Big Daddy Sinatra: Papa Don't Play

by Mallory Monroe

  After urging him to stay safe and to not trust anyone, including Trevor Reese, Charles and Trevor piled into Trevor’s Corvette Stingray and left the residence. Charles checked out his fortified estate, complete with more armed guards than he’d ever would have imagined seeing on his property. But Mick and the Gabrinis didn’t play. When they said they would provide protection, they meant it. He appreciated the show of strength as he left his home. But those men were all strangers to Charles. He was only able to relax, and to know there would be no backdoor attack on his family while he was gone, not because of the show of force out front, but because his baby brother was staying back and holding down the fort.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The “safe house” turned out to be in a decidedly unsafe-looking Boston neighborhood that Charles, who did plenty of business in Boston, was wholly unfamiliar with. And it wasn’t a house at all, but an abandoned furniture store that was boarded up in the front. Trevor drove around back. They entered through a side door.

  Charles was loaded for bear, Mick saw to that, and was ready for anything. But he viewed himself as a good judge of character, and he’d already decided that although Trevor was shady as hell, he was not the kind of man who would undercut his girlfriend’s father. That might come later, especially if Trevor’s own ass was on the grill. But not now.

  But when Charles entered the furniture store and walked along the narrow corridor that led to an open space, and saw a handful of armed men hanging around, and then two men sitting in the center of the room, he forgot about the man walking with him. He also forgot about the man he assumed was Mario Giuseppe sitting there too. His entire focus was on the other man, the man he had no idea would be there at all.

  He nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw him, but he didn’t. He kept walking. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but he kept walking.

  “Well, well,” the man seated beside Giuseppe said. “Where’s Michello, Charles?”

  But Charles wasn’t there to answer anybody’s questions. He had too many of his own.

  The man smiled, as if he expected nothing less from Charles. “Have a seat,” he said.

  Charles glanced at Giuseppe, who had been worked over pretty badly, as he and Trevor sat down in the chairs in front of him.

  The other man looked at Giuseppe too, and then nodded. “Yes, I agree. He had, how do you say? Shit beat out of him?”

  “What are you doing here?” Charles asked the man.

  The man smiled. “Charlie, come on. This is no way to greet your cousin. I’m your cousin over here. I’m your blood kin. I’m Angelo. I’m still Angelo. I haven’t seen you in decades, and you treat me this way?”

  But Charles wasn’t smiling. Angelo DeCoppola was bad news. He’d always been. “What are you doing in America?” he asked him again. “I thought you were banned from returning to this country.”

  “They ban me, and then they ban me again,” Angelo said, talking with his hands as much as his mouth. “And then I help them out, and suddenly I’m not banned anymore.”

  Then Angelo turned serious. All smiles were gone. “This is Mario,” he said.

  “I assumed as much,” Charles said.

  “Your son-in-law worked him over awfully badly.”

  Trevor was no son-in-law of Charles’s, and Charles could have made that clear. But he suspected that his cousin, who was Italian Mafia all the way, already knew that. Rubbing it in was Angelo’s style.

  “I must admit I was surprised,” Angelo said. “I didn’t think you would allow a Fed rat like Reese to go anywhere near your beautiful Carly.”

  Charles’s jaw tightened. He could have told Angelo to keep his beloved daughter’s name out of his foul mouth, but he didn’t. Angelo wanted a rise out of Charles. He wasn’t getting one.

  “Call me a rat again, DeCoppola,” Trevor said, “and I’ll decouple your balls from your body, you crazy fuck. Now tell Mr. Sinatra what you know.”

  Angelo smiled, although Charles could see the rage underneath. “Tough guy,” he said to Charles. “Get a load of him.”

  “What do you know, Ang?” Charles asked. “Tell me what you know. Giuseppe here can’t be the whole story, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  Angelo leaned back. “The man who went after your children was actually after me.”

  Charles frowned. “After you? What do you have to do with this?”

  “I am in America again. As I said, I’ve been unbanned. Because I’m here, with carte blanche basically, as far as the Federal government is concerned, I am reclaiming my territory that was taken from me in my long absence. The man who took it doesn’t like that change in plans.”

  “Who took it?” Charles asked. “This guy here?” Charles was pointing at Giuseppe.

  Trevor smiled. “He wish,” he said.

  “Fuck you!” Giuseppe said through the wounds all over his face.

  Trevor rose up and hit him again, opening yet another wound. “Say it again!” he begged him.

  Charles looked at Trevor. He wondered what Carly would think if she ever saw this side of him. He was always so buttoned up and professional in his role as public relations guru. Not so buttoned up now.

  But Charles was singularly focused. “Who is the guy?” he asked his cousin. He was younger than Mick, but just as gangster. Maybe more so given his wallowed-out moral core.

  “You remember Peetie Latch?” Angelo asked him.

  Charles didn’t have to think long. Peetie was another bad news bear from their neighborhood. “What about him? I know you aren’t telling me Peetie is behind this.”

  “Peetie Latch is Fed now,” Trevor said. “He’s one of my contacts.”

  “And one of mine,” Angelo said. “That is how we found each other, your son-in-law and I. Through Peetie.”

  “Go on,” Charles said. His legs were crossed, and his cellphone was in his hand. Unbeknownst to all of them, the cellphone was on and was on Speaker, and Mick was listening, back at the Sinatra estate in Jericho, to every word.

  “Trevor went to Peetie, in search of Giuseppe,” Angelo continued. “He sent Peetie to me. He knew we were after the same man.”

  Charles didn’t understand. “I thought you said Giuseppe wasn’t the man behind the assault.”

  “He isn’t. But he was hired by the man who is.”

  “You’re talking in circles,” Charles said. “Tell me who,” he demanded.

  “Belfast Bellanconti,” Angelo said. “A particularly nasty sort, and the man who decided that all that I built up belonged to him. I took it back. He wanted revenge. Funny thing is, Belfast Bellanconti is the Assistant Director of Domestic Tranquility for the C.I.A.”

  Angelo smiled. Charles was stunned. “And he took over your territory?” Charles asked.

  “He took it,” Angelo responded. “He just took it! And was Fed all along. Running drugs, running hoes, running anything his grubby Fed hands could take possession of. All the while pretending to be your good and faithful G-man. Snakes every one of them!”

  Charles didn’t expect to hear this. And he had no choice. He needed input. He lifted his phone to his mouth. “You know him?” he asked Mick.

  “I know him,” Mick responded over the phone.

  Trevor was surprised. Angelo only smiled. He knew that old trick too.

  “Fed and Mob Boss?” Charles asked, still doubtful of Angelo’s tale.

  But Mick confirmed it. “He’s both,” he said.

  “But is it possible? He didn’t come up in any search?”

  “He’s cloaked by his title and government affiliation, that’s why we couldn’t get any intel on his ass. But yeah, it’s possible. He would be the perfect guy to pull it off.”

  Charles took Mick off Speaker. “Is he as bad news as Ang describe him?”

  “Or worse, yes,” Mick said. Then he added: “I’ll contact the Gabrinis.”

  “Good idea,” Charles said.

  “Hello, Michello!” Angelo said loudly, and with a grand s
mile.

  Charles placed the call back on Speaker just as Mick responded, “Fuck you!” with what they could only imagine was an equally grand scowl. Angelo had sold Mick out years ago, when Mick was just starting out. They were maternal cousins, but they were not friends.

  Angelo, who always pretended to take nothing seriously, laughed. Charles, who took everything seriously, looked at him. “Where do I find Bellanconti?” he asked.

  Angelo pulled out a sheet of paper. “All you’ll need to know,” he said.

  But as Charles reached for the paper, Angelo pulled it back. “Or do you want me to handle it? I’ve got to handle him anyway.”

  “He went for my children and my wife,” Charles said. “Nobody’s taking him out, but me.”

  “Sure you want to mix it up with a guy like that?” Angelo asked. “He’s Fed for real.”

  Charles snatched the paper from Angelo’s hand. “Let me worry about that,” he said, standing up.

  Trevor stood too.

  Angelo was still smiling, but his rage was still showing to Charles. “You’ve always lorded it over the rest of us,” he said. “All of my childhood, you were the big man in charge. But I don’t sing to your tune anymore. Mick might. He’s still afraid of your ass. But I’m not.”

  Charles grabbed Angelo by the catch of his shirt and jerked him out of his chair. “You want to start shit with me, Ang?” he asked.

  Angelo’s armed bodyguards began to rush Charles, in defense of their boss. But Angelo, still smiling, held them back. He looked deep into Charles’s intense green eyes. “I do not want to start shit with anybody. You’re my cousin. You helped raise me because my father, like yours, wasn’t worth a damn. But I’m saying to you now I am not that kid you once looked out for. I do the looking out now. That’s why I’m here. To help you.”

  “Save the mush for a sucker who’ll believe it. You’re only here because you know, if Mick and I take out Bellanconti, it’ll be one less problem on your plate with no Fed heat on you, and plenty on us. I know your ass, Ang. I’m no sucker.” Then he pushed Angelo back into his seat.

  Angelo’s men glanced at each other, astounded that their boss allowed such treatment. They’d never seen it before. But Angelo allowed it. Not because he wanted to, but because he knew Charles was no gangster. And because he also knew Charles’s kid brother was.

  Charles then turned to Giuseppe. “What about this clown?” he asked Angelo. “What role did he play?”

  “He was the go-to man,” Trevor answered for Angelo. “He put the players in place. Two of which were the mayor of your town, Herb Cruikshank, and his son Wayne. They will need to be dealt with.”

  Angelo grinned. “He already dealt with them,” he said. “Didn’t you, Charlie?”

  But Charles ignored Angelo. He was staring at Giuseppe. “You feel you’ve got your just desserts?” he asked him.

  Giuseppe didn’t respond. He was in agony. And he already knew how it was going to end.

  Charles kicked him. “You heard me, motherfucker. I asked you a question. Trevor did this to you. He beat your ass on behalf of my daughter. I haven’t even started on you yet.”

  Giuseppe looked at Charles. He knew he was toying with him. And he hated it. It took all he had, given his broken bones, but he heaved up a mouthful of spit, and coughed it out toward Charles. But Charles and Trevor both were adroit on their feet. They moved. It missed.

  Charles then knew he was wasting his time with this loser. He was just the go-between. Bellanconti was the big fish. But to Angelo and Trevor’s shock, Charles pulled out his gun, and shot Giuseppe six times. He shot him until his jerking body, which jerked with every shot, stopped jerking.

  Angelo wasn’t smiling now. He’d never seen Charles this way. He stared at him.

  “He almost fatally wounded my children,” Charles said. “He tried to fatally wound my wife. There is no way I can allow that to stand. There is no way.”

  Angelo nodded. “Absolutely,” he said heartfelt, as if it was a natural, perfectly logical conclusion.

  But when Charles and Trevor made it outside, and back in Trevor’s car, it was a different story. “One correction,” he said to Charles as he placed his Stingray in gear, and sped off.

  “What’s that?” Charles asked, buckling up.

  “Bellanconti didn’t order that attempt on your wife.”

  Charles looked at Trevor, astounded. “Then who did?”

  “You know a guy named Miller Franklin?” Trevor asked.

  “Yeah,” Charles said. They’d been searching high and low for that bastard. “Why? He set it up?”

  “That’s the information I gathered, yes,” Trevor said.

  “On whose orders? If not Bellanconti, who? Cruikshank?”

  Trevor exhaled. This was where it got dicey. This was why he didn’t mention it in front of Angelo and Giuseppe.

  “Who?” Charles asked again. “I’m dying here. Tell me who!”

  Trevor decided to just say it. “Mrs. Sinatra,” he said.

  Charles turned so far toward Trevor that he nearly broke the seatbelt. “What are you talking about? Why would my wife attempt to have her own self killed? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

  “Not your current wife,” Trevor said. “Your ex-wife. Mrs. Arianna Sinatra.”

  Charles was floored. “Arianna? But she’s in prison,” he said.

  “But her boyfriend isn’t,” Trevor said.

  “Miller Franklin?” Charles asked.

  Trevor nodded. “That’s right. She started writing him from prison, urging him to come and see her. When he ignored her requests, she enlisted her crooked attorney to pay him a visit. They filled Miller’s head with all kinds of lies about how Mrs. Sinatra, Mrs. Jenay Sinatra that is, had Miller’s brother, Jenay’s ex-husband, killed. That got him interested. That got him going to visit her. Then she promised him all kinds of riches if he was able to have Jenay taken out. She believes she’s going to win her latest appeal and have her conviction overturned.”

  “Is that possible?” Charles asked.

  “Anything in the judicial system is possible,” Trevor said. “Yes.”

  “So what’s her motive?” Charles asked, although he had a good idea.

  “If Jenay is out of the way, she believed she would be able to enjoy all of that Sinatra money she’d been denied.” He glanced at Charles. “She believed she would end up back in your bed too.”

  “Fat chance,” Charles said. And he couldn’t believe it. But it sounded so like Arianna that he knew it was true. He looked at Trevor. “How were you able to find all of this out,” he asked, “when Mick and the Gabrinis were not?”

  Trevor smiled. “There are advantages to having a foot on the inside,” he said. “Not many advantages, but some.”

  Charles nodded. Trevor was beginning to gain some respect with him. But then he exhaled. Arianna again. Her ass was at it again? It would have been laughable if Jenay had not been nearly killed. And after they finished with Bellanconti; after he avenged his children’s attacker, he and Jenay were going to have to deal with his ex-wife, the mother of his four sons. His tormenter-in-chief.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It looked like a gun show in Charles’s home office. An arsenal of weaponry was laid out. Charles and Mick, Sal and Reno all were putting on protective vests and ramming their ammo rounds into their weapons. They all had four or five guns on their persons, and was loading backup rifles for additional security. Their men were outside, loaded for bear, and they all were ready for war themselves.

  Tommy was there too, assisting with the load, but he was going to be the muscle that stayed back, that protected Charles’s family, just in case Bellanconti flipped on them and attempted a back lane into the Sinatra estate while they were launching an assault on his estate.

  “Is this motherfucker this bad?” Reno asked. “I don’t get it. I thought we were the baddest motherfuckers in these parts. We’re arming up like he’ll put us to shame. I don’t
like that feeling.”

  “He’s Fed, Reno,” Mick pointed out as he continued to load up. “Not just one of us. We don’t know what he’ll come at us with. Reese says the Feds knows about his gang activity and allows it. That makes him a very powerful man. That makes him a very dangerous man. He’s not just a mob boss like us.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Sal quickly pointed out. “Who’s a mob boss? I’m a legitimate businessman over here.”

  They all laughed.

  “You need to cut that shit out, Sal Luca,” Reno said, as he continued to ammo up. “You and Mick are the least legitimate businessmen in this house, okay? Me and Tommy, we’re legit for real. And Big Daddy is legit for real for real. But you and Mick the Tick? Your two asses are too deep underworld to claim any title of legitimacy. I’m sorry, Salvatore, but you are the wrong jockey for that horse.”

  “He’s fooling nobody but himself,” Tommy added, with a smile.

  But Sal frowned. “Fuck both of y’all,” he said, and all of them laughed again.

  Once all of them were suited up, Charles stopped and looked at them. “I know how tough you guys figure you are,” he said to them. “You’re the baddest whatevers, I know that, Reno.”

  Reno smiled.

  “But this is my fight,” Charles made clear. “They came after my family. That kill list was a diversion. My children were the real target.”

  “Make it plain, Big Daddy,” Reno said.

  “If it can be helped,” Charles said, “I need to be the last one to see that fucker Bellanconti alive. I need him to see me. I need him to know why he’s dying, who’s killing his ass, and why I won’t give a fuck doing so.”

  Mick’s heart squeezed in agony when his brother said those words. Reno, Sal, and Tommy were affected too. Those bastards bought a decent man like Charles down to their level, and none of them appreciated it. And they all nodded. They would make it their business that Big Daddy got his wish. Every one of them had more than enough incentive to see those bastards rot in hell.

  But before they left, Charles wanted to have a word, alone, with his children. Brent was able to sit up now, and he and Makayla, along with Carly, Ashley, Tony, and Robert, were sitting around Donald’s room. Bonita and Brent, Junior were seated on the bed with Donald. Donald was still bedridden, but he was beating all odds and improving swiftly too.