by Nova Rain
Forty-five minutes later, we were cruising the streets of the West Village, while I wondered how I would talk to my new boss about the events of that night. But, as Donny’s Cadillac turned into Santone’s neighborhood, the view outside his house puzzled me. Four, identical Mercedes’ were parked on the right side of the road, blocking his driveway. As we closed in, I noticed a melodic tune lingering in the air. It was an electric guitar, jamming an old song. I recognized the guitarist’s style immediately. It was Eric Clapton, but I just couldn’t remember the title of that song.
“Santone’s happy,” Donny remarked, pulling over. “He plays ‘Sunshine of Your Love’ every time he’s happy.”
“What’s he happy for?” I wondered, stepping out of the Cadillac.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Donny winked, gesturing towards the estate.
He hadn’t finished his phrase, when my ears caught loud chatter coming from the front yard. Striding alongside Donny and Bryan, I looked at them, just in case they had something to say. Neither of them did. They kept their focus on the bright, limestone driveway, the music gaining in volume.
I would never forget what I saw next. There were at least two dozen men in suits around the pool, holding glasses, their roaring laughter almost as loud as Cream’s song. Don Santone himself was facing in our direction, grinning from ear to ear.
“Giuseppe!” He cheered, opening his arms. “You broke your cherry!”
“I did what…?” I muttered under my breath, padding towards him.
“Get over here!” Santone urged, the rest of his guests huddling together behind him. Still confused, I complied. The next thing I knew, I was in his arms and he was patting me on the back, his guests’ cheers and their applause rising up in the air. “I’m proud of you, kid,” he stated, breaking up the embrace.
“Proud of me?!” I exclaimed. “I thought you’d be mad. We didn’t get your money, and Clarke is dead.”
“Mad?” He snorted. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m not mad at you. You had the guts to pull that trigger. You proved your worth to the family. Fuck the money.”
Family…
A small word that most people took for granted.
The one thing I’d never had.
Until that night.
Amidst the melody of Cream and loud laughter, I got surrounded by people I had never even met. It was incredible, but all of them seemed to be happy for me. One by one, they walked up to me and hugged me, because to them, shooting Clarke in the head meant that I was no longer a boy. I was a man; a man that the Santone family could rely on. And to me, this acceptance, this joy meant that I had found where I belonged. It wasn’t the hugs. It wasn’t the praise, either. It was knowing that I was valuable to those people. They would have my back, and I would have theirs. I had seen firsthand how cruel this world could be, but now, that cruelty didn’t scare me. Why? Because I wasn’t alone anymore. The days of the homeless kid, playing guitar in Central Park for pennies were behind me. I had Donny, Bryan and the rest of Santone’s crew. With them, I could handle everything that life could throw at me.
THE END
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Mob Ties: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Guardians From Hell Book 1)
Chapter One
Michael
The gigantic object of Mount Logan loomed out of a thick blanket of clouds, posing a hurdle in the path of my Airbus Beluga. Standing at almost 20,000 feet, snow gracing slopes and peak alike, it would intimidate any young and inexperienced pilots.
Not me. Not Jake.
Flying in this remote part of the world had become routine. Gaining altitude to avoid the highest peaks in Canada and the Northern US was one of our most common actions in the cockpit. We’d ease back on the controls to increase power, hear the engines spin faster and that was it. In a couple of minutes, the altimeters would tell us we were in the clear. No proximity warnings were heard whatsoever. As far as the onboard computers were concerned, everything was fine.
The same could be said about Jake and Penny. After my friend’s crazy stunt, where he faked his own death, those two were now happy. They saw each other a lot more than they used to. Our new job allowed us to stay in New York for two or three days between flights. So, Jake was taking full advantage of this new reality. I couldn’t blame him. The man lost pretty much everything that mattered to him when United Airlines announced their intentions to sue us. His breakup with Penny had given his sanity a tremendous blow; a blow that few people could ever recover from. It didn’t kill him, though. Now, he was enjoying his new life as a cargo plane pilot. The problem was, I wasn’t.
First of all, we had changed our names. He wasn’t Jake Turner and I wasn’t Michael Compton anymore. He was John Williams and I was Michael Smith.
We were both ghosts to the general public. We showed up at small airport hangars, picked up cargo manifests from shift supervisors and took off. Our beards insured that no one recognized the pilots of flight one-fifteen that once landed on a levee just outside New Orleans. In the two months we had been working for “Swift Cargo,” we couldn’t have been seen by more than twenty people. There was no terminal buzz. There were no ladies waiting to meet with the crew at the end of the flight. Instead of these, we found ancient, smelly buses waiting to take us to whatever town where we’d be spending the night. One could say that we could always go out for a drink after our shift. But, when you’re staying at a place in the middle of God’s nowhere, with a population of two or three hundred, there’s not much you can do. Any bars in the area closed by midnight, but even if they didn’t, they were not to my taste. Being in the same room with loud hillbillies listening to country music was not my idea of fun.
I wished I could say things got better whenever we returned to New York. They didn’t. My new identity required that I keep a low profile. Getting together with old friends from the industry could cost me. Of course, the chances of me being sued by United Airlines were minimal because I wasn’t flying that triple seven down in New Orleans. Yet, those people were ruthless. No one could stop them from going after me. Going to court with them would be a disaster. That battle could drag on for years, and it would bankrupt me in the process. I could go to bars and clubs, but I had to forget about all of my favorite places. As for my company, my options were limited. I could either go out with Jake and Penny, go by myself, or not go out at all.
That Saturday night was no exception. I was waiting for them outside of the “Purple Iguana”, a club on the outskirts of Brooklyn, wearing a blue cap to hide my face from prying eyes. I buried my nose into my jacket, while loud music from the club caused the ground to vibrate underneath my feet. My cell phone buzzed with an incoming message as a small group of people passed me by.
“I got a flat tire on Bedford Avenue. Major embarrassment. I just contacted Ava. Penny says you can go over to Ava’s until we get there. She lives at 363 of the street you’re on, 2nd floor, apartment 21.”
I hated to impose on anyone, much less a woman I’d seen three or four times. However, it was a much better alternative than waiting for them alone in a club or out in the cold. So, I started off from the “Purple Iguana,” hoping that it wouldn’t take Jake long to change the tire on his car.
What a great reality…
This thought was born in my mind during my short walk to Ava’s apartment building. I was used to much better things than frequenting tiny places, hidden away in rural neighborhoods like this. So was Jake for that matter. Not long ago, the two of us would eat at the best restaurants and have drinks at the finest bars. Location didn’t matter. We could be in Miami, Indianapolis, Chicago, or New York, and we would enjoy the little time we had to ourselves. Jake wasn’t a fan of noise, but, being the good friend that he was, he never let me go out alone. Still, this was the price I had to pay for being part of that f
light. Being a hero—or friends with one in my case—had sent me into the shadows.
A sense of confusion hit me when I reached my destination. I was expecting to find a shut entry door and a dark hall. I doubted the tenants of this apartment building wanted any strangers in there. For some reason though, the door was wide open, and the staircase lights were on. To add to my confusion, there was a red sweater on the bottom landing. Three steps over from that, was a pair of faded jeans. Amazingly, there were more clothes on those stairs. As I climbed them, I noticed a brownish shirt, a number of t-shirts and even boxer shorts. Reaching the second floor, my eyes searched for the number 21. On the left of the hallway, the numbers 19 and 20 were on each closed door. Right outside the last one, Ava Briggs had settled her gaze on a pair of black pants, splayed out over the floor.
“Oh God…” she muttered, an expression of panic spreading across her face as our eyes met. “Michael, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you caught me at a really bad time. Sorry.”
At that, she turned around and walked back into her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.
Bad time? That had to have been the understatement of the year. Men’s clothes all over a staircase could only mean one thing: a nasty breakup. I wasn’t there to witness all the screaming and the tears that had come along with it, but I didn’t have to be. It didn’t take an Einstein to realize that Ava had just kicked a man out of her life. Whatever had transpired between them, I could not go back out into the freezing cold. Sucking in a deep breath, I rang her doorbell.
“Go away, Michael! What the hell are you doing here anyway?” Her shouts didn’t deter me one bit.
“Jake and Penny stood me up because they had a flat tire,” I addressed her in a relaxed voice. “She thought it’d be a good idea for me to wait for them here until they arrived at the club where we were supposed to meet.”
“Penny?” I heard her exclaiming her friend’s name, catching the sound of her footsteps. She swung her front door back open, surprise written all over her face. “This was her idea?”
“That’s what I said.” I gave a soft nod. “Your ex had a weird taste in boxers. I mean, who wears boxers with teddy bears on them?”
“How did you…?”
“Come on, girl,” I interrupted her, lowering my tone. “Why else would you throw his clothes out? I’m just wondering how they ended up on your stairs. Did you just…” I paused. “Run downstairs throwing them everywhere?”
“No, I, um…” she faltered, holding her forehead. “I ripped a hole in the bottom of his suitcase before handing it to him and didn’t tell him about it.”
“Nice,” I praised, flashing her a smile of approval. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she said with a nod, taking a step back. “So, how have you been? I haven’t seen you in…”
“Six, seven weeks maybe.” I finished her sentence. “I’m not going to lie to you, Ava. I’ve been better: a lot better.”
“You don’t like your new job?” She asked, moving around her living room counter.
“It’s not the job I don’t like,” I claimed, seating myself on one of the two stools behind the counter. “It’s everything else. I miss walking through busy terminals. I miss flying to cities. All I’ve been flying to these past couple of months is a bunch of tiny towns and villages I didn’t know existed. It gets so cold up there that you think your hands are going to fall off or something. And did I mention the lousy money I make?”
“Well, your friend doesn’t seem to mind any of that,” Ava remarked. “He’s thrilled about his new job.”
“He’s thrilled he’s got Penny back,” I corrected her. “Trust me, Jake wouldn’t mind flipping burgers if he knew he’d be with her. He loves your friend a lot.”
“Can you please not mention their relationship?” she requested, as she filled up a glass of whiskey.
“Why?”
She sighed, setting the bottle down. “Because I’m jealous of what they have. I thought I had it, too, but…” She shook her head and squeezed her lips together. “I was wrong.”
“Let me guess,” I suggested, putting some force in my voice. “He cheated on you.”
“You are very perceptive, Captain Compton.” She assumed a colder tone, adding ice to both glasses. “How did you figure it out?”
“You’re really pissed at him,” I explained. “I’ve seen what an angry woman can do when she’s furious.”
“How come? Have you cheated on someone?” She posed the question, sliding one of the glasses over to me.
“Nope,” I uttered, dragging my gaze away from her. “My cousin Jill snapped when she found out her little sister had leukemia. She used to be religious; she went to church every week. I’d never even heard her curse at anyone, until Caitlyn passed away. That night, Jill gathered every book and every icon she had, took them out to her backyard and tried to burn them. Her folks wouldn’t have that, so, they got in the way. I’ve never seen so much rage in my whole life. Jill’s father is a big man. I’m talking about 6’5,” two hundred-and-fifty pounds, and she just shoved him away like he was nothing. She would have burned all that stuff if I hadn’t stepped in.”
“Why did you do that?” Curiosity sent Ava’s voice an octave up. “Are you religious?”
“No.” I shook my head lightly. “I mean, I believe in God; I’m just not as pious as she was. This wasn’t about books and icons. She could have tried to set fire to her bed for all I cared, but it wasn’t going to make any difference. Caitlyn was still gone. Burning stuff wasn’t going to bring her back.”
“If you handled the situation like that, you’re a lot more level-headed than I am,” Ava concluded, whiskey wetting her lips.
“Because you ruined the guy’s suitcase? Nah.” I waved my hand in front of my face. “You could have thrown the damn thing out the window.”
“I did that tonight,” she pointed out. “I caught him in bed with a coed, three days go. I screamed at him, punched him… And her. God, I’ve never been so humiliated. He…” All of a sudden, her voice lost its nerve. Her gaze stopped at the granite in front of her, her eyes filling with tears.
“Hey…” I whispered, patting her wrist. “Don’t do this to yourself. A guy that treats you like that isn’t worth remembering. You can find tons of those dicks out there.”
“Michael, I’m sorry,” she spoke in a wobbly voice, shifting her gaze back down to me. “Look at me. You’ve never been to my house, and all I’ve done is whine about my failed romance. I didn’t even ask if you wanted whiskey. I just…”
“I like whiskey,” I assured her with a smile. “Anyway, you look like you could use a break. I’m flying to Ontario tomorrow afternoon, and I’m coming back to New York on Monday night. Take a day off from work and come fly with me.”
“In a cargo plane? How?” she wondered, a smile of curiosity bursting upon her lips. “Is that even possible? And are civilians allowed on these sort of flights?”
“Yes, it is possible,” I affirmed. “Technically, civilians aren’t allowed, but if anyone asks, we’ll say you’re my fiancée. There are a few seats between the cockpit and the cargo bay, but you won’t be needing them. You’ll be in the cockpit with me and Jake. What do you think?”
“I like it,” Ava admitted, and then downed the rest of her drink. “I’ve never been to Ontario. What time is the flight leaving?”
“It leaves at 3:45pm, Kingston-Ulster Airport.” My response was sharp. “It’s about a hundred miles to Kingston, so, I suggest you leave New York by one o’clock, tops. Thanks for the whiskey. I’d better go. Jake and Penny will be at the club soon.”
I slid the glass over to her and got off the stool, before heading back to her front door.
“Michael…?” Her feminine voice compelled me to stop. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” I said, looking back at her. I walked out of her apartment, spotting the trail of clothes her ex had left. What a loser… He’d been dating a tall, sexy
blonde like her, and had chosen to screw around with someone else. My guess was he hadn’t been thinking with his head, but that was irrelevant. Ava Briggs had agreed to fly up to Ontario with me. Being in a whole new place would help her put aside the memories and relax.
Chapter Two
Michelle
“Work hard. Be a doctor or a lawyer. Otherwise, you’ll end up scrubbing floors for a living like I do.”
My mother’s words have stayed with me, ever since she took me to school on that rainy, January morning. I wasn’t even six years old at the time, but I remember that moment as if it was yesterday. Most people would think that she was being too blunt and too cruel to her own flesh and blood. They’d say, “You can’t talk to a kid like that. You’re ruining their childhood and breaking their heart”, right? Maybe, but that’s how my mother was. Dear old Marlene wasn’t a tender mom per se. She was a fan of tough love. And although it didn’t work most of the time, in this case, it did. I put aside the noisy little girl who didn’t pay much attention to her teacher, and did what mom asked of me. Still, the sight of blood had always had a profoundly negative effect on me. In fact, a minor scratch was enough to freak me out of my mind. So, I chose the second path my mother suggested, and graduated top of my class in law from Stanford.
Alas, practicing law in my birthplace wasn’t a good idea. New York City is crawling with professionals, the vast majority of who are a lot more seasoned than me. It’s dominated by lawyers that drive cars more expensive than houses working for huge law firms. One of them hired me just days after graduation. I was ecstatic when I received a phone call from “Baxter and Gable.” They were the second largest firm in the city, and in the top ten in the country. Every young lawyer like me would love to work there. Magazines were filled with interviews of their well-paid executives, flashing their designer suits and their gold watches. Those guys made six figures per year before they were even thirty. However, during the interview, my expectations were woefully disappointed. I would be making a little more than minimum wage, but that wasn’t what let me down the most. The worst part was that I would be doing pretty much everything else in the office except practicing law. I’d have to make all sorts of copies, file stacks of documents, pick up the phone, and ensure that there was a fresh pot of coffee every morning. In essence, I was going to be a glorified personal assistant. It would take at least a year before I even attended a trial. I turned down their offer, believing I could do much better on my own.