His: Dominic: The Sabatini Family

by Fiona Murphy

  “So you’re going to get her five?”

  His blue eyes glitter with humor. “Just two, one from me and one from you. Bought them yesterday. Carmella wrapped them up already.”

  “Where is Carmella?” Carmella is my father’s housekeeper, she’s usually here. By around now she’ll stop for her lunch and have coffee with us as she tells me everything I’m doing wrong. She’s worked for Pop for almost fifteen years now. I like her so I let her think I’m listening.

  “Her granddaughter is sick so she’s home watching her today. You really never going to give me grandkids?”

  “You got grandkids coming out your ears. I don’t need to give you any.” I also don’t say what I did more than a decade ago. There would be no kids for me. I want the Sabatini line in the Outfit to die with me. I don’t resent my life or the things I’ve done, none of it. At the same time, I don’t want my kids to be forced into this life. If they’re male, the expectation is they would become a member and if they didn’t, it would cause problems.

  Another sigh. “I guess I’m okay with no grandkids. I do worry about you not finding someone. Don’t you want what your cousins have? Ever since they got married and settled down, they’re fucking glowing they’re so happy. You’re going to be forty in a few months. Johnny tells me I failed you as your father.”

  Fuck that. “This has been settled. I made too many concessions to get approval on it. I’m not going to throw it away now.” It isn’t normal to be my age and as high as I am in the Outfit and not be married. Preferably to a woman from another member of the family. “Hell, no, I don’t want what my cousins have.” I shake my head, inside I shudder at the idea. “All that angst, no. I’ll pass.”

  “It’s not all angst,” he argues.

  “Like you and Mom?” It’s a low blow. Pop winces—their marriage was shit. Pop refuses to badmouth my mother, though. As a Sabatini, his vow of honoring her as his wife held even after her death. I respect him for it but she was a greedy, conniving bitch. I’m also tired of Pop bringing this up.

  “Or you and what’s that chick’s name you’re still mooning over, Christy?” I know the chick took off because she didn’t want to be with a mob guy.

  It’s been almost five years, and as far as I know there hasn’t been another woman since. Which isn’t Pop at all. Pop loves women. Not just loves to fuck—Pop adores women in a way I can’t comprehend. I blame it on his love of eighteenth-century writers and his mother as a cross between Joan of Arc and the Madonna. Ever since the woman walked out, he hasn’t been quite as lyrical.

  “Pop, enough. It’s not happening.” I don’t want to argue with him, it’s not something we do often. “What about Johnny Conti?”

  “He called for you,” he mutters.

  I don’t like that. All of twelve people in the world have my cell phone number, and as the head of our family Johnny is one of them. Why did Johnny call Pop when he could have called me? “What does he want?”

  A shrug of his shoulders. “His daughter, he’s having problems with her.”

  “Why is he calling me about problems with his daughter?” It’s only as I think hard, I remember Johnny has one. Johnny had a son from his wife who got capped when he was only twenty-three. The daughter is from Conti’s mistress. When the mistress died he sent the girl overseas to a boarding school in Italy. “I had no idea she was even stateside.”

  Interesting, his eyes slide away from mine. “The girl, her name is Regina. She turned twenty-two last month. She came back to the States two years ago when Johnny got sick. Johnny had to beg her to come, she didn’t want to leave university. She’s book smart, got into a good school, University of Turin.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Not so street-smart, though. She thinks she’s in love. Problem is the guy is a scumbag posing as a white knight. Regina won’t listen to reason.”

  “Why does he need me? Conti wants the guy on ice or something? I don’t get why I have to go all the way to New York to do it when he has a half dozen guys who could handle it.”

  The hit man thing is a movie myth. Everyone did their part when it came to killing, usually the person who could get closest to the hit. If the hit wasn’t someone in the family, then it would fall to whoever in the crew’s turn it was or would do the job best.

  Pop shrugs again. It doesn’t fool me for a minute.

  “What? Don’t fuck with me, Pop. It’s a good thing you don’t sit down at the tables anymore, you are shit for a poker face.”

  His smile is sly. “He thinks you might be able to sort her out without making the guy dead. If she knows Johnny wacked the guy, she’ll never forgive him. They already got problems—she doesn’t want anything to do with family business or Johnny now that he’s not dying. Until she met the guy she was talking about going back to Italy.”

  I don’t blame the girl for not wanting anything to do with family business, especially if she didn’t grow up in the life. When it comes to Johnny, he’s old-school. It doesn’t matter what she wants, she’s his daughter, she’ll do what he says. There was talk just before his son died of Johnny trying to make a marriage happen to a capo’s daughter, even though his son wanted to marry the girl he’d been with since he was eighteen. I have no idea what the hell Johnny thinks I can do. At the same time, it’s not for me to question my Don.

  “When does he want me there?”

  “Today.”

  Fuck.

  “The quicker you handle it the quicker you can be back.”

  “When’s the next flight to New York?”

  “I booked you already in business class, the flight leaves in an hour and a half.”

  “Fine, you want anything from New York?” I ask as I text Everett I’m ready to go. He responds he’s less than a minute away.

  “Come back with a wife, we’ll make that my birthday present.”

  Shit.

  He laughs. “You forget every year. I would be more surprised if you remembered.”

  “My bad, considering how old you are now we need to celebrate every one like it’s your last.” Pop is only fifty-six today. Yeah, he had his kids when he was still a kid himself. My bitch of a mother set him up, to get out of an engagement to a capo twice her age. As far as Pop is concerned, he has no regrets, he would do it all over again to get his sons.

  If it weren’t for the silver streaks in his hair and beard, no one would be able to guess he’s that old. He looks like he’s maybe forty-five, he works out every day same as I do although he goes a little heavier on the weights. I prefer the leaner muscle of a baseball player to being built like a linebacker like Pop. To me a mass of muscle is a stereotype of the mafia I’m not interested in perpetuating.

  Shaking his head. “Enzo thinks he’s having a surprise party, he’s using the pasta making as a cover. It’s fine.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t they say anything to me?” No one said anything, Chloe and Enzo just came into the club for dinner last week.

  “Because you don’t keep secrets from me, even good ones like a surprise party.”

  “True. All right, I’m not coming back with a wife. I’ll get you something better.”

  2

  Regina

  My cell phone rings, not my regular cell phone, my secret cell phone. The sound has my heart thumping with excitement. It’s been three whole days since it last rang. I make sure my bedroom door is locked before I retrieve the hidden burner phone from its hiding place.

  “Hello, my love,” I answer.

  “Dearest heart, your voice soothes the ache from not seeing you for so long.”

  Joy floods through my entire body, filling me close to bursting until I worry my heart is beating too fast. “I’ve missed you so much. Tomorrow all the waiting will be over. No more hiding our love from Johnny or anyone else. We’ll be together for the rest of our lives. Marrying you will be my every dream come true.”

  His laughter is harsh and grating. “How sweet.”

  My smile vanishes. It doesn’t sou
nd like he thinks it’s sweet.

  “I’m the luckiest man in all of New York to have you as a fiancée, young, sweet, pure and in love with me. One more night and I’ll be able to change a few of those things.” This time there’s no mistaking his coarse laughter or the bitterness underlying his words.

  Is it really Richard? He’s never said anything like this before, never been so...I don’t know, it feels wrong. Even his voice sounds different, rougher, with a hint of shrillness at the edges. “Richard?”

  A cough. “I’m sorry, darling. I don’t know what’s come over me, I think I’m a bit giddy at the thought of tomorrow. All I’ve been dreaming of is making you my wife. I love you, Regina. I can’t wait for the privilege of becoming your husband.”

  Relief pours through me, washing away the questions bubbling up inside me. Of course, I can forgive him. I haven’t been myself the last few days either from the stress and apprehension of tomorrow. “Yes, my love, of course. I love you too, I can’t wait.”

  “Damn, I have to go, darling. My boss wants me in his office to discuss the week I’m taking off starting tomorrow. Remember ten on the dot, you go into your regular coffee place. You go right out the back door, I’ll be waiting.”

  “Until tomorrow. I love you, Richard.”

  “I love you too.” Then he’s gone.

  Clutching the phone to my chest, I go over every word he said. Until those moments when he became...even now I can’t put my finger on it. It was a Richard I had never heard before, didn’t recognize.

  Stop it, Regina, I tell myself, it’s not a big deal. You yelled at Maria yesterday for not putting any sugar in your oatmeal. All she was doing was following Johnny’s orders of me being on a diet whether I wanted to be or not. Stress does things to people, let it go. I’ve never yelled at Maria before—she’s too sweet, too timid. If I’m allowed a slip, then so is Richard.

  Putting the phone away, I burrow into my favorite handbag to the secret compartment. With a glance at the door, I take out my engagement ring. It’s only a carat but it’s so bright and clear. The ring is a little small, stupid fat fingers. Forcing it on, it barely makes it over my knuckle.

  Not for the first time I wish I was one of those tiny women instead of five nine, plus size with a big frame and big boobs and butt that only rappers like. Richard assured me once we were together he would help me lose weight, enabling me to become his perfect love. Even though his words hurt, I was grateful he was willing to help me and loved me enough to overlook the ways I didn’t meet his ideal woman.

  Richard teased it was a good thing I was overweight—it kept men from coming around me, leaving him as the only man I would make love with. I used to feel silly and stupid for still being a virgin. Now I’m glad I saved myself for my future husband, even if it wasn’t really all my choice. Growing up in an all-girls boarding school taught by nuns in a tiny town in the north of Italy, there weren’t any options. The people in the small town kept a wide berth of the students in the school.

  Once I went on to the University of Turin, I was living with the family of a nun from the school. All my time was spent studying and cleaning in exchange for my room and board. When I arrived here in New York two years ago, Johnny kept men from getting close to me, but it wasn’t like they had a hard time. As Richard said, most men here in New York looked through me.

  It did annoy me the way my virginity was looked at as some prize, as if an intact hymen was the best thing about me. At first the way Richard got excited about me being a virgin made me feel icky. It was the same attitude of the other mob men who hung around the condo. The men I wanted nothing to do with. When what first appealed to me about Richard was that he wasn’t like the mob men.

  Normally, I hid in my room when men came to the condo. One look at the green-eyed, blond Richard and I knew he wasn’t a mafia guy. He was so handsome that I couldn’t take my eyes off him. When he smiled at me, I felt as if the sun was shining for me for the first time since I arrived in New York. Finally, someone cared about me, loved me.

  Tomorrow, my body will be under my own damn control. My whole life will change. I’ll be Mrs. Richard Taylor, and he’ll take me away from this life of guns and violence. I’ll no longer be the mafia princess of Johnny Conti, and Johnny will be lucky if I ever speak to or see him again.

  Taking off my ring and tucking it away again, I consider never speaking to or seeing Johnny after tomorrow. It wouldn’t be any different from the last decade, and it feels like long past time. Johnny won’t miss me. He’s made it clear I’m a disappointment to him. I think in the end this final break will be a relief for us both. I’m tired of his cruelty, of all the ways he lists everything wrong with me. Of him constantly threatening to take my allowance away, telling me all Richard wants from me is my money.

  How could Richard want something I don’t have? Especially when Johnny told me repeatedly that I don’t have any money. If I want to keep a roof over my head, I would do what I was told. Nothing Johnny said made any sense to me.

  While the forty thousand I made last year in my first year as a translator for a publishing house here in New York wasn’t peanuts, it was hardly enough to marry someone for. Besides, Richard has his own money, far more than I do. He works as an accountant earning six figures but with his bonuses, he easily earns seven figures.

  From far away I hear a thud. It’s Johnny leaving his office. Which means he’s leaving the condo for the day. If I give it five minutes I’ll miss him entirely.

  Ten minutes later I go into the kitchen, starving for breakfast, to find Johnny sitting and drinking coffee. I startle—Johnny never comes into the kitchen. The kitchen is the size of most people’s entire apartments in this city, but he thinks it’s beneath him to be in the room.

  “Gina, I’m having guests for dinner tonight. I’m getting a new lawyer. You’re to show up dressed in something nice, you watch your mouth and your manners.”

  I barely manage not to roll my eyes. “Fine.” It’s all I say before I turn to hide in my room. I’m not hungry anymore.

  “Eight o’clock,” he yells at me.

  I don’t bother responding. It’s only a few minutes later when I hear him slam the front door of the condo. God, I hate him so much.

  In my room, I hit the button to open the curtains. The condo is over ten thousand square feet on the sixty-second floor of a building people in this city would sell their souls to live in. I hate it, I hate everything about it. It’s not just the condo, I hate New York, the frantic tempo of the city, the way people look through you. I’m hoping I can talk Richard into a place in the quiet suburbs.

  The knock at my door is timid and soft. There’s only one person it could be, Maria.

  “Come in.”

  Maria opens the door, carrying a tray of oatmeal with a cup of coffee. “You didn’t eat breakfast.”

  “Thank you, Maria. I really appreciate it. You’re so sweet to me. I don’t deserve it.” I take the tray from her, carrying it to the small sitting area with a marble coffee table, loveseat and overstuffed chair where I spend most of my time in the condo.

  “It’s no problem. Do you have a dress you want me to press or steam?”

  I swallow a sigh, knowing Johnny sent her to ask me. “No, I’m good, thank you.”

  A small nod. “Okay. You need anything else?”

  “No, I’m good. I’m starving. I’ll eat and take my tray in later.”

  “Okay.”

  As soon as the door closes, I let my fake smile fade. I’ll miss her. She’s been so nice to me. When I first arrived here I was desperate to fit in. Maria helped me binge on everything to get caught up on American culture. All the things I didn’t understand, from how to get around the city, Snapchat, Tinder, all the rest—I could ask Maria without her ever laughing at me and my lack of knowledge.

  Finished with breakfast, I make my way to my desk. For the thousandth time I study the picture of my mother holding me as a baby. She was beautiful. I got my height and cu
rves from my mom, but she was much thinner, with an elegance to her I still remember being fascinated with. My mom was a dancer from Madrid who traveled to Chicago for a show. She was only supposed to be there for a week, but Johnny took one look at her and he didn’t let her go. It sounds romantic, but the reality wasn’t so much.

  The problem was my father was already married, and a member of the mafia. I remember the first time I heard it. I was being teased by a girl at school about my father. I managed to get onto a computer and the internet. I read and understood what it all meant. After that I became grateful he sent me away from Chicago and his world.

  Taking the picture down, I take it into the closet to tuck it in the bag I have packed for tomorrow. Slipping the picture between the pages of my favorite book, I wonder what my mom would think about what I’m doing.

  I would like to think she would support me. At first, I did wonder if Johnny was right and Richard was after something more than just me. He was so handsome I could hardly believe he wanted me. Except over the almost three months now Richard has never wavered in his declarations of love, and I believe him. I’m sure Mom would want me to be happy, and Richard makes me happy.

  Studying the bag filled with a few changes of clothes and my wedding dress, I hope it’s not too big. It’s normal for me to carry a large bag when I go to the coffee house. I’ve gone there often over the last few months to spend the day working.

  I went there to work so I wouldn’t feel like I was caged up in the condo. Even though I felt stupid sitting there working while one of Johnny’s men sat at another table close by and watched me. The only good thing about New York City is there are a plethora of people roaming the city with bodyguards, so it doesn’t faze most people. In order to keep up appearances I figure it’s a good idea to go today, so I text my usual guard, Danny, and let him know I want to go and I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.