Mobster's Angel (Mobster Series)

by Rachiele, Amy

  Mobster’s Angel:

  VITO & ERIN’S STORY

  By:

  Amy Rachiele

  Copyright © 2013 Amy Rachiele

  Kindle edition

  Edited by Kimberly Korioth

  Cover Art by Amy Rachiele

  www.amyrachiele.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to all the Mobster’s Girls out there that fell in love with Antonio and swooned over Vito.

  I hope you enjoy this story.

  Prologue:

  September

  Vito’s Senior Year at Palmetto High School, New Jersey

  I jump people in alleys for fun.

  I say shit I don’t mean.

  Yeah, I’m an asshole…always been one, always will be.

  The way I grew up, nice got you fuckin’ nothin’ but stepped on. The mob life is brutal; a hazy, volatile run of survival. I don’t like it, but I’m proud of my heritage and my friends.

  One thing I admire is the loyalty in the Mafia. I come from a long line of mobsters. The Rossi’s have been here in New Jersey since the thirties, tommy guns, and zoot suits.

  My Pop has been gone on business for the Palmetto Mob Boss for over a year now. His loyalty is unwavering. Mom and I see him on holidays, and he calls a lot. It’s not the same as having him here.

  But Pop being away isn’t what’s wrong with me.

  Erin, this kid - I can’t get her out of my head. Well, I guess she’s not a kid. No… no… she’s a kid. She’s fourteen… I’m seventeen.

  Holy shit! I could go to jail. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time - and she’d be worth it. I wouldn’t have even found out she was that young if I hadn’t overheard her sister, Megan, telling my best friend, Antonio.

  Ugh, shit!

  It’s not so bad. She’s turning fifteen - tomorrow.

  I’m trying, I really am. I just have to keep repeating to myself, she’s a freshman, you’re a senior. She has three more years of high school left; I’m going to college next year. Well, I will if I get my head out of my ass.

  Every time I see her, she seems to be having the time of her life. She thrives on laughter and fun. Her happiness is contagious. That’s probably why everyone likes her. Erin is way more outgoing than Megan.

  She’s smart like her sister. I bet she’ll get an early acceptance to the college of her choice, too.

  What would she want with a stupid ass like me?

  That damn red hair! And that slim little body. I know that this has to have something to do with Antonio going out with Red…I mean Megan. Yeah, that’s definitely what it is. The hair. The O’Neill girls are different... Irish, not Italian. Forbidden.

  Antonio’s father, the Mob Boss of Palmetto, New Jersey, warned all of us years ago to stay away from Megan. But Antonio Rinaldo Delisi, Sr. never mentioned Megan’s little sister, Erin. He probably figured she was too young to be of interest to us.

  I heard some chooches talking about her after school the other day while I was walking down the hallway near the science wing. Typical guy shit. But I wanted to slam their faces into the lockers. I had it all planned out in my head. I was going to take each of them by the scruff of the neck, one by one, and SMASH. I’m familiar with the sound of flesh hitting metal. Then I would’ve taken them into the fuckin’ bathroom and washed their mouths out with anti-bacterial soap. But I held back…

  And that shows that I’ve been paying way too much attention to someone that doesn’t even know I’m alive. I’m a chooch when it comes to getting attention. I just act like the asshole I am.

  Like the time I hit on her sister in church. And did I mention that Erin didn’t even look my way? That was just me being stupid. I do stupid shit all the time because I don’t think, I just do. It’s an important motto in the Mafia. Thinking can be very bad for your health. No one wants cement shoes and lungs full of water.

  She’s got a boyfriend. I’ve seen him. He’s a scrawny little guy. His mother picked Erin up from school one day: I saw the mini-van pull up. The door slid open and she hopped in. Her face said it all; she was happy and excited to see her pansy little boyfriend.

  The guy is in the same grade as her, but he goes to another school. Lucky for him…he doesn’t have to see her every day. That is, if that pansy kid could really be as attracted to her as I am. And it’s good because if he were around, I’d consider beating him up every once in a while just for shits and giggles.

  Like a chooch, I’m on high alert, constantly looking for her in the hallways. I know every class she’s in. I’ve actually cut a few classes to wait outside her classroom like a stalker.

  This cannot be normal. I know its not. Maybe I need a shrink. Some intense therapy might beat it out of me.

  That’s it! A good beating!

  Chapter 1

  May

  Erin

  I pull a brush through my hair and force the thick red locks back into a clip. I’m standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom of our dorm suite and any minute Clarissa is going to knock. She needs a least an hour before a party to get ready. I adjust my top, black with spaghetti straps - one of the many things Vito bought for me for my fifteenth birthday last winter while we were all at Clarissa’s Father’s Casino in Chicago. It’s perfect for the weather here in California.

  I slip on my heels. They are spikey and high because I’m short. I like to at least be in the same atmosphere as everyone else, not eye level with the shrubbery.

  A knock sounds at the door, and I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror.

  “Come on, Erin!” Clarissa calls out. “I need to get in there!”

  “Okay! I’m coming,” I say, annoyed. “Sheesh, keep your Italian hair on!”

  “I will, if you get your Irish butt out here!”

  I swing open the door, and Clarissa is standing there in her blue robe and fuzzy hot pink slippers that at one time used to be cute bunnies. Her short dark chestnut hair is standing up in every direction. She clearly just woke up from her nap; she had wanted to be fresh for this evening. I had tried to sleep too, but I couldn’t. Sleep is not something that comes easily these days.

  “You look gorgeous!” Clarissa says, eyeing my outfit from head to toe. “Did Vito buy you that top?” she asks, pointing a finger at me.

  I nod my head. For my last birthday, Antonio and Vito took me shopping and bought me enough clothes to cover from here to my hometown of Palmetto, New Jersey.

  “It’s hot! Too bad none of the guys will see you in it but Joey. And I won’t be the one to clean up the casino floor after Jake drools all over it just looking at you dressed like that.”

  “Hurry up,” I tell her, dismissing her comments. “I don’t feel like waiting around for you all night.” I walk to the living room and let Clarissa have the bathroom.

  I miss everyone: Antonio, Troy, Alex, Jake, and most of all, my sister, Megan. The time we spent together was fraught with fear and a few stays in a hospital bed, but we had some great times together too, like a family.

  Troy I have known my whole life. He is one of my family’s closest friend’s son. His brother, Connor, is my ex-boyfriend. Jake, Troy’s friend from Notre Dame, is really nice and funny. He knew how to make me laugh. Alex is an enforcer
for Clarissa’s father’s casino, so he and Joey take turns guarding us.

  And Antonio, well; I miss him and my sister the most. Antonio is like a brother to me.

  Knock, knock.

  Joey is at the door of our suite to pick us up for the party. He came with us to school. The arrangement works out well for him because he’s finishing up his degree by taking online courses. I think he’s having just as much fun as we are.

  Joey is like a brother to us in many ways. He makes us laugh and keeps us safe. He even sneaks us off campus and takes us to clubs. As long as we stay in his sight and keep out of trouble, he lets us dance and have a great time.

  I open the door without checking to see who it is. This is a big no-no, but I know that Joey is supposed to be here.

  “Delivery for Ms. Erin O’Neill.”

  A man is at the door holding a bouquet of flowers that would put anything Martha Stewart could whip up to shame. The arrangement is three times the size of the guy’s head. Long stems of pink flowers, baby’s breath, and some other white flower that I have never seen before branch out from a gaudy vase. I reach my hand out to take them.

  “Thank you,” I say cordially and shut the door.

  Without ceremony, I walk to our stainless steel sink and tip the vase over it to empty the water out. I’m careful to hold on to the flowers so that they don’t spill into the basin. I place the vase on the counter. I reach in the cabinet for a trash bag. I flick out the plastic and snap it open. It fills up with air like a parachute. I hold the bag open with one hand and drop the entire vase with the flowers into it, pull on the strings, and tie them together. Firmly, I grab the trash bag, making sure it won’t rip open, and carry it to the hall closet. I’ll take it down to the dumpster in the morning.

  Knock, knock…

  I check the peephole this time, like I’ve been taught to do, not thrilled with my slip-up a few minutes ago. One blurry pale green eye stares back at me. He’s checking to see if I did the checking. I shake my head at the absurdity.

  “I know it’s you Joey! I can see your freaky eye color!” I unlock the door and he lets himself in.

  “Please tell me she’s ready,” he pleads as he shuts the door. I point to the bathroom. Joey rubs his hands down his face in annoyance. “Are you serious?”

  I take a minute to observe him while he waits with me, exasperated at Clarissa. He reminds me a lot of Antonio. He’s tall, dark skinned, and muscular. Only his eyes differ from Antonio’s: they’re green instead of chocolate brown. He’s charming and tough all the same, though, like Antonio. It’s a good combination because it makes him friendly, but yet people know not to mess with him.

  Vito, on the other hand, is brutish and unapproachable. I know there is a soft side to him that typically people don’t see. But anyone looking from the outside sees him as the mobster he is.

  I hear the click of the bathroom door. It’s time to grab my purse. When my father dropped us off at the airport a few months ago with Clarissa’s father, Ennio, they gave us a lot of money. I mean a lot of money. Money that I didn’t even know my family had. They gave some to Joey too.

  I wanted to open up a checking account when we got here. A sensible thing to do, as I hated having all this money with me all the time. Joey said that was a bad idea because it would make us traceable. He told me to hide the money instead. I’m so new to all this that I didn’t know I needed to keep it undetectable. But every day is a new learning experience. I try desperately to roll with the punches now like Dr. Howie suggested when I was recovering at Clarissa’s family casino in Chicago from a series of hauntingly frightening episodes.

  “Ready!” Clarissa announces, bouncing with excitement. She comes out dressed as the pixie-like Italian diva she is: expensive, high-end jeans, Louboutin heels, and a flowing silk shirt that shows off her flawless olive skin.

  *****

  Joey slows the car down in front of the party at Brice Talbot’s oceanfront home. He’s the son of one of the Senators of California. I hear he’s popular and pompous. Joey lets us off and goes to park the car amongst the shiny new luxury vehicles that line the private road.

  There is major security here: four guards by the front door alone. Just like the security along the outskirts of the campus, only amplified. Of course, most school attendees have their own private security like Clarissa and I do, so it all balances out.

  The driveway is circular and made out of cobblestones. I walk gingerly, my heels continuously sinking in between the rocks. All of the landscaping is lit up, and the lights cast a golden glow across the yard. The entryway boasts three huge stained glass doors. A security guard opens the main one for us, and we step in to a palatial house.

  I’m in awe as I take in the grandeur before me. The entire floor plan is open. The stairway that runs from the first floor to the second is made of brushed iron. Below the second floor landing is an enormous fountain, with oversized frogs nestled on the granite sides spitting into the large pool.

  My admiration of this home, straight out of Celebrity Cribs, is halted as Brice greets us. Immediately, the little hairs on the back of my neck rise in agitation and wariness. His sliminess isn’t obvious, but I see it like a blinking neon sign. He looks at me a little too familiarly and I cringe.

  Everyone here seems to know where I came from. It’s like they can smell it. It only takes them a glance to know and to understand, even though it took me a decade and a shower of quickly formed unpleasant memories. Car bombs, cheating boyfriends, and a gun to your head will do that to you.

  The high-class students here, like Brice, have their noses so high in the air that I’m surprised they don’t drown in one of California’s rainstorms. Famous celebrities, politicians, and other Mob families send their kids to our school. I’ve met all sorts of people. Brice is one type. Upon starting school we were thrust into social categories or classes. It doesn’t matter that our parents have the same amount of money, we’re still whittled down into the lower class, organized crime. You would think because our families have money, Clarissa and I would be accepted and welcomed, but that is so not the case.

  There are a select few people that look down at us blatantly. Clearly, they think they are so much better than us, and they don’t want to be caught with people of our caliber. It’s condescending. It doesn’t bother us though. We know they’re just afraid of us. And besides, we’re just happy and content to be together.

  People here have everything they could ever want, but it makes some of them even more lost than I am. Even with the money and status, everyone at our school is still trying to find themselves or to express their inner spoiled brat.

  Despite the divide, Clarissa is in her glory. She’s happy to be around anyone and everyone, whether they like us or not. Her outgoing personality helps her to slip in and be accepted by all groups. She’s been trapped in a cage at her family’s casino since her childhood, and now she's free to roam, conquer, explore. Clarissa has been a great friend to me. She's had to weather a lot over her life-time. She’s given me strength, taught me how to navigate the mob life.

  “Brice, your house is unbelievable!” Clarissa gushes.

  “Thank you,” he says, falsely. Brice is another breed altogether: high profile, refined, elevated status. He finds Clarissa and me fascinating. Me a little too much.

  “Erin, why don’t I show you around?” Brice offers just as a bunch of people from Clarissa’s math class join us. Everyone hugs and air kisses like we belong in some movie made for television. It’s phony, but commonplace.

  Joey pops his head around the corner and finds us.

  “Hey, Brice,” Joey says, and they high five boyishly.

  Brice’s eyes are on me. I can tell without even turning my head, even when he’s talking to Joey and Clarissa. It's an ugly feeling. I don't want his attention. He emits sleaziness. He’s that guy every girl with a brain or commonsense avoids. When the sleaziness comes with a title and money, guys like him can be appealing. But even t
hat does nothing for me. I just want him to stay away.

  If Joey knew I was uncomfortable around him, he would level the guy. That would be bad. Brice is too high profile and has too many connections. Clarissa and I want to keep our heads down and have a good time. Drama is the last thing the two of us need. Me more so than her.

  In the past year, I've learned my place. Daughter, sister, friend, student… to the real world. To the underworld, I am the cleaner’s daughter. The girl whose father chops up people who betray the Mafia into little bits and places them in plastic bags. He makes food for the fish in the river. The thought conjures images that make me shudder.

  My father was never a warm or fuzzy guy. He never told us bedtime stories or took us to amusement parks. But he’s my dad, and I love him despite the hard man that he is. The scalding hot truth that my father is a murderer and a liar was just the frosting on the cake of deceit. Even now, months after knowing, I’m having trouble coping and believing.

  I chastise myself daily for my ignorance. I didn't even have a clue about what my life really was. I’m remorseful for the choices that have been made for me without my consent or knowledge. But deep down I know that there’s no use stewing over it or dwelling on it. What’s done is done. What is, is just what is.

  I ignore Brice’s offer for a tour. My shoes click against the hard, polished floor as I try desperately to make myself as scarce as possible. I make my way to the beverage table. Different types of fancy bottles of alcohol and a large punch bowl line the huge tabletop.

  In the back of my mind, I can hear Vito. He would be angry if I poured a drink from the punch bowl.

  An unsecured drink! Don’t touch it!

  Sometimes I hear him whispering in my ear as if my conscience has grown and matured into a six foot three dark-haired male. The studying, reading, and listening I did to impress adults is nothing compared to what I learned from Vito. I don't think he meant to do it purposefully. I think he did it out of necessity… wanting me to be able to take care of myself someday. He was “in charge” of me during our stay in South Bend, outside Chicago. He was kind of my bodyguard like Joey is here for Clarissa and me. With Vito though, it got a little more personal than my relationship with Joey. Even though Vito did many of the same things Joey does for us, it felt... different... more intimate.