. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine, babe. I’m alright. Big Joe brought you straight home?”
“Yes. He didn’t hesitate.” She wanted to ask what happened, but she didn’t want to force Sal to give her the story he may have had to give to the cops.
Sal nodded for his men to leave. They left.
“You must be Mrs. Gabrini,” one of the detectives said, extending his hand. “I’m Captain Marris of the Las Vegas Police Department. This is Detective Bladdy,” he added, noting the detective standing behind his chair. “How are you, ma’am?”
“Not exactly thrilled to see all of this activity in front of my home,” Gemma responded, shaking his hand.
“Hopefully we’ll be out of your hair very soon,” Marris said. “Have a seat, please.”
Gemma looked at Sal. Maybe he didn’t want her to hear this. Maybe he would have preferred for her to stay out of this altogether and that was why he wanted her home. To keep her away from cops with too many questions. But when Sal motioned for her to sit down, she did. And he sat beside her. He sat so close they were hip to hip.
Marris sat on the edge of the chair that angled the sofa. The second detective continued to stand behind the chair taking notes.
“Now, Mr. Gabrini,” Marris said. “I know how traumatic this has been for you. But you’ve got to tell me more than what you’re telling me.”
“What do you mean more? There’s nothing more to tell. She was leaving and the car blew. End of discussion.”
She? Gemma looked at Sal. A woman was in that car? Who was this woman?
“You may think it’s the end of the discussion,” Marris said to Sal, “but we don’t. What’s her name?”
“I told you I didn’t know her. None of my men knew her. She was just some nutcase who showed up at my gate.”
“At a time when all of your surveillance cameras weren’t working?” Marris asked doubtfully.
“That’s right,” Sal responded, sticking to his story. “But what difference does it make? I don’t know the chick.”
“You’re lying, Mr. Gabrini. You know it’s a crime to lie to an officer of the law?”
Sal stared at the detective. Even though he was lying, he still didn’t like his integrity questioned. “I don’t know her,” he said firmly.
“I think you do. We ran her plates. A rental car. Rented by Rita Jaleppi. Wife of former cop and Sal Gabrini henchman Frankie Jaleppi. Remember Frank, Sal? Remember when he went to prison under Ricco for racketeering? Remember when he refused to rat on you, but was still murdered in prison anyway?”
“Murdered by fucking cops,” Sal said bitterly. “No con took him out.”
“Whatever,” Marris said. “He died. But his widow and kids became a ward of Sal. You look out for the widows and children of your fallen soldiers. Don’t you, Sal? Don’t they call you Mister Reliable for that very reason?”
“They call him Mister Gabrini,” Gemma said. “And I would prefer you call him that as well. And as his attorney, I am ending this interview. He told you he didn’t know the woman. He told you he had nothing to do with what happened to her. This interview is over.” She stood, prompting Sal and Marris to stand too. Sal was proud of her.
Marris had heard how Gabrini had married some tough black lawyer, and that she was nothing to trifle with, but he still had hoped to get more. Much more! But he knew he had to wait it out.
Marris let out a harsh exhale. “We’re be in touch, Mr. Gabrini,” he said, and began to leave. Detective Bladdy closed his book and followed behind him, but not before giving Sal a small smile as he left.
Gemma looked at Sal when they walked out of the door. “What was that little smile about?”
“He’s on the payroll,” Sal said. “It’s just a reminder that he’ll keep me up to date on the progress of the investigation.”
“So what happened, Sal?” Gemma asked, folding her arms. She was especially interested now that a woman was involved. A woman who had apparently been to their home.
Sal raked his fingers across his forehead and let out a harsh exhale. He still couldn’t get that picture out of his head of Rita in that car. “Nothing for you to worry about, babe,” he said.
But Gemma was already shaking her head. “Not good enough, Sal. What was it about?”
But Sal was stubborn about it. He had to be. “It was about nothing. Didn’t I tell you it was nothing?” He pulled her into his arms. “I don’t want you to be stressing yourself over this little shit.”
But Gemma could see the stress all over him. “You tell me not to stress, and all I see in your eyes is stress. Who was she, Sal?”
Sal let out a short exhale. Gemma was right. He was still reeling. “Chick name Rita,” he said.
“And what business did this chick name Rita have at our home?”
“I’m not getting into that, Gemma.”
“Sal!”
Sal removed his hands from Gemma and began to pace the floor. “She says somebody put a hit out on her and she needed my protection.”
But Gemma could tell this went deeper than that. This was personal with Sal. “Who put out a hit on her?” she asked.
“I’m not going into that,” Sal said.
“Not good enough, Sal.”
“Then tough. I’m not going into that. Now I mean it.”
Gemma knew when to back off. Sal loved her, but he was still the boss. “So who is this Rita that she would feel she could just run up here to see you? Even your own men aren’t that bold.”
“I knew her from back in the day. We go way back.”
Gemma hated to ask it, but when it came to females and Sal, she always had to. “Was she a former lover?” Was that why he was so torn up? Did he love this woman?
Sal raked his hand through his hair. “Back in the day we did our thing, b
ut she married somebody else.”
“You wanted her for yourself?”
“I didn’t know what I wanted back then.” Then he exhaled. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But that was then.”
“Apparently not,” Gemma said, “because you’re very upset, Sal. You’re more upset than I’ve seen you in a long time.”
“Hell yeah I’m upset!” Sal blared. “She brought this shit to my front door! She knows better than that. And some fucker killed her at my front door. He knows better than that!” There was more, like the fact that the person who hired the fucker to kill her at his front door was one of Sal’s most trusted underbosses, and he was never told about the decision. He had some serious problems that he wasn’t about to allow Gemma to worry about.
But when he looked at her, and saw the strain, he hurried to her. “Oh, babe!” he said, and pulled her into his arms.
Gemma relaxed at the feel of Sal’s big arms around her. The idea of this kind of violence at her front gate had thrown her greatly. She knew Sal was deeply involved in mob activities. She knew that he was, in fact, a mob boss, and all of those trips out of town he used to take weren’t about the Gabrini Corporation. His brother Tommy handled those trips. But to have it so close to home, where Sal could have easily been killed right along with that Rita woman, unsettled her. They were pregnant now.
Sal pulled back from her, his hands on her arms. “It’s going to be alright, babe,” he said.
Gemma nodded. “I know. It’s just that it was pretty close this time.”
“And we’re about to bring a baby into this shit,” Sal said. “I know you were thinking that too.”
Gemma looked into his eyes.
“It’s not exactly the idea situation,” Sal said, and then looked hard at Gemma. “Is it?”
Gemma was not a liar. “No,” she said. “It is not.”
A look of anguish appeared on Sal’s face. “Maybe you should go to your parents, go to Indiana, and stay there until after the baby comes.”
Gemma looked at him. “Leave you? You’re telling me to leave you?”
“It’ll give you some normalcy during your pregnancy. It’ll keep you away from the stress.”
Gemma shook her head and put her hands on either side of Sal’s handsome, but worrisome, face. “No way,” she said. “Where you go, I go. If you go down, I go down. If you go up, I go up. We’re a team, Sal. No bomb, no chick name Rita, nobody’s breaking up our team.”
Sal’s heart soared. It was exactly what he needed to hear. He smiled and pulled her closer. “And when the baby comes?” he asked.
“She or he will be on the team too.” Gemma frowned. “Being a Gabrini is a great thing. But it comes at a great price. Our child will have to pay that price too.”
They leaned forehead to forehead against each other. Both were teary-eyed at the thought of their child involved in the matters they sometimes were involved in. “But we’re prepare our child, Sal,” Gemma said. “She’ll be ready.”
“Or he,” Sal said, and Gemma smiled.
“Or he,” she said, and Sal smiled.
And they just stood there, holding each other and leaned against each other. The world outside was still chaotic. A wrecker was taking away Rita’s rental car, and Jay was just returning to the front gate after discovering that Gemma had already left her office. But Sal and Gemma were one. And were completely in tune, not with the world outside, but with each other.
But Sal had to confess. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go to Chicago, babe,” he said.
Gemma looked at him. “Because of what happened today?”
“Among other problems,” he said. “Yeah.”
Gemma didn’t like it. But she knew it came with the territory. “Okay,” she said. “Just be safe.”
“And I know you will. I’m going to triple the men keeping an eye on you. You’re be just fine. It’s too much going on. It might all be unrelated, but I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Gemma didn’t like all of the extra security she would have to endure, but she trusted Sal’s instincts. “Neither do I,” she said, and they hugged each other again.
CHAPTER TEN
The limousine stopped in the back of the Chicago restaurant. A wall of men, all heavily armed, made their way to the limo as one of the men opened the back passenger door. Sal Gabrini, their boss, stepped out. He buttoned his double-breasted suit coat and took his time, even as the men closed in on him, blanketing him, and began to escort him inside the building. But these weren’t confident men to Sal. These men behaved as if they’d been spooked. They were looking around with the kind of nervous hypervigilance that forced Sal to come to town in the first place. Crew chiefs were being killed. Nobody knew the enemy. Chicago was on edge. Sal had to calm nerves or risk full blown panic.
As Sal entered the closed restaurant, the assembled underbosses all stood up. Nicky Castellano was there too, and as Sal’s number one, chaired the meeting. Sal sat at the head of the table and they all sat down.
Angelo Scorsese spoke first. As the oldest underboss, he commanded one of Sal’s largest crews. Sal called him The Barometer. If he was in panic mode, they were in trouble.
“We don’t mind healthy competition, boss,” he said to Sal. His voice was gravelly, almost hoarse, as if he was one cigarette away from emphysema. But he was a respected voice. “We’ll fight to the death to keep our territories, but we don’t mind that fight. But this fight here, boss? This shadow company trying to spook us like this? We don’t know what this is! And then they ice Deacon. He was in line to take over for me. He was a powerful sonafabitch and they had to know that. But they ice him anyway? Who the fuck are these people?”
“We don’t know who we’re dealing with,” Nicky said. “That’s the problem, boss. And our crews are getting scared. They’re wondering if we’re paying attention.”
“They’re wondering if you’re paying attention,” Angelo said bluntly to Sal.
“They need to know what’s the game plan,” Nicky continued. “They need marching orders. They need to know that Sal Luca Gabrini and the Gabrini machine has their backs. We’re their front line bosses, but we aren’t enough. They want to hear it directly from you.”
“Where are they?” Sal asked.
“We assembled them in the dining hall, but we thought we’d give you some background first.”
But Sal wasn’t interested in them giving him shit. He stood up, causing them to quickly stand too, and made his way into the dining hall. His underbosses didn’t hesitate to follow. Angelo looked at Nicky with a flustered look as they walked. But Nicky just nodded his head. He might have been a mover and shaker compared to Angelo’s position in the organization, but compared to Sal’s position, he was powerless.
When Sal entered the dining hall, nearly a hundred men were present. They all rose to their feet on his arrival, and he told them to sit back down. Sal and his underbosses remained standing.
“I’m going to make this as plain as I know how,” Sal said. “We’ve had three deaths. All three were crew chiefs. Deacon was in the line of succession. Which means whoever these fuckers are, they will not stop until we cede territory to them, which will not be happening. We aren’t ceding shit to anybody. Your blood, sweat and tears turned Chicago our way. All of the businesses you’re running now are legit, and those that aren’t just aren’t, but that’s beside the point.”
The men laughed.
Sal continued. “I’m working overtime to keep our grip on power as sound as I know how,” he said. “I’m working my ass off. I don’t know who’s pulling this shit. I wish I did, but I don’t know yet. I’ve heard some west coast mafia outfit was behind it, I’ve heard some east coast brotherhood was behind it. Whoever the fuck it is, we’re going to find them. I’ve got my men from here to L.A. working their sources like they’ve never worked them before. I’ve made this my priority. But I’m not here to give your asses a report card. I’m here because I’m disappointed in you.”
The men, and their bosses, were stunned. Disappointed in us? their faces seemed to say.
“Why would you be disappointed in us?” one of the men asked outright.
“Because you’re complaining about process,” Sal said. “You’re complaining about what you don’t know. And your complaints feed the beast. Your complaints make our enemies stronger. Because they know they’re doing damage. They know they’ve got you by the balls and all they have to do is yank.”
“What should we be doing?” another man asked.
“Daring them to come for you,” Sal said. “Dare their asses! You’re a member of my fucking crew. What are they going to do to you? We run this town. We’re the baddest fuckers in this town. You roam in packs. You watch your backs. You see anything wrong, and I don’t care if it’s your own men displaying that shit, you kill it. You don’t wait for it to kill you. You take it down! You let our enemies know we will not go down without a bloodbath. Their blood,” Sal added.
And then he let out a harsh exhale. “There’s a war going on for the soul of this town. Either we defend it, or they take it. What I want you to do, to a man, is stop worrying about who the fuckers are and start realizing who you are! This shit stops with Deacon’s death,” Sal said forcefully, and every one of his men applauded loudly.
“Get the word out,” Sal continued, “that we’re on the battlefield too now. This is no longer a one-sided confrontation. Triple your security. Triple your cameras to catch those fuckers. And triple your swag. Get the word out. I guarantee you the script will flip. I guarantee you there will be no more sneak attacks. Complaints and weakness can’t defeat strength. Only strength can defeat strength. You’ve got to be strong and defend your territory. And if you can’t defend it, they aren’t just going to take it away from you. They’re going to take you out. They are no two ways about it. So man up and do your jobs. I don’t ever want to be called here because my men are scared like some gotdamn babies. You fight. You don’t give an inch. Going quietly into that good night are for ladies of the evening, not for men of war. Stop going quietly while they decimate us. Make some noise. Put out the word. Fight back motherfuckers! Who do you think you are?”
Sal Gabrini: Just The Way You Are Page 8
