Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
BIG DADDY SINATRA:
CHARLES IN CHARGE
BY
MALLORY MONROE
Copyright©2017 Mallory Monroe
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This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for the story’s sake.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
www.mallorymonroebooks.com
PROLOGUE
“They came for me, Charlie.”
“Who came for you?”
“But they got him instead. They took him out, instead!”
Angelo DeCoppola was shaking. He was a powerful mob boss, but he was shaking like some scared kid. Charles had never seen his cousin in such a state. “You’ve got to tell me who, Angelo,” he said to him. “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me what happened, and who the fuck is pulling this shit?”
But Angelo continued throwing clothes into a suit case. They were in a doublewide trailer in a rundown trailer park on the southside of Jericho. Angelo had been hiding out after the Feds got wind of a hit he had ordered out in L.A. He, his wife, and his younger kids had all been hiding out in the small Maine town, Angelo’s hometown, until the heat died down out West. But after he heard about Plassido, they were all packing up to leave.
Charles Sinatra was not a patient man. It was almost eleven at night when the call came in, which had already irritated him, and now his cousin wasn’t being straight with him. To make matters worse, he didn’t know, until that phone call, that Angelo was even in town.
But now he was standing in the middle of the master bedroom, trying to make sense of what his cousin was saying, but had to go to him and grab him before he could toss another article of clothing into a suit case, just to get him to settle down. “Get a hold of yourself, Ang,” he said angrily. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Tell me what’s going on. You called me here for a reason.”
Angelo stopped packing when Charles forced the issue, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. Charles could see the tremble in those fingers as he rubbed.
Then Ang looked at Charles. His eyes were wild. “I don’t know who exactly. That’s what Plass and some of my men were trying to find out. I had a meeting with this guy I know; guy’s named McNaughtry but everybody calls him Naughty, who tells me he needs my help. I say help for what. Then he tells me he needs intel on you.”
“On me?” This surprised Charles. He was a businessman. He wasn’t steeped into that mafia shit like Angelo was. Like Charles’s baby brother Mick was. “Why would he need intel on me?”
“That’s what I asked him. But when I asked why, he starts giving me this cocking-bull story about how he was thinking about competing against you on some land deal, and needed to know your plans and shit. But I know Naughty’s ass. He works for Arnie Palmer, and Arnie works exclusively for the Brazzanos. And Peetie Brazzano ain’t gonna be interested in no land deal in Jericho.”
Angelo rubbed his forehead again with trembling fingers. “But I get worried, see. Because, for one thing, how the fuck they even know I’m in Jericho? You didn’t even know. Nobody was supposed to know! So I figure I’d better look into this. I pretended to go along with Naught. Told him I’d get the skinny on you. Then I told Plass to take a crew and look into it.”
“What happened?” Charles asked.
“They didn’t come for you like they were laying it out. They came for me. They came for mine! They killed Plassido, Charlie. They killed my son.”
Charles’s heart began to pound. He didn’t know Angelo’s family like that because he and Angelo were never close like that, but the idea that he had just lost his son hit hard. “Damn, Ang,” he said.
But that response triggered something nasty in Angelo. “What you feeling sorry for me for? They’re coming for you next. You and your family. You’d better get your family ready. They’re coming for your ass next!”
And when he said it, that was when they heard it. First, it sounded as if the doors were trying to be kicked in. Then they could hear gunfire outside as if it was unrelated to the kick-ins. But then the front-trailer-door was kicked down, and then the back-trailer-door was kicked down, and gunmen, a small army strong, was running inside the trailer with military-styled AK-47s drawn and ready. And they started shooting everything moving.
Charles pulled out the gun he always carried for protection and Angelo grabbed a gun he had in his suit case. Both men ran out of the bedroom toward the hall, but as soon as they did the majority of the men started running for th
em, firing as they ran.
Charles had to pull Angelo back into the bedroom, slamming the door, and they jumped behind the bed taking cover. As soon as the door was kicked in and the gunmen entered shooting, Charles and Angelo shot back, picking off the gunmen one by one by one.
They fired and fired and held back the charge as hard as they could; killing every man that entered that bedroom. But two handguns against AK-47s wasn’t going to hold back the charge for long. They fired every bullet they had, but they were already pushed into a corner.
When the intruders realized they were out of ammunition, and was no longer firing back, that was when they pounced. And Charles and Angelo had no choice but to raise their hands in surrender, dropping their empty weapons, as the big guns moved in and aimed for their heads.
But Charles was nobody’s fool. He knew, as sure as he knew his name, that those thugs weren’t about to let them live. They might make them suffer, because they might need to get some intel, but at the end of the day they were going to snuff them out. He knew the game. Mick the Tick was his brother. He knew how this movie was ending.
But he had a family, a wife and children, depending on him. He had grandchildren depending on him. He wasn’t going out like that.
As soon as the first gunman was upon them, and had slammed Angelo in the stomach with the butt of his gun, forcing Angelo to his knees, it was Charles’s time to pounce.
He grabbed the gun from the first gunman, fell against his kneed cousin to protect him, and began firing at the second gunman first, and then the now-defenseless first gunmen. When they both dropped, he and Angelo quickly got up.
Charles tossed the AK to Angelo, and then grabbed the AK of the second downed gunman. They both picked up the dead men as body armor, and waited for the onslaught.
It came. Not as ferocious as they would have thought: there were less gunmen still alive. But they came nonetheless, and Charles and Angelo beat back that charge too. So much so that they were able to make it out of that bullet-riddled bedroom, firing at all incoming before a single shot could hit them, until that small army was just a couple men, who both turned tail and ran.
When Angelo saw the state of his family, and that his wife and all of his children had been shot and shot repeatedly, he ran to them, and fell to his knees.
But Charles ran outside, after the fleeing gunman. He needed one of them alive. He needed one of those motherfuckers to tell him what the fuck was going on.
But they both got away.
“Gotdammit!” Charles yelled angrily, and thought about jumping in his car and chasing their asses.
But then he thought about what Angelo had said. About how his family was going to be next. About how the Brazzanos weren’t going to rest until they took out Charles’s family too. It was late at night. Charles was away from home. What better time to do it than now?
Charles’s heart fell through his shoe at just the thought of the implications, and he took off. He was calling his wife on his cellphone as he jumped into his Jaguar, shifted gear, and sped away home.
But he got no answer from Jenay.
He got no answer at the house.
He called his oldest son, chief of the Jericho County Police Department Brent Sinatra, and ordered him to get cops to the house and get them there quick. Brent was at the hospital, still at his wife’s bedside, but he heeded the call. And went too.
But Charles was driving so fast, and was in and out of lanes like such a madman, that he beat the police there.
And even that was too late.
Because as soon as he sped onto his street, his house was already in flames. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Lord, no. Lord, no. Lord nooo!” he cried.
He sped into the driveway, stunned by the view, but had to slam on brakes and swerve his car around when the house suddenly buckled, and exploded with even more fire.
He jumped out of his car. The house was now a fireball of bricks and mortar and shards of glass. But it couldn’t be. His wife, his youngest daughter, were in that house!
And Charles ran.
He was going in even though he knew it was an impossible mission.
He was going in even if it cost him his life.
He left them home alone when his stupid ass should have known better.
This was on him. Their lives were on him!
But his son Brent pulled up in his pickup truck just as his father had gotten out of the Jag and began running toward the fire. Brent ran even faster to overtake his own father, and had to tackle him and wrestle him to the ground.
And they both, on that ground, looked up in horror as their family home caved into itself like a house of cards. And crumbled.
Charles thought he heard screams.
And he did.
But they were his own.
CHAPTER ONE
Three Weeks Earlier
She was still in the shower by the time he made it upstairs. It was early, six-thirty in the morning, but Jenay Sinatra was an early bird.
Charles Sinatra was not.
But he’d driven all through the night, nearly eight hours with a couple stops to pee and get gas, just to be able to see her and be with her before she headed off to work. And before he went to sleep for what probably was going to be another eight hours.
He undressed quickly, leaving his clothing wherever they dropped, pulled the covers back, and fell onto his back onto the bed. He was back home in Maine, after three days of bullshit in Baltimore where a major land deal negotiation fell through, and where his unleashed anger nearly cost him a night in jail. The last thing he wanted was more drama and aggravation. That was why he wanted Jenay. She calmed him unlike anybody else ever could.
But by the time the shower turned off, and Jenay got out, removed her shower cap, grabbed a towel, and entered their adjacent bedroom, he had already fallen asleep. She didn’t see him at first. Her entire focus was on the three major conventions her hotel, the Jericho Inn, would be hosting next week, and she was mentally adding items on her to-do list even as she dried off. It wasn’t until he snored, startling her, did she look toward their bed.
And when she saw her husband, laid across that bed like the Adonis he was, shock became an understatement. “Charlie?” she asked.
But he was sleeping too hard to hear her. Snoring like a big dog. She wanted to run to him, and get on top of him, and give him the kind of welcome back she knew he would want, but he was tired. She could see it all over his face, even with his eyes closed.
She had urged him to wait until morning to try and drive back after those negotiations fell through, but he drove back anyway. All night long. But that was Charles. He wasn’t going to be away from home any longer than he had to be.
She went over to him to put the covers over his fine body. Even as he slept his penis was exciting the hell out of her. Even as he slept it was bigger than most men’s penises aroused. But she’d have to give him that welcome back when he woke up.
She, instead, covered him up, put away all the clothes he’d thrown about the room like some careless teenager, put on a bathrobe, and made her way downstairs.
But once downstairs, she got another surprise. Not only had their baby daughter, Bonita, gotten up and gotten in the tub without her having to wake her up, but she’d laid out her school clothes on the bed. She attended a private school, Saint Catherine’s, and wore a uniform, but the clothes were already properly ironed and ready. Their baby, Jenay thought with fondness but also with trepidation, was growing up.
Jenay poked her head into the bathroom. Bonita Sinatra sat in her garden tub bathing. She was Charles’s fifth biological child, but Jenay’s first and only biological child. And she was a stunner already, with long, thick black hair; golden-brown skin; and a smile that could charm birds from trees. She wasn’t spoiled, which Jenay was thankful for, but she was decisive. And knew how to get exactly what she wanted. “Cereal or bacon?” Jenay asked her.
“Cereal,” Bonita replied.
“Raisin Bran or Cheerios?”
“Fruit Loops.”
“Neet, not again.”
“That’s what I like. I don’t like Raisin Bran. Cheerios either.”
“Okay,” Jenay said. “But tomorrow you’re eating a complete, well-balanced breakfast. You aren’t eating Fruit Loops every single morning, young lady.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You said yes ma’am yesterday. And the day before that. You can’t eat cereal every single day, Neet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jenay smiled and shook her head. Even at her young age, Bonita could charm her way out of anything. She was so skilled that she even had her father wrapped right around her fingers. Had her mother wrapped around them too, Jenay thought with a smile, as she made her way into the kitchen.
After preparing coffee, she stood at the center island, pulled up her emails on her kitchen laptop, and read them as she drank. And then Anthony “Tony” Sinatra, her stepson, arrived. He picked up his baby sister every morning and took her to school on his way to work. Jenay believed it killed two birds with one stone for Tony: he loved Bonita and enjoyed spending that time with her. But it also gave him a chance to catch a daily glimpse of Saint Catherine’s headmistress and his good friend, Sharon Rachel Flannigan.
But when he entered the home and made his way into the kitchen, where Jenay was pouring herself a second cup of coffee, she got herself another surprise. He didn’t have to catch any glimpses of Sharon. Sharon was with him.
Jenay smiled. “Well hello there,” she said as they made their way to the center Island. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning, Share.”
“Tony insisted on picking me up from the airport,” Sharon said as Tony held her chair and she sat at the island. “I just got back in town.”
“How was the convention?”
“Busy. You get twenty heads of twenty parochial schools in one room, and you’ve got twenty different suggestions for every issue, and twenty different solutions for every problem. It was maddening,” she said, and they laughed.
“I saw Dad’s car out front,” Tony said. “He’s back?”
“Yep.”
Big Daddy Sinatra: Charles In Charge (Big Daddy Sinatra Series Book 6) Page 1
