Sal Gabrini 4: I'll Take You There (The Gabrini Men Series Book 7)

by Mallory Monroe

  “And Rip,” Reno said.

  “Him and Rip,” Tommy agreed. “Between my men and your men, and Sal’s men, we’ll find them.”

  “Keep my men out of it,” Sal said. “Not until I get more answers. As far as I’m concerned right now, until I know more than I know now, all of those fuckers are the enemy.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Curtis Kane had his legs on his desk and was leaned back in his chair enjoying the phone conversation he was having with one of his friends. Until he saw the Bentley drive up.

  “Uh-oh, girl,” he said, “let me call you back. My boss’s boyfriend has just arrived and he doesn’t like it when I’m less than professional. Yeah. You know it. Later.”

  He ended the call just as Sal was stepping out of the car and heading for the entrance. Barbara, Gemma’s paralegal, was coming out of the file room.

  “Chop chop,” Curtis said to her. “Her boyfriend’s back.” He motioned for the front door. When Barbara saw Sal Gabrini walking across the sidewalk, she immediately opened the file. Why he made them so nervous was their issue. But it was a fact.

  “Good morning,” Curtis said cheerfully, as Sal walked in.

  “Good morning,” Sal responded, unable to get up the cheer. It was still early, he was still sleepy, it would take a few more hours before he could be that bubbly. And then again, he inwardly thought as he looked at Curtis, he could never be that bubbly!

  “How are you this morning?” Barbara asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  Yes, you are, Barbara thought as she looked at those powerful biceps outlined beneath his coal-gray Brook’s Brothers suit. “You’re here to see Miss Jones?” she asked.

  “She in?”

  “Yes, sir. But she’s with somebody right at the moment. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll see if she can see you now.”

  Sal took a seat against the window, while Barbara headed for the closed office door in the back of the building. He folded his legs and looked around. He purchased this building for Gemma after he found out she was renting the space. And with that purchase she gained the title to the three other offices on the property, of which now she was collecting rents. But this was nothing to Sal. He’d buy her the world if he could.

  “Looks nice outside today,” Curtis said in an attempt at small-talk.

  Sal didn’t respond. He wasn’t the small-talk type. He, instead, remembered the things he did to Gemma on Curtis’s desk a couple nights ago, and got up and looked out of the window. Barbara returned.

  “She can see you now, sir,” she said, and Sal headed for the office.

  When the door closed, Curtis shook his head. “He is such a racist,” he said. “I don’t know what Miss Jones sees in him.”

  “If you don’t know that, honey,” Barbara said, heading toward her own desk, “then something is wrong with you. You’re not as gay as you think you are.”

  Curtis leaned back and laughed. “I call that a read!” he said.

  Inside Gemma’s office, she rose to her feet as Sal walked in. A short, slender black woman was seated in front of her desk, with a thick notebook opened on her lap.

  “Come on in!” Gemma said happily. “I didn’t expect to see you before noon.”

  “You said the wedding planner was coming at ten. I knew I needed to be here for the meeting.”

  “Oh, Sal! You didn’t have to. I could have handled it.”

  He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “You won’t be handling anything alone,” he said.

  Gemma liked that idea. “This is Bonita Cleary, Sal,” she said. “She’s our wedding planner.”

  Bonita held out her hand as if she expected him to kiss it rather than shake it. He shook it. “Nice to know you,” he said, and sat down in the chair beside hers.

  “So, Sal, Bonita here was just going over the ceremony itself with me. She was recommended because they say she thinks outside of the box, and I told her that’s exactly what we want. No cookie-cutter ceremony for us, right?”

  “Right,” Sal agreed.

  “We were just getting started,” Gemma said. “Nita, why don’t you begin.”

  “Why thank-you, Gemma. And I’ll be brief I promise.” She said this with a smile that Sal didn’t return. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, my suggestions aren’t necessarily out of the box, per se, they are what I would call off the charts. For I, too, hate anything cookie cutter. I think a bride and groom should have the best day of their lives and I do everything in my power to make it uniquely so. Call me the Denise Rodman of the wedding scene. Call me the Michael Jackson of the ceremony. Call me the Prince of the special day. Call me the---”

  “Great day in the morning!” Sal yelled. “Why can’t we call you the wedding planner and you go on and plan the wedding? Our wedding!”

  Gemma wanted to laugh, but she wasn’t going to make the woman feel bad. “The point he’s making,” she said instead, “is that we get your point. You’re different.”

  “Right,” Bonita said. She was seriously perturbed with Sal’s gruff personality, but because the money was good, she was willing to overlook it. “I’m different. I’m somebody who beats to the dance of a different drummer. I mean, who dances to the beat of a different drummer. I’m somebody who live and let live, and die and let die. I’m somebody who---”

  “Why don’t you just tell us,” Gemma said when she saw Sal turning in his chair, “exactly what you suggest for us. For our wedding?”

  “Yes. Absolutely,” Bonita said. “First off, when it comes to walking down the aisle, I suggest we flip the script.” She said this with a smile, and looked at Sal.

  “Flip the script?” he asked.

  “Right.”

  “And what script are we flipping?”

  “Instead of Gemma walking down the aisle, I suggest you should walk down the aisle.”

  Gemma wanted to fall out laughing. But she held her peace. Bonita was dead serious.

  “I walk down the aisle?” Sal asked.

  “Yes!” Bonita responded, as if she had given the best suggestion ever. “Won’t that be exciting? It’ll be you, with your flower boys. The little lads will throw rose petals at your feet as you walk. And instead of just a regular old tuxedo, you’ll strut down that aisle in a tux with a tail as long as a woman’s wedding gown train! It’ll be beautiful, I tell you. And instead of Gemma’s parents giving her away, your parents will give you away!”

  Gemma was fighting back laughter so hard that she didn’t hear that last suggestion. But Sal heard it.

  “Instead of her parents giving her away--”

  “Yours will give you away, yes!” Bonita said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Sal asked. “And how do you suggest we accomplish that feat? Given that both of my parents are fucking dead?”

  Gemma stood up. “Ah, Bonita, maybe we should wait before we decide---”

  “I walk down the aisle,” Sal said, still fuming. “Can you believe this? She wants me to walk down the aisle! And with a train no less! What, you want me to hire some guys to carry it for me? Maybe Reno can carry it for me. Or maybe I can ask some of those boys in the hood. Now that’ll be different!”

  Gemma hurried around her desk as Bonita stood to her feet, her thick notebook still wide open.

  “I don’t understand,” Bonita said. “I wasn’t mocking you.”

  “Of course you weren’t,” Gemma said as she helped Bonita walk to the office door. “It’s just that we may not be ready for such drastic changes after all. But I’ll phone you and let you know if we should change our minds.”

  “But as of right now?”

  “It’s a no,” Gemma said bluntly.

  “A no?”

  “A no.”

  Bonita exhaled. “I thought you wanted somebody who had ideas outside of the box.”

  “We do! But the box has to be located on this planet,” Gemma said. “That’s the thing. But thank-you for your trouble.”

  Gemma had to all but pushed Bonita on ou
t of the door to get her out of the door, and then she closed it. She walked back behind her desk, sat down, looked at Sal. And that look on his face did it. She burst into laughter. She couldn’t hold it a moment longer. Sal smiled too. And then started laughing himself.

  “When she said you would have a tux with a train,” Gemma said, “I died inside I was laughing so hard!”

  “That woman’s crazy!” Sal said. “Where do you find these people?”

  “I didn’t find her. She’s a friend of Trina’s. Trina recommended her.”

  “Tree? Did she use her to plan her wedding?”

  “She didn’t have a wedding, remember? She and Reno, for reasons she still will not tell me, had to get married in a hurry.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Sal said, remembering how Reno had ordered a hit on Frank Partanna, and needed an alibi. “But wait until I get my hands on Tree. That’ll be the last wedding planner she suggests to anybody. Me walking down the aisle like some fucking girl! Yeah, I’ve got her aisle right here!”

  Two days later, they closed on the big house. Gemma was so happy she could hardly contain her joy. Sal was so happy he actually bought a box of cigars for the occasion, and managed to get Gemma to smoke one.

  “Not bad,” Sal said as he sat behind the wheel of Gemma’s BMW and took another puff. They were outside of the title company that conducted the closing, and had the keys to the property in their hands.

  “It’s awful,” Gemma said, coughing after her first puff. “But wonderful too. Because of what it means. We own a house.”

  “And not just any house either,” Sal said. “The big house. Gemma’s Palace. That’s it. That’s the name for it. In England they name their houses you know.”

  Gemma smiled. “So what’s next?” she asked him.

  “We furnish the joint! And after the wedding, with every room furnished already, we move in.”

  “But not before the wedding?”

  “No.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “We won’t be married. What are you talking? I won’t have you living in sin.”

  Gemma smiled. He slept with her every chance he could, but he would never dream of living with her outside of marriage. Sal was filled with contradictions like that.

  “I don’t want to hire a decorator,” Gemma said. “At least not initially.”

  “No?”

  “No. I think we should put our own stamp on the place first. If I need a decorator’s touch to pull it all together, then yes, I’ll call one in. But not unless we need that help.”

  Sal nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Good.”

  “So let’s get started,” he said, cranking up the car.

  “Get started?” Gemma asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s get this show on the road. We have a massive mansion to furnish. If we start today, we just might finish before the wedding.”

  Gemma laughed. It shouldn’t be even close, but she understood. Sal couldn’t wait to get started. And neither could she.

  But as soon as they arrived at the upscale furniture store, Sal headed for the entertainment department. He agreed to help her pick out furniture, but only after he furnished his man cave. A man cave that would include a pool table, a bar, and a movie theater. Gemma gladly let him go.

  She, instead, began with living room furniture. After walking around for nearly half an hour in the massive store, she began to find what she was looking for. “This is so lovely,” she said when she eyed the pearl white Tuscano leather sofa.

  But the Salesman, a wiry-haired, older man, shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s quite expensive,” he said. “But downstairs, in our scratch and dent department, could satisfied your needs, and your pocketbook, admirably.”

  “And the matching chair,” Gemma said, ignoring the Salesman and visualizing both pieces in her new home. “That could work. Maybe not for the living room, but I could see them in one of the rooms. This could really work.”

  “Perhaps it could,” the Salesman said. “We have a set just like this one downstairs, in our scratch and dent department.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  Gemma kept walking, kept looking, kept ignoring the Salesman not-so-subtle assumptions. By the time Sal left the entertainment department and made his way near her, the Salesman was still at it.

  Gemma was now looking at a cherry finish Queen Anne desk. “Now that’s what I call gorgeous,” she said when she saw it.

  “Yes, it is,” the Salesman agreed. “But again, far too expensive. I don’t want to waste your time, or, quite frankly, my own. We don’t have anything exactly like it in our scratch and dent department,” he added, “but I’m sure, if you would only go down there, you will find something more to your taste. And budget.”

  Sal looked at Gemma. She’d better respond, he thought to himself. She’d better not think for a second about letting that man get away with insulting her like that.

  But Gemma kept talking. “It could be perfect for our home office,” she said, visualizing again.

  “And as I said,” the Salesman said again, “you won’t find a Queen Anne in our scratch and dent department, but I do have similar desks downstairs.”

  “Do you?” Gemma asked.

  “Yes, we do,” the Salesman said.

  “Then I suggest you go down there and take it to your home. I’m purchasing the new stuff for mine. And in my home, scratch and dent need not apply.”

  Sal smiled. That’s how you handle those old farts, he thought. “That’s my girl,” he said aloud as he approached them.

  “Oh,” the Salesman said with a smile when he realized Sal was with Gemma. “Well hello, sir.”

  Sal placed his arm around Gemma. “Find anything you like?” he asked her.

  “Oh yes,” Gemma said, to the Salesman’s delight. “Many things. But I won’t be getting any of them from here.”

  The Salesman’s smile left.

  “Let’s find a store that loves green more than it hates black,” Gemma said.

  “Great idea,” Sal said as they began to leave. But he turned back to the Salesman and pointed his finger. “See what your pettiness, your need to feel superior cost you? This lady here has a mansion to furnish. And you could have been her supplier. But instead you had to prove your so-called superiority. But I’d bet you any amount of money you don’t feel so superior right now. Fucking prick!”

  And Gemma and Sal gladly left him to his scratch and dent, and the rest of his furnishings.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Instead of going back to Gemma’s house, they went dancing. Not to any club, but to their new home. Sal had the utilities turned on while they were at closing, because he knew, at some point that day, they’d be too excited not to spend time at their new house. And now they were there. Standing in the middle of the huge, empty ballroom. Sal turned on music from his cell phone, where Carrie Underwood was singing Jesus Take the Wheel. And then he, who was dressed in his suit and tie as if he was actually on a ballroom floor, pulled Gemma, who was dressed in her pencil skirt that highlighted every curve on her body, into his arms.

  “Country music, Sal?” she asked with a smile.

  “Hell yeah.”

  She studied him. “What else don’t I know about you?”

  “I was country,” Sal said with a smile of his own, “when country wasn’t cool.” She laughed. And they began to slow-drag.

  Gemma closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. He held her as if he was holding precious cargo. His look was serious. “This is where we’re going to have it, Gem,” he finally said.

  Gemma looked up. “Here?”

  “Here. In our own ballroom.”

  “Trina has been talking about how they’re going to decorate the PaLargio’s ballroom. And I haven’t said anything because I assumed that was where it was going to be too.”

  “On any other day it would be. But not on our day. This is going to be our day
. We’re doing it our way. No. We’re getting married here. In our home. In our ballroom.” Sal studied her. “Good idea?” he asked.

  “Oh, Sal,” Gemma said, with joy in her eyes. “Great idea.”

  He smiled and she laid her head on his shoulder again. That was what she loved so much about him. Behind that gruff exterior; behind that toughness that was always misconstrued for meanness, Sal Gabrini was the most romantic man Gemma had ever known. She felt as if she was the most fortunate woman on the planet.

  But when Carrie Underwood’s song ended, and Merle Haggard started singing yet another song that had so much country twang in it that she could barely understand the words, enough was enough. She took Sal’s phone, became the Deejay herself, and turned to old school R & B: Sam and Dave singing the decidedly more upbeat I’m a Soul Man.

  Sal smiled and started moving his feet. “Oh, okay,” he said. “You want a little soul. I can do that too. I got that covered too!”

  “You’re a soul man too, Sal?”

  “I’m a fucking renaissance man!” Sal shot back. “I can do it all!”

  And he danced in a way that put Gemma to shame. And then he did the James Brown split.

  “Wow!” Gemma said, impressed. “Not bad for a white boy!”

  Until Sal continued to remain there. And then he reached up his hand.

  When she realized he needed her help to get back up, she started laughing. And acting dumb. “What?” she asked him.

  “Come on, Gemma!” Sal said, the pain in his thighs becoming excruciating.

  “You want me to join you? Is that why you want me to take your hand?”

  “Stop playing, Gem! Help me up! This shit painful!”

  Gemma laughed so hard she could barely get him up. But she did.

  And after she did, he started smiling and then laughing too. But then he grabbed at her, to show her what he was going to do to her for playing around while he was in pain, but Gemma was quick. His outstretched hand just missed her when she realized what he was trying to do, and she took off running.

  “Come back here you,” Sal yelled, and took off after her. This was serious for him. This was a contest of wills for him. But Gemma was laughing. This was no contest for her. This was the best fun she’d had in years!