MICK SINATRA
LOVE and SHADOWS
BY
MALLORY MONROE
Copyright©2017 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
PROLOGUE
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
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
From the moment Rosalind Graham-Sinatra walked out on stage, Mick Sinatra knew she was going to shock him again. It wasn’t anything new. It was the same play she’d performed many times before. But her stagecraft was always nuanced, as if she knew her audience without seeing them, and her delivery was still as pitch-perfect as it was the first time she performed.
Mick stood in the back of the grand London theater and watched his wife breathe new life into her old role. He could have had a box seat. He could have easily had the best seat in the house. But he was always too nervous to sit around whenever Rosalind was performing. He always stood in the back to experience the audience experiencing her. Sometimes they were vigorous theatergoers, clapping and laughing at the exact right times. Other times they were more sedate; listening on the edge of their seats, and watching with rapt attention. The London crowd was the latter.
And Roz knew exactly how to play to that crowd, Mick thought, as he watched her; as she moved across the stage with the flamboyance of a peacock and the cunning of a cat. Some lines, in some theaters they’d attended, required exaggerated enunciations. In this theater, it was all quietly delivered lines: polite and subtle. Like a fine-oiled machine.
She was a great actress who never had any doors open for her until Mick kicked in the doors himself by financing a limited-run Broadway play of her choosing. The play was a smash hit that opened every door for her. Now she was in London, in another limited-run play big-time producers financed, and she was the toast of the famed West End.
During the course of the play, Mick saw a few women get up, go out into the lobby, and come back in. He saw a couple men do the same. Bathroom breaks, he assumed.
But one man caught his eye in particular. On the other side of the room, he saw him get up, go into the lobby area, and come back too. Just like all the others had done. But unlike the others, and what caught Mick’s attention, was that this particular man did not return to his seat. The man, instead, began walking slowly down the aisle as if his seat was further up front. Since Mick knew that it wasn’t, and since his gut was already going haywire, he didn’t hesitate. He began walking down the aisle, too.
The suspicious theatergoer was walking down the aisle on the far side of the room, while Mick was walking down the opposite aisle on the opposite far side of the room. Both were against the wall walking down. Mick wished he wasn’t so far away.
But that still didn’t deter Mick’s resolve. He kept his eyes on the man, and kept pace with his stride as he made his way toward the front of the theater. Other than the bright light on the stage, the room was dark, but Mick could see him clearly. He was up to no good. Mick could feel it in his bones.
And when the man, halfway to the front, pulled out a revolver and pointed it toward the stage where Mick’s wife, where his very heart was performing, Mick pulled out his own gun with the swiftness of a gunslinger. If he was wrong the fuck with it. When it came to his wife’s safety, he wasn’t taking any chances. Mick fired twice, hitting the man before the man could fire a single shot, and the man dropped his weapon and fell.
The audience heard the shots being fired and began screaming and ducking and knocking over chairs. But just as Mick felt he at least had that man contained, another man, further back in the audience, rose to his feet instead of ducking down, and pulled out his own revolver. He was the backup plan that Mick’s instincts told him to suddenly look for. But he looked too late.
As Mick was just able to turn away from the man he had just shot down, the other gunman he didn’t even see, fired one shot, and fired it purposefully onto the stage. When Mick whipped back around, to see that his wife was getting the hell offstage, all he saw was her falling. Rosalind fell. Rosalind had been shot!
Mick shouted nooo in great agony, turned angrily to shoot the man who had shot his wife, but the man had already disappeared into the crowd of running bodies, darkness, and pandemonium. Then Mick turned back toward the stage, and ran but felt as if he was running in slow motion, to get his woman.
CHAPTER ONE
Three Months Earlier
“Not a chance,” Lefty said, as he took another hit off of Rauley’s joint. “They don’t have the manpower.”
“What manpower they need?” Rauley took his joint from Lefty. “They’ve got Lebron. As in the greatest player on the face of this earth? End of story.”
“What end of story? Get the fuck out of here! And the Warriors have that Curry kid. And Kevin Durant, hello? Forgot about him? He’s only the best power forward in this country, in my humble opinion.”
Lefty laughed. “Your ass wouldn’t know humble if it bit you in that same ass.”
But then Rauley elbowed Lefty. “Check that guy out,” he said.
They were at the docks, five in the morning, leaned against the rail. They were guarding a shipment sitting in the bay, although they made certain it didn’t appear they were guarding anything. Just two guys, early in the morning, smoking weed and shooting the breeze. But the guy heading their way looked mob. They knew he knew.
Rauley stood erect. “Get ready to rock and roll,” he said. “What’s up?” he asked the approaching stranger.
“What’s up with you?” the stranger responded.
“I’m just a soul whose intentions are good,” Rauley said with a smile; repeating a line from a Nina Simone song he once heard.
“Sure you are,” the stranger said. Then he blew into his balled-up hands. “It’s f
ucking cold out here.”
“It’s fucking early out here,” Lefty responded. “It’s awfully early for a walk around the docks, don’t you think?”
The guy didn’t argue with that. He looked at Lefty. “Who are you with?” he asked.
They knew what he meant. “What’s it to you?” Lefty asked the stranger.
“It’s nothing to me. But I know when I’m looking at what I’m looking at. Which family? Or are you too embarrassed to claim it?”
Lefty frowned. “Too embarrassed? Which family you from, motherfucker?”
The stranger smiled. “Yup. You’re embarrassed. But that’s alright.”
But Rauley was insulted. “What are we embarrassed about?” he asked. “We’re in the Sinatra crime family, asshole. The Sinatra organization. That’s the top of the fucking food chain. Mick the Tick is our boss. Your ass can’t top that I don’t care how hard you try!”
The stranger nodded. “No, you’re right. I most definitely cannot top that.” Then he pulled out his revolver, a revolver with a silencer on it; which prompted them to try and pull out their hardware, too.
But the stranger fired before they could fully react, and killed them both. Their bodies dropped among his feet.
He spoke into his wristwatch. “It’s confirmed,” he said, as he looked toward the docks. “They belonged to Sinatra. I estimate there’s twenty or thirty more preparing to unload.” Then he began walking again. “Bring in the army,” he said, as he walked away.
CHAPTER TWO
Mick Sinatra once preferred to sleep alone. There was a time, before he met Rosalind, when he would make sure a woman was in his bed no matter where he was in the world. And would make equally sure she was out of his bed before he fell asleep. He preferred to sleep alone. But after Rosalind entered his life, he grew to hate opening his eyes and she wasn’t there. He grew to hate sleeping alone.
But when he woke up on the fourth day of her absence, he had forgotten she wasn’t there. He woke up with a hard-on out of this world, one stiff as steel, and ready, and he didn’t delay. He placed his hand around his rod, and turned over ready to guide it inside of Rosalind for that morning cum only she could give to him.
But he suddenly had to catch himself. He remembered that she wasn’t there. He remembered that she was still in New York in production meetings for what was soon to be her once-in-a-lifetime performance on London’s famed West End. She wasn’t due back in Philadelphia until tonight.
He jerked on his dick for a few seconds, and would have jerked off given the level of erection he had on his hands. But he knew it would be a poor substitute for Rosalind. He decided to wait until tonight.
He got out of bed and dragged himself into the bathroom. It wasn’t just a piss-hard, but he peed anyway. Then he got into the shower and leaned his head back. His muscle-packed body ached in the mornings, usually from too much exertion the day before, and this morning was no exception. He took a cold one, as he stood under the tap and allowed his entire body, and all of its muscles, to relax under the weight of the drench. And although he ached, he felt hopeful for a change.
His oldest son Teddy was running his underworld business, and doing, by all accounts, a bang up job. That allowed Mick to finally turn most of his attention to Sinatra Industries (S.I.), his massive corporation, without feeling a blowback from the underworld.
Rosalind’s dream came true and she was now a full-fledged actress. She ran her talent agency too, with an assist, whenever she was otherwise engaged, from Mick.
His son Joey was working under Teddy’s leadership better than he had worked under Mick’s, and managing to stay out of trouble. And Gloria, his daughter, was doing a good job at S.I. There were issues with Gloria. One of his grown children always gave him fits at any given time, and it was Gloria this time. But nothing he couldn’t handle.
Life, for Mick, was good.
And when he finished showering and dressed, in his tailored-to-perfection dark-blue Versace suit, and made his way downstairs to the Nursery, it was better than good. His little girl and little boy, his biracial twins, were batting their arms and toddling toward him as soon as they saw that he had entered their world. His daughter was moving even faster than his son, which amused Mick. The two nannies stood up and stood back as their boss lifted both children up into his muscular arms and kissed and held them tight. They knew Mr. Sinatra was no affectionate man, but they could see his eyes closed tightly, as he held his children.
The nannies excused themselves out of the room, to give him some private time with his children, and he carried both children to the bench seat. As soon as he sat one child on each leg, he knew it was only a matter of time before that inevitable question would be asked. His son, Michello Sinatra, Junior, nicknamed Duke, was too curious. He kept looking toward the door, with his big, green eyes wide with expectation. When nothing occurred, he finally looked at his father and asked the question he’d been asking for days. “Where’s Mommy?” he asked.
“Where’s Mommy?” Jacqueline Sinatra, his daughter, also asked. But she was only echoing her brother.
“She’s working out of town.” Those were the same words Mick had been saying all week. His cell phone began ringing. “She’ll be back home tonight.” He pulled out his phone, hoping it would be her, and the children could talk to her at the moment of their asking.
But Duke didn’t understand, and he didn’t like being in the dark. “Where’s Mommy?” he asked again, this time with a frown on his face, as Mick pulled out his phone.
He looked at the Caller ID. It wasn’t Rosalind. It was Teddy. “She’s on her way home,” Mick said to Duke, although it wasn’t entirely true, and then answered his phone. “What’s up?”
“It’s going down today, Pop,” Teddy said over the phone.
Mick still felt uneasy whenever Teddy announced he was about to go into a dangerous situation. He was Mick’s second-in-command, and tough as hell, but above all else he was his son. And he worried sick about him. He wished it didn’t have to be. But it had to be. They had to survive in this world where their enemies didn’t understand retirement. They had to let them know that, although Mick was no longer full time, his son still was. And if they fucked around with Mick’s son, they might as well fuck around with Mick. And die, Mick thought.
But he was not the kind of man who was going to give all of this sage advice. His children had to sink or swim on their own. Even the twins’ babying days were numbered. He expected excellence from his children, or else. Mick Sinatra, everybody knew, didn’t play. “Watch your back,” he said to Teddy, “and handle your business.”
“Yes, sir,” Teddy said, knowing that he wasn’t going to get much more than that from his father.
And true to form, it was Mick who ended the call.
Teddy Sinatra sat in his Corvette, across the street from the diner, and tapped his phone against the steering wheel. His father was putting a lot of faith in him, as he was now the de facto heir to the Sinatra crime family throne, and every fucker out there knew it. He was Mick the Tick’s undisputed second-in-command. Mick’s underbosses reported to Teddy. And when Mick was no longer walking the face of this earth, Teddy, they all knew, would run the show.
But the mere thought of his father no longer alive brought chills to Teddy’s spine. Forget what would become of their mob family, which would be devastating. Teddy was convinced that his siblings and stepmother would all go to pieces even more. Because his father wasn’t just the head of their family. He was the soul and blood and life of their family. He was the glue that held all of the pieces in place. And Teddy knew, if anything were to happen to Mick, he would have to pick back up those same pieces, and start all over again.
But nothing was going to happen to Mick the Tick, Teddy decided as he got out of his car, buttoned his Tom Ford suit, and made his way across the street. His father was too mean to die. He had too much absolution to make before he left this earth. And as Teddy made his way into the small corner di
ner, he also knew that he was following right in his father’s footsteps.
The waitress, who apparently knew a big tipper when she saw one, practically followed him to his seat. As soon as he unbuttoned his suitcoat and sat at the small table, she was smiling and handing him a menu. “What can I get for you, sir?” she asked. “Or is it your first time here?”
“First time,” Teddy said, without opening the menu. “What do you suggest?”
“We have the best pancakes, you can try those. Or, if you’re really hungry, we have a hungry man’s plate filled with loads of bacon, sausage, frittata, and pancakes, too.”
“I’ll take the hungry man’s plate,” Teddy said and handed her the menu. Maybe between loading his plate up with all of that food, she’d stay out of his hair, he thought.
“Good choice,” she said with a smile. “What would you like to drink? Coffee, tea, or me?” She was grinning.
“Coffee,” Teddy responded. “With cream. And bring it with the breakfast, please. Not before.”
The waitress knew what that meant. He didn’t want to be bothered with her. Which was fine, she thought as she grabbed the menu. He was probably a homo anyway. “Coming right up,” she said with that fake smile still on her face, and made her way away from him.
Teddy pulled out his phone and pretended to read over text messages when, in fact, he was recording the scene and watching it unfold. He spotted two men to the right of him who might have been somebody’s goons, but whomever they worked for wasn’t high enough on the totem pole for them to even recognize that he was Mick Sinatra’s son. They didn’t count. There was one female, on the other side of the diner, who kept eyeing him. But he decided she was a hooker, so she didn’t count, either. But they were just the sideshows. The main event was why a man of Teddy’s stature would be in that dingy diner. And within minutes, the main event arrived.
Teddy stood up, buttoned his suitcoat, and began to make his way for the exit as his target, a con named Johnny Rush, appeared in view. Teddy stood at the exit until the tall, slender man walked past the diner’s door, and then Teddy walked out. He hurried up behind Rush just as an SUV hurried up from across the street. And before the walking man knew what had hit him, Teddy grabbed Rush from behind, put him in a chokehold, and forced him into the alley on the side of the diner. The SUV raced into the alley just behind them.
Mick Sinatra: Love and Shadows Page 1
