SAL GABRINI
BURNING LOVE
BY
MALLORY MONROE
Copyright©2016 Mallory Monroe
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This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for the story’s sake.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
The second Town Car arrived and parked alongside the first, and Tito Zecatta stepped out. Mouse Lanza and his driver were already there, leaned against their car, and the anger on Mouse’s face for being forced to have this meeting in the first place was as clear to Tito as that orange suit Mouse wore. Neither one of these men wanted to be in league with Sal Gabrini. Neither one of these men wanted to ever have to need another boss the way they needed Sal.
“He ain’t here yet?” Tito buttoned his suit coat.
“You think I’d be standing out here like some damn debutante waiting to get into the ball if his ass was here? No, he ain’t here yet.”
“Figures.” Tito dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. “That’s why I don’t like dealing with that motherfucker.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do. But what else are we going to do, T? Whoever’s pulling this shit ain’t fucking with us. They mean business. That land grab proved that. If Sal Luca doesn’t help us, we’re doomed.”
Tito understood that better than Mouse ever would. Mouse was a newbie compared to Tito. Tito and Sal went way back. Back in the day when Sal was a crooked cop over in Seattle, and Tito was a street hustler peddling women and cocaine for a living. Sal was gangster even then. He treated Tito like he was the scum of the earth; always shaking him down as if he was going to arrest him, only to let him go if the price was right. Now Tito had to come all this way to Vegas and bow down at the feet of a man like that? He knew how hard it was to ask Sal Luca for anything. Mouse didn’t know the half of it!
“There’s Robby,” Mouse said hopefully, standing up from his leaned position, and Tito looked toward the oncoming vehicle too. They were at the exclusive Granville Golf and Country Club, standing outside of a ritzy lodge Sal Gabrini owned. They knew why Sal would have chosen this meeting place. It was in a super-private location where even they had to have Sal’s prior permission just to get through the entrance gate. It was on Sal’s turf. It was Sal’s way of letting them know that whatever help he gave, if he gave any, would be on his terms and his terms alone. They knew the game. They just hated that they had to play it with a man who could be as vicious as the man they needed his protection from.
Robby Yale, one of Sal’s lieutenants, parked his tinted SUV beside Tito and Mouse’s Town Cars and stepped out. He was a big man too, with the kind of muscles he didn’t earn in a gym, but in a prison yard. Tito and Mouse had hoped Sal would be with Robby when the car first drove up. But when Robby stepped out alone, that hope was dashed.
And Mouse was on the outside of enough. “Where the fuck is he, Robby? We came all this way and he’s not here? Out of respect alone he should be here. We’re waiting here!”
Robby knew how powerful these bosses were. They weren’t shit compared to his boss, but they were powerful in their own right. “He’s on his way, sir,” he said deferentially. “I just got the call. He’s on his way. I’ll let you guys in.”
Robby headed, with the key in hand, toward the lodge’s front door. “I’ll get you some drinks, you’ll kick up your feet. Boss will be here in no time.”
Mouse looked at Tito. “Fucking debutante just like I said,” he said.
But he and Tito knew they had no sway whatsoever. What were they going to do? Leave? They followed Robby inside. Their drivers/bodyguards, knowing their places, remained outside.
CHAPTER TWO
Nearly an hour later, Sal Gabrini drove his red and black Bugatti Chiron up to the entrance gate to be eyeballed by Security. It had been a long time since he’d been onsite. Years, in fact. But they still remembered him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Gabrini. It’s good to see you again, sir.”
“Good afternoon. Have my guests arrived?”
“They’ve arrived, sir, yes, sir. Robby’s here too.” Then the electronic gate lifted. “Have a nice day, sir.”
Sal placed two fingers to his forehead in a thank you nod, and proceeded through the gate.
The two guards at the gate grinned and gave each other a high-five. “Now that’s what I call a bad ride,” one of them said as they stood there admiring Sal’s car, a brand-new car he had shipped over from France, as it drove away. With its revved-up engine and sleek design, it was easily the best-looking sports car they’d seen grace those gates in a long time. Most of those country club types drove Mercedes and Bentleys and the occasional Rolls Royce. Sal, for them, broke the mold.
Sal liked the car too. It was a bad ride to him too, or he wouldn’t have bought it. But even his enjoyment in driving such an impressive car was tempered by the fact that he agreed to attend this meeting. A meeting with two guys he didn’t particularly like, didn’t particularly respect, and didn’t owe shit to. But they came running to him. Every time a mobster got in trouble lately, they loved to come running to him. Why, he often wondered. Who made him the fucking godfather of the mob? But he always showed up. He always agreed to at least meet with them because he knew that if they were coming to him, they were in life or death situations. They were in major league trouble.
Sal drove near the back of the property and wanted to keep driving when he saw the Town Cars parked in front of his lodge. Most of the lodges were fairly close to one another. This wasn’t exactly the woods, after all. But everybody who owned property on that particular country club estate lived by a strict privacy motto that kept their eyes (and lives) to themselves. Sal felt fairly comfortable having mob meetings there. It was, from what he’d seen down through the years, a white-collar criminal’s paradise.
But despite his desire to be elsewhere, he didn’t keep driving. He parked, got out, spoke to the bodyguards still outside, and went into his lodge. As soon as he walked through that door, Mouse and Tito, who had been fuming b
efore his arrival, stood to their feet with nothing but smiles on their faces. Even Robby, who sat with the gentlemen, grinned and shook his head. But he was no fool. He stood up too.
“How are you, Sal Luca?” Tito asked. “It’s been a long time.”
“What’s up, T? What’s up, Mouse?”
“You’re up, Sal,” Mouse said with a smile. “Good seeing you again.”
“Still wearing those fucking orange suits I see,” Sal said. “Still doing everything in your power to draw attention to your slick ass.”
Mouse laughed. “Actually, my choice in suit color gives me a pass.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Hell yeah,” Mouse insisted. “They figure I’m too crazy to be up to no good. It’s fuckers like you, in those double-breasted pinstripe Armani and Canali suits, or whatever the hell designer you’re wearing, that draws the attention.”
Sal gave a shoulder hunch and grin as he unbuttoned his double-breasted pinstripe suit coat and took a seat in the wingback chair in front of them. Mouse and Tito sat down too.
“What are you having, Boss?” Robby asked as Sal crossed his legs.
“Nothing for me,” Sal responded.
“Yes, sir,” Robby said and walked over to the bar near the back of the room as if he didn’t hear Sal correctly. But he heard him perfectly. He went to the back of the room and sat on the bar stool for positioning. That was his job. He had his weapon at the ready should one or both of those bosses take it in their brains to try something foolish.
Tito, whose organization was more expansive than Mouse’s, was particularly anxious. So anxious that he cut the formalities and got down to business. “You’ve had a chance to think about what we told you, Sal?” he asked.
Sal nodded. “I’ve thought about it.”
He waited for Sal to say more. But no more came. Sal was in the superior position and Tito despised him because of it. He despised that big diamond ring Sal wore, and that fancy Rolex always on his wrist. He despised his fancy suits. They were losing their shirts out there and Sal, as always, was just coasting along. It wasn’t fair to Tito. He worked twice as hard as that lazy show-off, but Sal always seemed to come out on top. He always seemed to be drowning in dough, while the rest of them were just drowning.
“What do you think, Sal?” Mouse asked. “They’re coming at us from all sides. I’ve lost half of my territory already, and Tito’s lost nearly a third of his. If things keep going the way they are, we’ll be out of business in no time. We won’t have anything left. It’s that serious, Sal.”
“And word on the street,” Tito said, “is that you’ll be next.”
Sal looked at Tito. “I’ll be next?”
“That’s what I’m hearing,” Tito responded. “Word is that after they take over our turfs, they’re coming for yours. You’re bigger than both of us, Sal. It stands to reason they would want a piece of yours.”
“If not all of yours,” Mouse echoed.
Sal continued to stare at the men. They’d say anything to save their own hides, but they were making a persuasive point. Why would this guy stop with those two? Why wouldn’t he want to take Sal on too? Better to nip this shit in the bud, Sal decided. “What do you want from me?” he asked them.
“We need you to find out who’s behind the takeover,” Tito said. “Once you find out, we need you to take him out. We have connections, but our connections are turning up blanks.”
“And the more territory we lose,” Mouse said, “the less influence we have. Good muscle doesn’t want to work for us anymore. People aren’t returning our phone calls. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Sal sat there, as if in deep contemplation, and then rose to his feet. Tito and Mouse, surprised by his sudden move, rose too. Was he dismissing them already?
“I’ll get you a name,” Sal said. “I’ll find out who’s behind the takeover. But this is your fight. This is your battle. You’re going to take him out.”
“But what if we can’t?” Mouse asked anxiously.
But instead of a sympathetic ear, Sal frowned. “What do you mean what if you can’t? This is your livelihood. Your life. If you can’t defend your own life, what the fuck are you doing in this business?”
Tito agreed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You give us the name. We’ll take him out.”
He extended his hand. Sal shook it. He didn’t like Tito, and Tito despised him. But in their line of work, feelings didn’t matter. Staying alive did. This was a partnership of survival. Nothing more.
After Sal shook Mouse’s hand also, the two men left the lodge. Robby stood up from the bar stool. “They want you to do their dirty work, Boss,” he said. “Why would you take out their enemy when they can do it themselves? They don’t want their hands dirty, but they want dirt on you?”
“Tail them until they leave town,” Sal said as he walked toward Robby, heading for the bar. “Call in a detail to help you. I want to know if they make any additional stops in Vegas, I don’t care where it is.”
“What you figure, Boss? They’re playing both ends?”
“I don’t know. But I know Tito Zecatta, and I know Mouse Lanza. I wouldn’t trust those fuckers as far as I could throw them.”
“They wouldn’t dare try to two-time you.”
“I want to make sure, that’s all. Tail’em.”
“Will do,” Roddy said, and hurried out of the lodge.
Sal exhaled, went behind the bar, and poured himself a drink. Maids were paid as a part of membership to clean and stock every lodge every week. Sal came to his lodge so infrequently that it was more a case of them walking in, dusting off this and that, and leaving. He only kept it for that just in case he needed it motto men like him had to have.
But it wasn’t as peaceful as he had thought. Because within minutes, he heard a voice coming from his bedroom. “Are they gone yet?” she asked.
Sal frowned, and waited to make sure he heard what he thought he heard.
“Are they gone yet, Sal?”
He heard it again! What the fuck?
He remembered the voice; he knew that voice well. But why in the world was she in his lodge? He sat his glass on the countertop and hurried down the hall, to the bedroom.
When he saw Teresa “Sweets” Kerner, and saw her naked body sprawled out on his bed, his temper rose. He headed toward her, his arms flared to emphasize his anger. But as soon as he made it up to her, she opened her legs wider, revealing what many men viewed as a pussy so sweet they called her Sweets. Sal used to view it that way too. But not anymore. She had nothing on his wife. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked her. “What are you doing?”
Sweets didn’t understand his surprise.
“And get the fuck out of my bed!” he ordered.
Sweets knew all about Sal’s temper. She got out of bed quickly. But she still didn’t understand his reaction. “Robby called me like always,” she said. “Why are you acting like this?”
Sal was puzzled. “Robby called you?”
“Like always. He called me earlier today and told me. Since I still live out here, and since you’ve always paid top dollar for my services, I wasn’t about to turn you down. When I saw Robby drive up, I came on over.”
Wait until Sal got his hands on Robby.
“I didn’t just drop by on my own,” Sweets continued. “I’m a professional. You know I wouldn’t do that! And I wouldn’t be in your bedroom like this, either, except Robby told me to wait in here. Like always, Sal.”
“Why do you keep talking about like always? I haven’t been to this motherfucker in years. You talk like I come every week!”
“That’s why I was surprised when I got the call. And excited too, I’m not gonna lie. I miss you, Sal.” She glanced down, between his legs. There was still no man alive that could do her better in bed. “I miss being with you,” she added. “But I didn’t just pull this shit out of thin air like some fucking crazy woman. I came by invitation only. And why are you so surprised, any
way? This is how we do it, Sal!”
“That’s how we used to do it.” Then Sal frowned. “What are you nuts? I’m a married man now!”
Sweets couldn’t believe he went there. “You’re married? So what! What does that have to do with us?”
Sal exhaled. He was dealing in dirt and should have known not to think the people he dealt with weren’t dirty as hell. “Put your ass on some clothes and get out of my house,” he said. “You do that. Get out of my house!”
“Am I still going to get paid?” she asked.
Sal couldn’t believe she asked him that. “Get the fuck out,” he said. “You hear me?”
But just as he was ordering Sweets to get out of his house, he heard the sound of somebody coming into it. Sweets heard it too, and jumped into Sal’s arms.
Sal angrily removed her arms from around his neck, causing her to fall back onto the bed, and listened more closely. That was when he realized somebody was indeed entering his lodge. He immediately pulled out his gun, placed his finger to his lips to shush Sweets big-ass mouth, and made his way, walking light as a panther, toward the front of the lodge.
As soon as he left the room, Sweets got off of the bed and hurriedly put on her clothes.
But Sal wasn’t thinking about Sweets. He was thinking about the sound in front of him. He walked slowly along the hall, making a point of staying close to the wall, until he was at the edge of the front room. He could still hear the intruder. His heart was pounding the way it always did when confronted with life or death, but he knew everything hinged on getting it right. Keeping his cool and executing. Doing it to them before they had a chance to do it to him.
That was why as soon as he turned into the front room, and saw a man he didn’t know inside his residence, and that man was reaching into his coat pocket, he crotched and fired. Repeatedly. He shot to kill. The man fell to his knees, and then keeled over.
Sal stood erect, the smoking gun still in his hand, and began looking around the room for anybody else. Certain there was no one else, he glanced outside. Still no one. Then he knelt down to the downed man, and stared at him.
Sal Gabrini: Burning Love Page 1
