“Nothing,” Vic said. “Their paperwork is exclusively related to Champagne’s. They’re only interested in your wife’s clothing store. They’re only interested in Champagne’s.”
“This shit doesn’t make sense, Vic,” Reno said as he swiped his key on the side of his private elevator and the doors opened. “If they really wanted Champagne’s why didn’t they go to her main location?” Reno and Vic got onto the elevator.
“I don’t know,” Vic said. “But I agree with you it would have made more sense.”
Reno looked at Josie, who remained on the outside of the elevator. His body kept the door from closing. “Did you send somebody over there just in case?” Reno asked him.
“We have it under full guard,” Josie said.
“Order her staff to shut it down for today,” Reno said. “If they ask on whose authority, tell them mine. If those fuckers want to raid there too, they’ll have to go through me first.”
“Yes, sir,” Josie said, and allowed the door to close with Reno and Vic enclosed. He veered off to do as Reno had commanded him. Reno and Vic rode upstairs, and then hurried off toward the small boutique.
Sal, to Reno’s surprise, was already inside the store, standing near the entrance where he was ordered to stand by the Feds.
“You got here fast,” Reno said.
“Josie called me. I wasn’t that far away. Gem’s in court. Tree’s in New York. Your ass was wherever your ass was. So I knew somebody had to be here.”
“Hello, Sal,” Vic said.
“What’s up?” Sal asked. Then he looked at Reno. “What the fuck is this about? This place is a hundred percent legit. Why are they here?”
“Hell if I know,” Reno said.
“This shit makes zero sense,” Sal said. “They raid Champagne’s when they’ve got the whole fucking PaLargio, or even my corporation to raid? With our slick asses at the helm of those corporations? But they raid Champagne’s instead? In what world does that make sense?”
“And it’s not even Champagne’s main location they’re raiding,” Vic added.
“Yeah,” Sal agreed. “Not even there.” He looked back at Reno. “What the fuck is going on here?”
But Reno didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the agents. He was too busy sizing up their motivation by reading the expressions on their faces. He counted at least six different FBI agents as they went through boxes and boxes of inventory, the cash registers, and the offices in the back. He usually liked Sal around to bounce some ideas around. But somehow he knew none of that mattered. Somehow this all felt plastic to him. Fake. Sleigh of hands bullshit. Then suddenly he felt a heaviness for Trina.
“Give me a minute,” he said, and went outside, near the food court. He pulled out his cellphone, and called Trina. It took several rings, but she answered.
“Hey,” she said.
“You sound like you’re in bed?”
“I am. We didn’t get in until four this morning. These people party hard at New York Fashion Week. I must have attended ten different parties.”
Reno didn’t know how he liked that information. The idea of his wife so far away partying her ass off, with all of those horny-ass strange men rubbing against her fine body wasn’t something he cared to think about. But he told her to have fun. She was only doing what he asked her to do.
“Everybody alright?” Trina asked. “The children okay? You?”
“We’re good,” Reno said. “But the Feds have arrived.”
“Ah man! They haven’t found anything though, right?”
“They aren’t exactly sharing their findings with me. But I doubt it. They aren’t raiding my place.”
He could imagine the frown on her face. “They aren’t? Then whose place are they raiding?”
“Yours,” Reno said.
He could imagine her naked body sitting up in bed. “What? My place? They’re raiding Champagne’s?”
“You got it,” Reno confirmed. “And not your main location either. They’re raiding the one inside the PaLargio.”
“Wait a minute. My PaLargio location? But why, Reno? That’s the smaller store.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Should I come back?”
“Hell no. I’ve got this. I’m just . . .” He began pacing around the food court area.
“You’re just what?” Trina asked him.
“It feels artificial to me, Tree. I’ve been around a lot of Fed raids in my day, and those guys are always serious. They always look like this is make or break for them, and they’re trying to make their career on that raid. But these guys today, I don’t know. They look like they’re just going through the motions. They look like they aren’t going to find shit, and that’s fine by them.”
“Then why would they be there if it’s nothing to find? Which, by the way, it’s not. But what’s the point?”
“That’s the million dollar question. It’s like they’re trying to distract me.”
“But from what?”
“I don’t know. It’s like they want me focused over here, so I don’t see what’s going on over there. And I don’t even know where the fuck over there is.”
“Gee, Reno. You’ve got my head spinning with that kind of analysis.”
“I know. I’m sorry, babe. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, not scare you half to death.”
“I’m not scared. I just don’t want you over thinking this.”
Reno nodded. “I agree.”
“But I am going to cut this trip short.”
“Hell no, Tree.”
“Yes, Reno.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to be there with you. Because I want to see what those assholes did to my store. Jean Paul’s showing isn’t until tonight, and I have to stay for that, and meet with him. But after that meeting, I’m flying back to Vegas.”
It was music to Reno’s ears. And he knew the children would be thrilled. “But are you sure?” he asked her.
“I’m sure. Oprah can stay and see the rest of the shows. So far I’ve bought some great pieces. I trust her judgment.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I’m happy to have you back safe in my arms again. That’s why I wanted my plane to remain in New York as long as you remained there.”
“Easy access?”
“Easy access,” Reno agreed.
Trina laughed. “You have me right where you want me, don’t you? Right under your thumb.”
Reno smiled. “Right there,” he said. Then he exhaled. “I’d better get back. Sal’s watching those Feds, but I want to make sure they don’t try any of their evidence planting bullshit.”
“Okay, Ree, I’ll call you tonight once I board the plane.”
“Sounds good,” he said, and they said their goodbyes.
But when Reno ended the call, he still felt unsettled. He still felt that heaviness for Trina he felt before the call, only it felt even heavier. He had men in New York keeping an eye on her. They’d already reported back to him this morning that she had a long night on the town, but nothing was amiss. So they kept their distance. But Reno still couldn’t shake that feeling. And when it came to his wife, he didn’t take any chances.
He walked back across the food court, and back into Champagne’s. The Feds were still hard at work, and Sal and Vic were still staring at them. Reno pulled Sal aside.
“What’s up?” Sal asked.
“I need to borrow your plane.”
“Borrow my plane?” Sal asked.
“Trina has mine in New York.”
“And you want to go there?”
Reno nodded. “Right.”
“Why? What’s wrong? Hell yeah you can take the plane. But is Trina in some kind of danger?”
“No, nothing like that. At least it better not be. But I have this feeling. I don’t know where it’s coming from. I don’t know what it’s about. All I know is that it involves Tree.”
“Then go,” Sal said. “I’ll get Dommi and
Sophie out of school and keep them with me.”
“Get some men on Jimmy too,” Reno said. “He’s back in New Hampshire.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Sal assured him. “I’ve got a crew out of Boston. Don’t worry.”
Reno didn’t. Not when Sal was taking charge. Reno knew Sal loved his children as if they were his own.
“I’ll alert my pilot to get ready to take you there. You just go and see about your wife.”
“Thanks, Sal,” Reno said. They shook hands. Reno wanted to hug him. But he knew Sal didn’t play that.
Reno left. Sal moved back over to Vic.
“What was that about?” Vic asked him.
“The lengths a man will go to,” Sal said, “for his lover.”
“I hope you mean Trina.”
Sal looked at Vic frowningly. “Who the fuck else do I mean?” he asked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Six hours later and Trina and Oprah had front row seats to what was billed as the Jean Paul Steps Out in Soho fashion show. Trina had been attending Fashion Week for years, when they were held in tents around Bryant Park, and at various other locations around New York. But this was Oprah’s first time attending, and she was ecstatic. Trina was too. She was actually enjoying herself. But after her phone call with Reno, she was anxious now to get this over with, and get back home to her family.
That wish was soon to come true when Jean Paul Cousteau was introduced.
He walked out onto the stage slowly, milking the applause and the love from the crowd. He was French, and getting up there in years, as he swaggered to the center of the runway. He talked about his journey. He talked about his struggles and his climb up the ladder in the industry. Then finally, to Trina’s relief, he talked about his collection. It was his usual menswear line, but with what he called a twist: not just business suits, but leisure suits as well.
And as the show began, and the models came out one by one, walking like robot mannequins, the clothes stole the show. They were very Jean Paulesque. From the perfect stitching on every garment, to the elegance of every suit, Trina was impressed. She knew her boutique needed that unbelievably high-end style too, and she could only imagine what Jean Paul could do for her.
But she also still wondered why he chose her. Champagne’s was on the rise. It was a phoenix alright. But he was already at the top. He was already traveling in rarefied air. She understood Pierre’s points about Cousteau wanting to put his stamp on an up and coming chain, but was it her arrogance that made her believe that her store could be the one? Was the fact that her husband was the top dog in Vegas inflating her sense of accomplishment to where she was missing the clues?
Or was it just the opposite? Did Cousteau need her more than she needed him? Was his brand in some kind of disarray and Champagne’s was going to be used to prop him up? Was that why the Feds were raiding her boutique, because they got wind of her alliance with Cousteau and Cousteau was in trouble? Trina exhaled. The possibilities were swirling in her head. She was going to approach this deal even more carefully, she decided, than she had already planned.
Reno and Jimmy stepped off of Sal’s plane at LaGuardia and hurried across the tarmac to the waiting Lincoln Town car. Jimmy had still been in Vegas an extra day, as he continued to try and patch things up with his wife. When Reno phoned and told him he was going to take Uncle Sal’s plane to New York, and could drop Jimmy off in Dover after he made sure Trina was okay, Jimmy jumped at the chance. New York was only an hour-and-a-half plane ride from New Hampshire, and private air travel versus commercial was no comparison to Jimmy. He was thrilled.
Nark Giuseppe, the man in charge of Trina’s security while she was in town, was standing beside the car with the passenger door opened.
“Welcome back to the Big Apple, boss,” Nark said with his heavy Brooklyn accent, as Reno piled into the back passenger seat. Jimmy, certain the two men had business to discuss, piled into the front passenger seat, and Nark got in the back beside Reno. The driver whisked them away.
“Where is she?” Reno asked Nark.
“Still in Soho, boss. Still at that fashion show.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary?”
“Nothing, boss. And we checked everything.”
Reno leaned back and crossed his legs. Maybe his decision to come to New York was all a big overreaction. Maybe he was wasting his time, Trina’s time, and every last one of his men’s time. But his gut never lied, and it still felt unsettled. “Did you run background again?”
Nark nodded. “Yes, sir. We ran a deeper on both of those guys, just like you requested.”
“And?”
“On Pierre Durand, nothing jumps out. And I mean nothing. He taught fashion design for several years. Then he was creative director at a few fashion houses. Then eventually he hooked up with Cousteau.”
“I need more than that,” Reno said with edge in his voice. “Any arrests, any connections with thugs? Give me something, Nark!”
“There’s nothing to give, boss. We went back. We searched deep as we could go. We turned up nothing. He was married once, to a Sharon Kunocklin. They had three kids, all grown and successful now. The only mark on his record, if you want to call it that, is his divorce. His wife divorced him seventeen years ago after he had an affair with the nanny.”
“Her name?” Reno asked.
“The nanny? Misty Landers. They moved in together after the divorce, but it only lasted a few months.”
“And that’s all you’ve got?” Reno asked.
“That’s all we have,” Nark responded.
“What about Cousteau?” Reno asked.
“His father was a designer. His grandfather was a designer. He followed in their footsteps. They all made men’s clothing. They all were successful at it. Nothing unusual there.”
“His personal?”
“He’s married to a French actress named Claudia Monet, supposedly some big deal actress in France, and they have no kids. There’s rumors that they’re extravagant and spends more than they earn, but what else is new, right? There were also rumors, years ago, that he had a love child with his mistress, but he kept the kid, and the mistress, under wraps.”
“Her name?”
“The child or the mistress?”
“Both,” Reno said.
“The child is a grown woman now, of course. Her name is Zella Marie Tufarna.”
Reno looked at Nark. Jimmy turned around too. He knew that Tufarna name.
“Zella what?” Reno asked Nark.
“Zella Tufarna,” Nark said. “Why boss? What’s wrong?” Nark could see the sudden distress on Reno’s face.
“What was her mother’s name?” Reno asked anxiously.
Nark quickly looked back down at his paperwork. “Jeneen,” he said and looked back up at Reno. “Jeneen Tufarna.”
“Motherfucker!” Reno screamed. “Go! Get me to my wife now! Go!”
“Floor it!” Jimmy yelled to the driver, and the driver did just that.
“Call her detail,” Reno ordered. “Tell them to crash that gotdamn fashion show and get her out of there now!”
“Yes, sir,” Nark said, and got right on it.
Reno wanted to jump out of his skin. Because he now knew what his gut was telling him all along. It was about that night. That fucking night! And he remembered it as if it happened yesterday.
His father, Paulo Gabrini, came to his grand reopening of the PaLargio, but he came with news that Reno might not be the rightful owner. Reno remembered sitting in that limousine and listening to his father tell him that some woman from Australia, Jeneen Tufarna, had a will, and that will made her the heir to her deceased mother’s inheritance. That inheritance included the PaLargio. But her estranged brother Tony Tufarna claimed ownership, ran it into the ground, and then plunged it into bankruptcy before this Jeneen even knew her mother had died. The same Tony Tufarna who, years later, would shoot and nearly kill Reno’s oldest son Jimmy after he forced Reno to choose which on
e of his family members lived, and which one died. But back then the sister, Jeneen Tufarna, showed up, demanding what she claimed belonged to her. Reno remembered that shit like it was recent.
He also remembered that same night, when Paulo Gabrini set up a meeting, and Reno attended that meeting in Jeneen’s lawyer’s office. The lawyer and Alberto Serrantz, Paulo’s driver and bodyguard, were also there.
But it was a disaster. Jeneen was tough, demanding that he give her back her mother’s hotel or she was going straight to the authorities. When Reno tried to point out that her mother’s hotel was bankrupt, thanks to her brother Tony, and that the property had been purchased fair and square and lawfully, she didn’t want to hear it. She and her brother didn’t grow up together, they rarely saw each other, and they rarely spoke. She hated him and he hated her. What her brother did was of no consequence to her. But Reno argued with her, and there was a lot of back and forth. Until Paulo had had enough.
“Forget this shit,” Reno remembered his father saying, and then rising from his chair. Without any warning to any of them, Paulo pulled out a gun and shot Jeneen Tufarna right through the head. She died instantly.
Reno was a young man then, and he knew how vicious his father could be. But that stunned him. He thought he could get the lady to see the error of her sense of entitlement. He was even willing to give her money if that would put an end to it. But it was all over in a second. She was dead. He had a big-ass problem. Thanks to his fucking father.
But Paulo wasn’t done. He held that same gun to her lawyer’s head. “Give me that will or it’ll be the last piece of paper you ever possess,” he ordered.
The lawyer, unsavory in his own right, complied. He knew mob boss Paulo didn’t play. Then Paulo tossed the will to Reno.
“Now you got yourself a choice, boy,” Paulo said to his confused son. “You can call the cops and turn your old man in for killing the bitch, or you can get on with it. Turning me in has a lot of risks, as you know. My crew won’t like it.”
Reno frowned. “Fuck your crew!” he responded.
Sick Paulo laughed. He loved Reno’s toughness. “The other risk,” Paulo continued, “ain’t too great either. Because if you turn me in, you’ll lose the PaLargio. You’ll have to. Because this lawyer fucker right here will live, and he’ll talk. That’s what lawyers do.”
Reno Gabrini: For His Lover (The Mob Boss Series Book 14) Page 15
