Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Lauren Landish

  "It's going well," I said, putting my bookmark in and closing the book. "I apparently at least halfway know how to waltz, and we're going to start working on the foxtrot."

  "Having fun with it still?" Tomasso asked, smirking.

  "It’s a fun little stress remover and exercise at the same time. I'll admit that," I said. After nearly three weeks, I wasn't sore anymore, but instead, I felt more comfortable, both with the intense regimen they were putting me through and being around the Bertolis. "The VersaClimber sprints still suck, though."

  Tomasso laughed and nodded. "They suck for everyone, but that's part of the appeal, learning to embrace the suck. In any case, are you ready for this afternoon?"

  "This afternoon?" I asked, confused. "Nobody told me anything about this afternoon."

  "They didn't?" He said, mock-perplexed. "Probably because I didn't tell anyone. Do you have jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt?"

  "Not here, but I have some at my apartment," I replied, sitting up. "Should I get them?"

  "Yes, and then meet me back here. I'm taking over your training this afternoon." Tomasso had a little twinkle in his eye, like whatever I'd be doing was going to be fun.

  "Any hints?" I asked, setting my book aside and getting up. "You know, so I can make sure I wear the right set of jeans."

  He shook his head and tapped his watch. "Think you can make it to your place and back in a half hour?"

  It was a rush, but I did it, pulling back into the parking area at the mansion exactly twenty-nine minutes after I left, although it had involved me running through my apartment, and I knew I had a mess to clean up afterward.

  The tasks that they gave me weren't impossible. They had an innate understanding of my limits. But what they both did was challenge me, pushing me just one step past what I had been able to do the day before, and with each new step, I found myself gaining, mostly in self-respect. Tomasso was standing by his sports car, waiting for me when I got out, slipping my keys into my front pocket. "Good job. Nice choice on the shoes, too."

  I looked down, glad that I'd gone with instinct and worn an old set of Timberland boots that I had from an old part-time job years before instead of the exercise shoes I was wearing so often now. "The Nikes were stinky as hell, and I knew if I tracked dirt and mud into the kitchen tomorrow, Jessie would take a mop handle to me."

  "Yeah, she's fun like that," Tomasso said, getting into his car. "Jump in. Watch the back."

  We drove for about a half hour, out into the woods south of Seattle. "What are we doing out here?"

  "I've never seen you shoot. It's part of our job, even if we haven’t had to in a while,” Tomasso said. "I'm not expecting you to be as good as Daniel is, but I do need to know you're not going to shoot yourself in the foot. Or me.”

  We reached an empty area off a dirt road, where a natural embankment provided a safety backstop for anyone who wanted to shoot. I decided to not ask questions and just accept it, and I got out of the car. "So what are we shooting?"

  "Beretta Cougars," Tomasso said, taking the case that had been in the back seat and opening it, showing matched pistols. "We start with these, and then we'll move on from there. What experience do you have with them?"

  “Does Call of Duty count? No, seriously, not a whole lot, but one of my old co-workers was a gun nut. He was one of those old-school gun fans, ready with his Garand for the collapse of Western civilization or the zombie apocalypse people. He taught me some stuff."

  "Like what?"

  "Enough to tell that those AKs that I delivered to Tacoma a few weeks ago had enough aftermarket parts to obscure that they were old Yugoslavian copies instead of real Russian ones," I replied. Tomasso looked surprised, and I nodded. "The parts on the Yugoslavian ones are stamped instead of milled. Better than the Chinese copies, though."

  "Good catch. Yeah, Dad and I both didn't like it, but those Vietnamese guys insist on having their AKs and being cheap about it. At least with us doing the deal, we know how much they're getting. But back to today's business. How well do you shoot?"

  "Let's find out."

  We set up our target, a dense foam rubber-backed competition target at just about fifteen feet, not far away, but a good start.

  I tried, firing a five-round mini-clip at the target before we paused and checked my progress. "Hey, that's not bad," Tomasso said, looking at the collection of holes on the paper. "Four out of five in the black zone, and all five hit paper. Nice work. Let's have you step back some, and we'll try it again."

  We kept going, and by the end of an hour, he was confident enough in what I could do. We finished with a little old-fashioned plinking, shooting empty cans that Tomasso had positioned on rocks that made a satisfying sight flipping into the air with each hit. Afterward, Tomasso chuckled and went around to the trunk of his car, popping it open. "Now for the fun part?"

  "What's that?" I asked, making sure my pistol was clear. "Rifles?"

  "Nope . . . cleaning," he replied, pulling out what looked like a fishing tackle box. "You know those crappy AKs? If they're cleaned, they can actually work pretty well. But we keep our tools cleaned and ready. I don't know what every man working for my father does, but my crew . . . we're going to be professionals."

  I nodded, breaking down my pistol to its base components and getting to work without complaint. As I wiped down the outside before starting on the barrel with the bore swabs, Tomasso did the same with the other pistol, which he'd fired only a few times for his own practice. "Thanks again. Today was . . . fun."

  "It won't all be fun," Tomasso said. "Tonight, you have a job to do for me."

  My toothbrush, which was getting unburned flecks of gunpowder out of the trigger assembly, stopped for a moment before I resumed cleaning. "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

  "This mission . . . all about getting your respect back," Tomasso said. "I won't have these numb nuts calling you Dumbass Degrassi, or 'âm hộ lớn', or Rat-boy."

  It was that last one that hurt the most, because the name wasn't aimed at me as much as it was aimed at my father. "My dad wasn't a rat. And I'm no rat, either."

  "I know you're not," he said, "and I didn't ever say you were. I want all those names gone by the time the rest of the crew is put together, and you start that tonight."

  "What do you want me to do?" I asked, starting back on my pistol.

  "You're going back to Tacoma," Tomasso said as he grabbed the little can of compressed solvent and sprayed his own pistol's action. "Those guys owe us a payment, and you're going to be the guy who picks it up. If they give you any disrespect, you handle business."

  "As in?"

  Tomasso reassembled his Beretta in seconds and gave me an even look. "Why do you think I brought you out here to see if you could shoot? It shouldn't come to that. Those guys will back down if you show strength. So you're going to go down there tonight and come back with twenty thousand in cash. Oh, and to help you out a little, you're taking one of my cars. No offense. I know you were busting your ass with that Mercedes of yours, but Bertoli men don’t drive vehicles like that. At least, not on the job."

  "Good deal. Well, let's get back to town, then. I need to change for work."

  I felt different, pulling up into the International District of Tacoma again, this time behind the wheel of a black Alfa Romeo 156, wearing a good suit and with the weight of a Beretta against my ribs. I felt like I was doing what I was supposed to do, and the nervousness that was digging in my stomach was a good feeling. I wasn't afraid of being disrespected, or even of being hurt. I was more worried about not getting the job done. I had a newfound confidence, something I always knew I had.

  "New car, âm hộ lớn? What, did you start turning tricks on the side for some rich old man?” Danny Huong asked when I got out of my car, his smile disappearing when I got right into his face.

  "You can cut the tough guy shit right now," I said, keeping my voice even. I wasn't trying to be a caricature of being out of control, but instead, I wanted him to kn
ow I was being all business and wouldn’t tolerate any more disrespect. "It's Mr. Degrassi from now on."

  "You got yourself a new attitude," Danny replied, waving behind him for backup from his boys. "What bug crawled up your ass and died?"

  "Maybe I'm just tired of some two-bit wannabe punk and his boys giving me shit," I said. "Now, tell your boys to back off, get me the money that you owe the Bertolis, and everything will be cool."

  "And if it isn't?" Danny asked, his eyes wavering slightly. He was surprised and a little off guard.

  "Then I'm going to make sure that every person in this alley remembers who the fuck I am, and who you were. Trust me, they might kill me—your boys outnumber me—but I swear to God and sonny Jesus that I’ll put five rounds in your guts before they do. Then Tomasso and Luisa will come to take care of the rest."

  "Tomasso?" Danny asked, suddenly nervous. "You work for him now?"

  "I do," I replied quietly. "Now, what's it going to be?"

  Danny blinked and stepped back. "Come on, I'll get you your money. Wait here."

  I shook my head. "No, I think I'll follow you inside. I'd like to see what the specials are tonight anyway. Think you can hook me up with a to-go box?"

  "Of course . . . Mr. Degrassi."

  His words were like the ultimate sense of accomplishment, and as I drove back toward the Bertoli mansion with two stacks of hundred dollar bills in my coat pocket, I couldn't help but smile. Checking my phone, I saw that it was only nine at night, and I made a quick decision, calling Carmen's studio line, hoping she was still at work. I was running on instinct and the high of my success, and I didn't want to let it fade.

  "Hello, Dreamstyle Dance, this is Carmen."

  I felt my smile stretch, and I leaned back, happy. "Carmen, it's Dante. Sorry if I called so late. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

  "No, not at all," she said, her voice sounding pleased. "What's up? Our next lesson isn't for another few days."

  "I know, but actually, I wasn't calling about that," I said. Before my nerves could get the better of me and my adrenaline high faded, I spoke. "I'm calling because I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me some time?"

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, but then she replied, "Well, I've already had dinner tonight, and it is kind of late, and I've got plans for tomorrow. But . . . what about a late-night coffee and dessert tonight?"

  "Sounds great. Where should I come pick you up?"

  "I'm still at the studio. I've got a change of clothes here. You're not too dressed up or anything, right?"

  I laughed and glanced down at my clothes. "I'm in my work suit. But I don't care. You could wear pajamas, for all I care. I'll be there in thirty minutes?"

  "Sounds good. See you then."

  I got to the Bertoli mansion, nearly running in the side door to make my delivery. I found Tomasso in the study, discussing something with Luisa. "Hey, Dante. How'd the pickup go?"

  “Easy peasy,” I said, taking the money out. "Here you go."

  "He sounds excited," Luisa commented, smiling. "What, did you shoot someone?"

  "No, nothing like that. Just, things went well. Danny Huong even called me Mr. Degrassi by the end, and well . . ." I paused, suddenly realizing I'd let my personal excitement mix in with my professional work. "Nothing."

  "No, what is it? I'm too intrigued to let it go now," Luisa said, standing up. I noticed for the first time that she and Tomasso were in their suits, getting ready for something, I guess.

  "Okay, well, you know I've been taking dance lessons with Carmen, right?"

  "Duh," Luisa answered in her quirky, fun to listen to, modified American slang. She was dualistic in that way, very businesslike when she had to be, but relaxed and personable at other times. As she had trained me more, I was seeing more and more of this personable side, and I liked it. "She's one of my best friends. Of course I know."

  "I kinda asked her to dinner," I said, "and we're going out in about fifteen minutes for coffee and dessert instead."

  They both paused, then smiled, nodding. "Good," Tomasso said, not even looking at the cash as I set it on his desk. "Then I have one more thing for you."

  "What's that?" I asked, hoping I wouldn't have to cancel or delay.

  "Get that car you're driving waxed and detailed. The place I want you to take it to is closed for the night, so you'll have to do it tomorrow. Keep it tonight. Oh, and turn in your gun to the kitchen before you go," Tomasso replied with a grin. "We'll work on getting you your permanent one later. Also, stop by tomorrow. I want to talk to you about who else I'm bringing on our crew. Now get out of here before you make Luisa angry for making Carmen wait.”

  I was actually three minutes late pulling up in front of Dreamstyle Dance, mostly due to a car accident that slowed up traffic on the road nearby. Getting out of the car, I didn't even have to knock as Carmen came out, looking jaw-droppingly beautiful in a skirt and blouse that actually coordinated with my suit.

  "Wow, you look amazing," I said, going up. I wasn't sure how to greet her, but she solved the problem for me by opening her arms, and we hugged. It felt good, with her firm body pressed against me. Not that I hadn't been aware of her body for weeks now, after hours and hours of dance practice. After all, ballroom dancing isn't something you do by yourself, and I'd spent a lot of time with my hand resting on her back, her tiny hand in mine, inches apart. “Nice outfit. Almost looks like we coordinated it.”

  "My best friends are Luisa and Adriana, remember? I kind of knew what you’d be wearing.” Carmen said with a chuckle as she stepped back. She'd put on heels, which brought her up to all of five foot five, much closer to my six foot one in the dress shoes I was wearing. "I may not know the ins and outs of Bertoli business, but I know what they wear for work. Even Luisa rocks a suit most of the time."

  “That she does,” I said, laughing. "That woman has an eagle eye when it comes to creases in the knot of your tie."

  "And you weren't checking her out?" Carmen asked flirtatiously. "I mean, she is the same height as you. It usually makes guys notice her even more.”

  "And married to my boss, and not my type,” I said, trying to avoid the subject. We walked back to the car and got in, but Carmen wouldn't let the subject go. She was having too much fun with it.

  "Oh, so you think she's ugly then?"

  "No! Of course I don’t,” I said. "Okay, let me just put it out there, and then let’s drop it. Luisa's a beautiful woman. No, I'm not interested in her. I like working for her and Tomasso, and I don’t want to say anything to jeopardize that."

  Carmen looked over for a second, then laughed. "Dante, you're a trip—I’m just messing with you. I'm glad I said yes when you asked me out."

  “And why did you say yes? And don't tell me just out of some sense of payback."

  She shook her head. "No, that was already paid back when I agreed to teach you how to dance. I said yes because I like having lessons with you. So where are we going, anyway?"

  "The Pie Bar," I said, turning toward Capitol Hill. "I've always wanted to go there, and it's got the best reviews in town."

  We got to the Pie Bar and had to park about a block away, which wasn't too bad. Walking together, I was surprised when Carmen wound her arm through mine, resting her hand on my forearm. "You asked me out, remember?"

  "That I did," I replied, smiling. Carmen smiled too, and blinked. "What?"

  "Just . . . I like the way you smile when you're happy. You didn't do that often when you came in the other day. Why is that?"

  We got to the restaurant and got a table. After placing our orders, I sipped at my water and set it down. "A lot of it came down to frustration. I wasn't well accepted by the rest of the organization, and to be honest, I held a part-time job on the side just to make ends meet. I know it sounds trite, but how'd a girl like you get involved with that family?"

  "What do you mean?" Carmen asked, surprised. "Don't I look like I belong?"

  “You’d stand out in a
ny crowd,” I said honestly, shocked at my words. They sounded suave and confident, and I didn’t even mean for them to be. "No offense to your friends. It's just that you're a talented, kind of normal dance teacher. How'd you run into the Bertolis?"

  Carmen chuckled and sipped at her water, thinking. "I'm not as innocent as you may think I am. I actually met Adriana through Daniel, after I helped him out in a bad situation."

  "Really? Cool," I said, letting it drop. It was obvious by the way she said it that she didn’t want to explain right now, and I was someone who could understand that. "What about growing up? I mean, you've had to have been dancing for a long time.”

  "I was born in Vancouver, the Washington one," Carmen said, pausing when our drinks were brought to the table. Sipping it, she blinked, surprised. "Wow, this is strong. Good stuff, though. Where was I?"

  "Vancouver," I said, sipping at my own Apple Mule. It was strong, but it had a good taste and was sweet, definitely a dessert cocktail. "And strong drinks."

  "Salud to that," Carmen replied, sipping again. "But Vancouver. Anyway, as a little girl, my parents fought a lot, and when I was four, my father had enough and left us to go back to San Bernadino, where he was from. Mom tried, but her work was in Portland at the time, and she couldn't handle the commute and the daycare fees for me. So she talked with my grandmother, who lived up here in Seattle, and when I was five, Mom and I moved in with my abuela. Mom found a good job working in a retirement home, but she really wanted me to have another type of life, so soon after getting up here, I started dancing. It was like you'd expect, some cultural dances, a lot of little girls in tutus doing bad ballet, but I loved it. Since then, I've really been hooked on dancing."

  "And where is your Mom now? Still in Seattle?"

  Carmen shook her head, with just a little bit of sadness. "My grandmother died a few years back, which in a lot of ways freed up Mom to pursue her own life again. My grandmother had been sick for a while. Mom got a job offer soon after that, shift supervisor for a nursing home in Arizona. Apparently, a lot of old people like Tucson or something. I was already settled into Seattle, and soon after that, I met Daniel and Adriana anyway, and then I started up the dance studio, and things have been bust my butt busy since then."