Reno Gabrini: For His Lover (The Mob Boss Series Book 14)

by Mallory Monroe

  “Or,” Paulo went on, “I can kill this motherfucker and bury him. You can take that will, and bury her. And you get to keep your crown jewel. The PaLargio will still be yours forever. No more Tufarnas will try to give you any more headaches. But it’s all up to you, Reno. It’s all up to you.”

  Reno remembered feeling as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His father had murdered that woman as if he was squashing a roach. Reno didn’t agree with her assertion that the PaLargio belonged to her, and he would fight to the death to defend his ownership. But his psycho father had already taken it out of his hands. He’d already taken them there.

  Jeneen’s lawyer was pathetic, crying and begging for his life, and Alberto Serrantz was laughing at him. But Reno knew his father had him in no man’s land. Reno wasn’t going to agree to let his father kill that lawyer because that lawyer hadn’t done anything to them. Reno couldn’t shed innocent blood like that. Back then, he left stones unturned. Now he never did.

  And the other option, the option of snitching on his old man, even for a heinous crime like the one his old man had just committed, wasn’t going to happen either. “The lawyer lives,” Reno said.

  “Thank you!” the lawyer cried.

  “Don’t thank me, motherfucker!” Reno said harshly. “I’m not doing you any favors! I’m putting your ass on notice. Because if you talk, if you ever speak a word about what happened in this room, we’ll kill your mama, your wife, your children, your siblings, and you too while we’re at it.”

  Paulo smiled. Reno was a ruthless bastard. “You understand the stakes, Mouthpiece?” Paulo asked the lawyer. “You understand what my boy is telling you? That’s my boy right there! That’s my son!”

  “I understand,” the lawyer said. “She never came to this office. I never seen her before in my life. I don’t know anything about her or any will or anything!”

  Reno remembered his father and Alberto laughing. Then Paulo looked at his son. “What are you standing there for?” he asked. “Bury her ass!”

  And Reno did.

  God help him, he did.

  “Contact her detail,” he was presently yelling at Nark, as if all those buried bodies were at this very moment trying to bury him. “Tell them to get my wife and get her now!”

  “Go faster,” Jimmy was telling the driver. “You’ve got to go faster!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jean Paul Cousteau poured himself another glass of wine. His two guests, Zell Tufarna and Alberto Serrantz, sat at the bar in front of him. Jean Paul was just about to present his collection. They were finalizing details.

  “I would love to see his face,” Alberto said. “I would love to see that fucker’s face when he finds out his wife is in our hands, and his fraud is about to be exposed.”

  “He took my mother’s hotel,” Zell said. “It was hers by rights. He just took it.”

  “Don’t forget I was there that night,” Alberto said. “I used to be his old man’s driver and bodyguard. I saw it all and heard it all. It was the night Reno had his grand opening. He had brought the PaLargio fair and square, he thought, and he wasn’t letting anybody take it away from him. I was there when they killed her.”

  Zell’s heart still squeezed with grief and bitter anger whenever she thought about what Gabrini did to her mother.

  “I was there when Reno took that will and no doubt buried it just like he buried your mama. He knew that woman had a right to the PaLargio, but he ignored her right and asserted his own. Just like when I went to prison. His old man dumped me like he didn’t know me. All those years of service, and he didn’t know me all of a sudden. I was glad when Frank Partanna’s men killed Paulo’s psycho ass. I was still in prison when it happened, but I was celebrating.”

  Alberto paused, as if he was reliving that time. “But after he died, I felt free. And that’s why, as soon as I got out of prison and was free for real, I went looking for anybody kin to Jeneen Tufarna. Yeah, I was looking to get paid. Who isn’t? But I went searching because I was there that night. I saw what they did.”

  “He took what wasn’t his,” Zell said. “The PaLargio should be my legacy, not his.”

  “But that’s a Gabrini for you,” Alberto said. “That’s a Gabrini. They take, take, and take. I can’t wait till he get his.”

  “It won’t be long now,” Jean Paul said. “His wife has arrived. And after the show, once we secure her, it will only be a matter of time before we secure the PaLargio once again. For Jeneen’s sake. The woman I loved. The woman I assumed wanted no further dealings with me because of my refusal to divorce my wife. But it was my fault too. I should have checked on her. I should have phoned when she would not. But I never did. Now you come, Alberto, and tell us the truth of what happened to her. We will get Gabrini to bend. He will sign over the PaLargio to my daughter. He will suffer mightily for what he did. We won’t stop until it’s done. For Jeneen. For the sake of that good woman.”

  Zell, however, looked concerned.

  “What is it, Zell?” They had only established a closer bond in the last few months, when Alberto approached her and she eventually told him what Alberto knew. Jean Paul was still married, as he had been married when he met Jeneen Tufarna on holiday in Australia. When she told him she was pregnant, he gave her a little money, but would never acknowledge the child. He was married to a famous actress. He had to be careful. Now his child was plotting revenge, and had come to him for help. But right now, she looked over her head. “It’s all in hand, my dear,” he said to her. “You must be hopeful.”

  “But nothing thus far has worked, Father,” Zell said to him. “Andre: dead. Stephanie: dead. Kapper Cole: missing. Everybody we recruited has fallen by the wayside. Nothing has worked.”

  “That’s because we had to rely on others to do the job for us,” Jean Paul said. “We paid others to do our dirty work. No more. Now it is the three of us who will do this job. It is the three of us who will reap the benefits. And he’ll pay for what he did. He’ll pay handsomely once he sees we have his wife.”

  “She thinks you are interested in going into business with her,” Zell said with a smile.

  “Can you imagine? Even Pierre does not know what is going on. He thinks I am actually interested in putting my brand in that gaudy little store of hers.”

  “Champagne’s it is called,” Zell said.

  “Champagne my ass!” Jean Paul responded. “I saw the clothes in their catalogue. It is more on the order of beer or soda water, or maybe Gatorade. Champagne? No!”

  Alberto and Zell laughed.

  “Cheers,” Jean Paul said jovially, raising his glass, and they all clicked their glasses eagerly. They clicked like people on the verge of something big.

  After Cousteau’s show, after Oprah kept agreeing with Trina on each and every garment she liked, Zell approached them. “Mrs. Gabrini?”

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Cousteau is ready to meet with you. He’s waiting in his limousine.”

  “Oh, okay,” Trina said, grabbing her purse and rising. “I guess I was expecting Pierre.”

  “He handles the after-show, I’m afraid. He’s not available. But I’m Mr. Cousteau’s daughter. My name is Zell. I’m sure I can assist you in any way you need. Will you follow me?”

  “Yes, of course,” Trina said.

  Oprah smiled. “Good luck, boss,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll finish up the orders and meet you at the hotel. I hope you guys can work something out.”

  “So do I, O,” Trina said as she followed Zell. “So do I!”

  Zell escorted her out of the fashion hall and to a waiting limousine. Zell and Trina got into the limo. Jean Paul and Alberto were already there.

  “Mrs. Gabrini, welcome,” Jean Paul said as Trina sat next to Zell across from the two men.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cousteau.”

  “You’ve met Zella, my daughter?”

  “Yes, I have.”

&nbs
p; “And this is our family friend, Alberto.”

  Trina and Alberto exchanged pleasantries.

  “Now we will go to my warehouse,” Jean Paul said, “and I will show you what the collection will entail.”

  Trina smiled. “Sounds great,” she said, as the limo began to move. Trina could see Reno’s men, in a black SUV, follow behind them.

  Jean Paul looked larger on stage, Trina thought, as they drove. Here, up close, he looked rail thin, and much older. His thick blond hair had an Andy Warhol purposeful wildness that looked sexy on stage, but frightful off.

  “Very nice outfit,” Jean Paul said as he looked down Trina’s slender body. “You have very good taste I see already.”

  “Thank you,” Trina said. “Thank you very much.”

  “So how did you like the show?”

  “I loved the show,” Trina admitted. “It was marvelous. The entire collection was very cohesive and stylish. Just gorgeous.”

  “You are so kind,” said Jean Paul. “I love it when somebody of your reputation recognizes craftsmanship.”

  Trina should have been flattered, but she wasn’t. She knew her reputation extended no further than Vegas, and even there she was more widely known as Reno Gabrini’s wife than a successful entrepreneur. “I purchased a few of your suits for my oldest boy Jimmy.”

  “Oh,” Jean Paul said. “I thought you were going to say for your husband. You are married, no?”

  “I’m married, yes.”

  “No purchases for your husband?”

  “No,” Trina said.

  “Why not, if I may ask?”

  Because Reno, Trina knew, wouldn’t be caught dead in any suit that cheap. She also knew that, to the average buyer, a Jean Paul suit was not cheap at all. But Reno wasn’t an average buyer. “He has a certain group of designers he prefers,” she responded.

  “One of those men who will not alter their preference?”

  “Not on your life,” Trina responded.

  Jean Paul laughed. “But your son, he is more flexible?”

  “I would say so, yeah,” Trina agreed. “He’s not about to spend the kind of money his father spends on clothes. But he’s still young,” she added, and Jean Paul laughed again.

  “Anyway,” Trina said, leaning forward, “about the deal. According to Pierre Durand, you not only would like your clothes in my stores, but you wish to have an ownership slice too.”

  “Business, business, business,” Jean Paul said with a wave of the hand. “May I be frank? I am tired of business. But I know you came all this way specifically to talk business. And I am a man who appreciates that. But certainly not in the car. Wait until we get to my office. We will talk, we will discuss, and hopefully we will agree. But right now, let us relax and enjoy the ride.”

  Trina would have preferred to get it over with right here and now, but she understood who she was dealing with. He wanted her to see the clothes. He wanted to rub his success in her face. Not just for show, but because, if this is legit, he wanted the best deal he could possibly get. Since this was the opportunity of a lifetime for Champagne’s, she didn’t complain. She smiled, and leaned back.

  The ride was pleasant and comfortable, as Jean Paul talked a lot about himself and his family legacy. But Trina was only half listening. Because for all of his big talk and bravado, something seemed off. She didn’t know what it was, but something seemed forced. As if his conversation wasn’t about giving information, but hiding it.

  But before she could connect any dots, before she could understand that her first reaction about the oddity of Cousteau teaming up with Champagne’s was probably right, a car careened in front of the limousine and cut it off. Only it cut too close and hit the front passenger side light. The limo swerved and then came to a screeching halt. The car stopped too.

  But it was all Trina needed. This wasn’t right. She knew it now. This was a set up! She quickly unbuckled her seatbelt as Reno’s men jumped out of the SUV behind them, some five men strong, and hurried toward the limo. Just as Trina was reaching for the door handle, Reno’s men were on either side of the limo, and were opening the doors themselves.

  “Everybody okay?” one of the bodyguards asked, but as soon as he asked it, and before Trina could say a word, Alberto pulled a gun and shot the bodyguard through the forehead. Jean Paul pulled a gun and shot the second guard through the forehead, and Cousteau’s driver and bodyguard on the front seat jumped out and began a gunfight with Reno’s remaining men.

  Trina attempted to jump out of that limo and make a run for it somehow, but Zell pointed a gun right at her head.

  “Try it, bitch,” she said, “and I’ll kill you. Now get your head down!” Zell ordered, as she shoved Trina down onto the floor.

  “I can’t get through, boss,” Nark said to Reno as he frantically tried to reach the detail in charge of Trina’s security.

  “GPS them!” Reno yelled, nearly standing as he moved as far up in the backseat as he could move. Their driver was driving wildly, causing them to bump around with every sharp turn, to get where they needed to go.

  Jimmy did as his father had ordered and pulled up the dashboard monitor, and punched in the tracker. “They’re no longer at the fashion show,” he said. “They’re on the move, Dad!”

  “Where?” Reno asked frantically.

  “They stopped,” Jimmy said, surprised himself. “They stopped on some fucking side street!”

  “Damn! Damn! Damn!” Reno yelled as he hit the back of the front seat.

  “Turn right,” Jimmy yelled to the driver, terrified for his mother, as he looked at the tracker and gave the driver directions. “And then another left!”

  “I’m on it, boss,” the driver said to Jimmy, and drove even faster, if that were even possible.

  And then Nark’s cellphone rang. “It’s them,” Nark said and answered quickly, placing the call on Speaker.

  “Where the fuck are you?” Reno yelled.

  “A car just swiped Cousteau’s limo,” Reno’s man said into the phone. It was obvious that he was running. Then, before Reno could yell for them to get his wife, that it’s a trap, they heard him say two more words only: “Everybody okay?” he asked.

  And then gunfire erupted.

  “God, no,” Jimmy said, and turned and looked at his father. But Reno was too stunned to speak. He was listening for his wife’s voice. He was listening for his wife’s scream. He was listening for anything that would let him know that Trina survived.

  But all he heard was even more gunfire.

  And then silence. Scary silence.

  His driver was driving as fast as he could. Nark was yelling for somebody from the security detail to answer him. And Reno was in shock. He should have seen this coming. But his stupid ass didn’t. His stupid ass allowed his wife, the mother of his children, to come to New York, to have some fun, and to die. He let his wife walk right into an ambush! Because of his own stupid ass.

  He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. Every man he had in New York was on that detail. He didn’t have any more.

  And suddenly he was exhausted. Suddenly lifting his arms felt like lifting weights. He leaned back, as his SUV continued to careen wildly to get there, and covered his face with his hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  They arrived at the scene of the ambush within minutes. The limo was gone, but the SUV, with its doors wide open, was still there. And Reno’s men, all five of them, were dead.

  “Geez,” Jimmy said, his hand in his hair, as they all jumped out of the Town car. “Who would do this? Who would do this, Dad?”

  But Reno wasn’t interested in answering anybody’s questions. All he knew was that his wife was missing, and he had to find her. All he knew was that whoever had her was a sadistic murderer who killed his innocent men. He took a couple of their guns, and felt the sting of their loss. Jimmy took a couple guns too, as did Nark.

  “RIP motherfuckers,” Nark said sadly.

  Then it hit
Reno. “The backup,” he said.

  “The what up?” Nark asked, but Reno was already running toward the SUV. He remembered that it had a backup tracking system, but only if Trina wore the necklace that contained the chip. He told her to. Whenever she went out of town, he told her to wear it.

  He jumped into the SUV. The keys were still in the ignition, the truck was still cranked, and he pulled up the backup screen. If her location appeared, she obeyed him and wore the necklace. The co-ordinances appeared. She wore it.

  And as soon as Reno saw where her location was tracking, he took off. He didn’t wait for Jimmy to get onboard, he didn’t wait for Nark or anything or anybody. He couldn’t. He didn’t feel he had a second to waste. He took off.

  Jimmy agreed, and was glad to see his father taking charge again. “Follow my Dad!” he ordered the driver, and the driver, Jimmy, and Nark jumped back into the Town car. And they followed Reno.

  The tracker led them to a wooden, dilapidated warehouse near the Garment District. As soon as Reno approached the warehouse, and saw the guards outside, he knew he had to improvise. If these fuckers were as ruthless as their blatant ambush suggested, there was no time to waste. So he didn’t.

  He drove up to the warehouse as if he was going to stop and ask for directions, and then, as soon as the guards began to head his way, he floored it. The SUV careened wildly into the wooden building, crashing all the way through, as the guards pulled their weapons and began firing. Reno ducked and dodged as his windshield exploded, from the impact of the gunfire, into shards of glass.

  Nark, Jimmy, and their driver jumped out of the Town car, took cover, and began firing back, forcing the guards to defend from without before they could go inside, after Reno. But Jimmy also remembered what his Uncle Tommy taught him. He taught him to always have a backdoor plan. Somebody, Uncle Tommy told him, had to surprise those motherfuckers.