Clean Slate (New Mafia Trilogy #2)

by E. J. Fechenda

  Anthony “The Giant” was working the door and I jumped the line. We bumped fists before he waved me through. Of course I bypassed the metal detectors. The music grew louder as I approached; pulsating bass causing the floor and walls to vibrate. I pushed through the crowd. I didn’t feel the need to have security do that for me, nor did I travel with an entourage and hold court in the VIP section like Uncle Marco.

  Richie was behind the bar and I found an empty stool near the cash register.

  “Dom, what’s up?” Richie greeted me with smile as he made a few mixed drinks. “I miss having you working back here with me, man. How’s life on the other side?” He had to shout over the music to be heard.

  “It’s a lot of work. Some days I’d rather be tending bar.”

  Richie set a pint of Yuengling down in front of me along with a shot of Jack Daniels. I picked the shot glass up and raised it, dipping my head in a silent salute before draining every last drop of whiskey. Richie made sure my pint glass stayed full. I watched women in tight dresses, tight jeans, tight everything come up to the bar and place orders. One woman pressed herself up next to me and leaned over the bar to get Richie’s attention, her cleavage practically spilling out into the tip jar. Her skirt was riding up, almost revealing her ass. At one point she shifted, and I caught a glimpse of pale pink lace.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked and she turned to look at me. Her blue eyes widened then proceeded to scan me up and down. She smiled and moved closer so she was standing between my legs, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder. The woman’s make-up was a little on the heavy side so it was hard to tell how old she was, but she was reasonably attractive. Her hip brushed against my inner thigh and I started to get a hard-on from the contact.

  “Rum and coke, but the bartender is so busy.”

  “I got this.” I waved at Richie and he hustled right over.

  With fresh drinks in hand, I turned my attention back to the woman. “Hi, I’m Dom.”

  “Lilly,” she said before sucking on her straw, looking at my lips the entire time. She bumped against my thigh again and paused, glancing down at the bulge in my pants. Christ, I had been living like a monk, holding out for Natalie and now I was about ready to cum in my pants like a hormonally charged middle-schooler. Lilly moved in closer and placed a hand on my thigh, dangerously close to my dick.

  “Come here,” I said, reaching up and grabbing a handful of hair at the back of her neck, bringing her lips to mine. Her mouth was sickly sweet from the rum and coke with a distinctive hint of cigarettes, but the longer we kissed, the less I noticed.

  We left Crimson soon after that. I ignored Miranda’s curious stare when we walked past her on the way to the exit. We slid into a waiting cab and got busy groping each other on the short ride to my condo. Lilly’s boobs were fake and had lost their natural softness, but I was so hard up it didn’t matter. Aside from jacking off occasionally, I hadn’t had a release since California.

  The last shots of whiskey kicked in and I wasn’t feeling much of anything by the time we stumbled through my front door. We hit the bedroom and Lilly rode me like a rodeo champion; it was a fucking miracle I lasted longer than eight seconds. The room was spinning and I closed my eyes, slipping into an alcohol-induced sleep.

  At some point during the morning, I gravitated towards a warm body in my bed, convinced it was Natalie. I curled up behind her, wrapping my arm around a slim waist, tucking her up against me. I nuzzled into her neck, but instead of Natalie’s soft strands, the hair I was nestled in was coarse and reeked of hairspray and cigarette smoke. I opened my eyes to reality, practically pushing Lilly out of bed in my hurry to break contact. She had a faded tramp stamp on her lower back, some generic combination of hearts and roses.

  “Good morning,” Lilly said. She stretched out; slow and languid like a cat in a beam of sunshine, before getting up to use the bathroom. I looked at the pillowcase, on the pillow Natalie used to use, and noticed a beige smear from foundation and black streaks of mascara marred the white cotton. The stains were an unwanted sight, as unwanted as the woman I had welcomed into my bed. She needed to go and the sheets needed to be washed. What the fuck was I thinking?

  Chapter 37

  LOS ANGELES

  NATALIE

  Feeling guilty over the way things ended with Jason, I called him as soon as I got back from shooting practice. I didn’t waste time with small talk.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. You’re right. I am keeping you at a distance. I’ll work on it, okay?”

  “That’s all I ask. I understand you’re still healing. I’m sorry too.”

  We made arrangements to meet at our favorite taco stand to grab a quick dinner before work. When I hung up, I listened to the voicemail from Dominic again. The strain in his voice was obvious when he asked if it was true that I was in a relationship with Jason. I wasn’t ready to respond so I turned off my phone and went to get ready for work. It wasn’t until two nights later when I called him back. He answered immediately and I closed my eyes at the sound of his voice.

  “I was wondering if you were ever going to call me back,” he said without any hostility, just wariness.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Grant told me about you and Jason. Is it true?”

  “Yes,” I answered, my voice breathless because admitting it out loud to Dominic physically ached, like having the wind knocked out of me.

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “No.”

  This response was met with silence. When Dominic spoke next, his tone was lighter, laced with a hint of hopefulness. “Do you still love me?”

  I broke at that point, tears pooling in the corners of my eyes before spilling down my cheeks in a hot river. “I never stopped, Dom. We’ll always be connected, but I’m doing better out here. It’s safe.”

  “Yeah, well I’m working on making it safe here too. Don’t give up on us, Nat. I’m not.” I couldn’t say any more after that, my throat choked with tears. “I love you,” Dom said before he hung up. I just stood in the kitchen and stared at my phone, realizing that while I had made zero progress at severing ties with Dominic, I was establishing ties in California and those needed fortifying in order to move forward.

  Weeks went by and things smoothed over with Jason. I started to open up to him about my mom and tumultuous upbringing, just little nuggets of information to help satisfy his curiosity. I was adjusting to being in a relationship again. Since I picked up an extra night at Dirty to pay for my flight back home, my personal time was limited. We both had Mondays off.

  It was on a Monday and I was in the bedroom, getting ready for a date with Jason, when there was a knock on the front door. Jason wasn’t supposed to arrive for at least an hour and I wasn’t expecting anyone else, so I warily approached, looking through the peephole first only to see a distorted view of the deserted walkway outside. My hand rested on the doorknob as I debated whether to open the door. A knock, this time down by my knees, made me jump back.

  Using the door as a barrier, I cautiously opened it and yelped when Victor tumbled into the entryway, landing on his back by my feet. Streaks of blood were smeared across his cheeks, his skin as white as plain yogurt. He groaned and writhed on the tile, holding onto his thigh. His hands were covered in fresh blood and his jeans were stained black, with the stain continuing to grow underneath his hands.

  “Jesus, Victor, what happened?”

  “I got shot. You're the closest. Need to call Gio.” He fumbled for his phone that was in the pocket above his wound, but when he relieved the pressure, this caused the blood flow to increase.

  “Hold on,” I knelt next to him and pressed my hands over the gunshot, putting all of my weight on it for maximum pressure. His blood was warm and gushed between my fingers and despite a major bout of queasiness; I held on while he fished his phone out and speed dialed Gio. After he told Gio what happened and gave him my address, Victor dropped his phone and lay back on the floor, pa
nting from the pain. His feet were sticking out of the doorway and he needed to move before we started to attract attention.

  “Is Gio coming here?” I asked, still keeping pressure on his wound.

  “Yeah and he’s sending a doctor.”

  “Can you move? I want to bring you to the futon – get you off the floor.”

  He swallowed and licked his lips, sweat dotted his brow and he closed his eyes before attempting to stand. It’s when he started doing this that I realized neither one of us could keep pressure on his leg.

  “Hold on, don’t move,” I said and jumped up.

  Grabbing a floral silk scarf out of my dresser, I ran back from the living room and crouching down next to Victor, tied the scarf like a tourniquet right above the bullet wound, slowing the blood flow to a trickle.

  Now we both had our hands free to move him into the living room. Victor was able to get to his feet, but he leaned heavily against me, his right leg unable to support any weight. He hissed with each step we took and by the time we hobbled the short distance to the futon, Victor’s black t-shirt was soaked with sweat from the exertion. I got him positioned so he was lying with his injured leg facing the outside. I propped a pillow underneath his head and wrapped his thigh in a towel. Victor’s breathing slowed and he drifted into a light slumber. Realizing the front door was still wide open, I went to close it and noticed Victor’s helmet was on the walkway. I picked it up and quickly shut the door, avoiding smears of blood on the tile. Grabbing another towel, I set that in the entry way and used my feet to swirl it around, mopping up some of the mess. Just as I was bending over to scoop it up, there was a light knock on the door. I opened it to find an older man wearing a polo shirt and khakis. He had on wire-framed glasses and carried a leather satchel like an old school doctor who made house calls.

  “I’m Dr. Brannigan, Gio sent me.”

  “Of course, come in. Oh, and watch your step.” I pointed to the drying smears on the tile and he sidestepped them to follow me into the living room.

  “He’s been out for about ten minutes, but his breathing and heart rate seem steady as far as I can tell.”

  “Good.” Dr. Brannigan set his bag down on the coffee table, pulling out a stethoscope and thermometer. He stuck that underneath Victor’s tongue and started checking his vitals while it registered. When he was done with his assessment, he said, “His temp is normal and he seems stable enough for me to extract the bullet. Did you do the tourniquet?”

  “Yes, did I do it right?”

  “It’s perfect, that was good thinking because it slowed his bleeding.” He turned back to his satchel and pulled out a vacuum sealed bag of stainless steel surgical tools. I recognized a scalpel and an instrument that resembled pliers. He next pulled out another bag that contained several syringes and little glass vials followed by a sleeve of gauze.

  “I’m going to need your help,” the doctor said to me and I raised my eyebrows.

  “What can I do?”

  “Go wash your hands and scrub them thoroughly with this towel.” He handed me a blue cotton towel from his bag.

  Oh God, he wanted me to be his surgical assistant? My stomach flipped at the thought, but the sight of Victor bleeding on my futon was enough for me to swallow the bile down and focus on him. When I came back from the kitchen where I had used a handful of antibacterial dishwashing soap to scrub my hands, Dr. Brannigan had cut up the leg of Victor’s jeans. The denim draped open, dragging on the floor and Victor’s injury was in full view. His thigh was muscular and covered in dark hair that was matted with blood. A dark hole about the size of a nickel belched out a trickle of blood every few seconds and it rolled down the side of his leg. The skin around the bullet wound was red and inflamed.

  Victor moaned and opened his eyes, coming to briefly. “Doc, you made it.”

  “Of course, I’m going to patch you up, but first I need to give you a local anesthetic. Do I have your permission?”

  “Yeah, do what you need to do.”

  “Okay,” Dr. Brannigan looked up at me from where he was sitting on the edge of the coffee table. “I need to inject around the entry point and it’s going to hurt. Do what you can to keep him still.”

  I hesitantly approached and braced my hands, one on Victor’s chest and the other right above the tourniquet. Then I leaned forward, letting all my weight fall on Victor’s torso. “Will this work?” I asked.

  I got my answer when Victor hissed and almost bucked me off. Dr. Brannigan quickly pulled back with a syringe in his hand. “Good, one down and one more to go. You’re doing great,” he reassured me.

  Victor’s reaction to the second injection wasn’t as extreme and I think he expended all of his energy the first time because he fell back asleep, his black hair plastered to his head with sweat. The doctor readied another syringe, sticking the needle in one of the small glass vials of medicine.

  “Is that more anesthetic?”

  “No, it’s an antibiotic. Since the bullet passed through his jeans, chances are there are small bits of fabric that got dragged into his leg. These are seen as foreign objects to the body and increase the risk for infection.”

  I watched as he stuck the needle into Victor’s thigh. Next he shaved the area around the entry point. He was just getting ready to delve in with the plier-looking thing to remove the bullet when someone pounded on the door, causing Dr. Brannigan to jump and swear under his breath. I quickly answered the door. Gio and Jimmy pushed past me as soon as I opened it.

  I followed them into the living room and Dr. Brannigan took off the latex surgical gloves to shake Gio’s hand.

  “How is he?” Gio asked.

  “It’s not a through and through so I have to fish the bullet out, but I don’t think there will be significant muscle damage. He’s lost a lot of blood though.”

  “Yeah, the crazy son of a bitch rode his Harley here and you probably saw the trail of blood on the stairs. Speaking of which, Natalie, you might want to go clean that up.”

  My spine stiffened at his direction, but he was right, a trail of blood leading right to my front door wouldn’t make me friends with the property management company. As I went to the linen closet to grab the rattiest looking towels, I thought about Victor; I had been so busy taking care of him that I hadn’t considered the flight of stairs he had to climb in order to reach my apartment. No wonder he was in so much agony.

  There wasn’t much blood on the stairs, just a series of drops, but the railing was covered in bloody handprints. The fact that it was dark outside and I had limited lighting made the clean up a little bit more difficult. I was about halfway up the steps, armed with a bottle of Clorox bathroom cleaner and a couple of towels when Jason arrived.

  “Jesus Christ, Nat. Are you hurt?” He came rushing up out of nowhere, scaring the shit out of me. I shrieked and dropped the cleaner as I whirled to face him. “You’re covered in blood,” he said.

  I had completely forgotten about our date by this point and wasn’t paying attention to my appearance. Jason gripped me by my shoulders and I looked down at the front of my clothes. I had unfortunately worn a white long sleeved sweater, which was now more reddish brown that white. My jeans were stained as well, but not as glaringly obvious as my sweater.

  “I’m fine Jason. It’s not my blood.”

  “Oh thank God!” He pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “Whose blood is it and what are you doing out here?”

  I sighed and stepped out of his embrace. Some blood had transferred to his light blue dress shirt. “Shit, I got it on you. I’m sorry.” Something about seeing Jason’s clean shirt soiled from touching me made me think that it was analogous to my life tainting his. He was going to be a lawyer and here my apartment had become a clinic for injured mobsters.

  “It’s just a shirt, Nat. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Gathering up the cleaner and pile of dirty towels, I led Jason to my apartment and opened the door.

  “Victor was
shot,” I told him in a low voice as soon as we were inside. “He showed up here and now there’s a doctor in the living room doing minor surgery.”

  “What?”

  He followed me into the living room and I heard him mumble a few curse words at the scene before him. Dr. Brannigan had successfully removed the bullet; it was on top of a nest of gauze on my coffee table. He was hunched over Victor, sewing up his leg.

  Gio and Jimmy eyed up Jason so I made quick introductions.

  “Natalie, doc says Victor can’t be moved for at least twenty-four hours so he needs to stay here,” Gio said and it wasn’t a question or request.

  “Um, okay?”

  “No,” Jason butted in. “He’s your guy and your problem, not Nat’s.” He towered over Gio, but Gio didn’t back down or even flinch. Instead he smiled, but his eyes flickered with something malevolent, like a dark cloud had passed over his irises. Shit, I needed to intervene so I stepped forward, inserting myself between Jason and Gio.

  “Jase, it’s fine. Victor’s a friend and he can stay here.”

  “What the fuck, Natalie.” He took a step back, glaring at me. “I thought this shit is why you left Philadelphia?”

  “It’s not like Victor planned on getting shot and showing up bleeding on my doorstep, Jason! He’s here, it’s done and I’m not going to kick him out.”

  “Well, I’m not going to stand by and watch you get sucked back into this…” pausing he pointed at Gio and his men. “…this life.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  “Is he going to be a problem?” Gio asked me. “He can be easily disposed of you know.”

  I shuddered because I did know and there was no way in hell I’d let Jason meet that fate. “No, he’s fine. I’ll smooth things over. We were supposed to be going out on a date tonight and well…anyway, is Victor going to be okay?” I asked, deliberately changing the topic.