For Blood and Beast: Tomas, For Blood (Garko Book 1)

by Gia P. Leonne

  Captivating eyes, like sunbursts, in the center, the outer ring is bronze, like raw honey. In the photo, the swirl of color appears tiger-like. Yes, his appearance is a draw. I wonder how much they enhanced his appearance for this cover.

  Any woman with blood still running through her veins would be enchanted. They list his character traits as questions,

  Confident or Narcissistic? I laugh

  Dynamic, Charismatic, or Psychotic?

  Influential, Dominant, or Mob Boss?

  He could dominate me anytime.

  He could also be Charles Mansion... Jeffrey Dahmer ... My Mother, or any of the nuts who belong in an asylum fit for the zappy chair.

  "Oh, yeah, oh yeah. Is Cowboy Daddy gonna cum?"

  "Is Cowboy Daddy gonna make his whittle cowgirl cum."

  My neighbor is headed for her big finale. I love the daddy smut she talks and so does her husband. He always comes immediately after she starts it. A husband trained well is all I can say. And here it comes, again, literally.

  "Oh fuck, oh shit, fuuuuuuuuck!" My lampshade swings and hits the wall. Do I complain to management? Hell no! My neighbors rank right up there with free Internet porn in my book, and I get to skip those funky viruses. I'm contemplating drilling a peephole or breaking in and setting up cameras while they are at work. I could flip the clit better with an aerial view, rather than just audio.

  That night I dream of an elder in my family. She and I talk in whispers, as she giggles like a schoolgirl about my neighbor's exploits.

  "Be confident, strong, and resilient." She warns.

  "I am all those things."

  "Yes, you are... without challenge. Your challenge has come for you, now. You are not ready." She smiles waiting for my rebuke no doubt. I offer her humor, instead.

  "A job… my eyes wide… the quest to discover Tupac alive?"

  "Don't be a snot. You know already. Sleep well, my daughter." I awaken blissful a great start to a day. But something's poking me, I laugh as I peel Mr. Garko's glossy cover photo from my ass cheek.

  CHAPTER 7

  Nothings Wrong Wit Me

  Tomas

  "My first question to each new patient is always, do you believe you need to be here?

  Second, depending on the answer to the first is, if so, why? If not, why? I'll grant you time if you need it, to ponder my questions. Answer anytime during the session." She smiles as if she has just asked me what I think about blueberry pie.

  Do I need to be here?

  Let's see, I just buried Tomas for three months, the man I was born to be and resurrected Force, an animal created, or bred to handle raw situations as they arise—like fuckin prison. A cage I entered of my own accord. I then beat the shit out of half the inmates, warranting solitary confinement until time for my release. In addition, I like to hide from my family, attract the attention of sadistic foreigners—who've taken over my City- and make paper-thin government deals, while they posture me like a rat.

  Yes.

  Possibly, I need to be here.

  "Mr. Garko. You've been silent for a while, anything to say?

  What comes out of my mouth after deep fucking reflection which I conclude, I positively need to be here?

  "Nothing's wrong with me."

  I sound juvenile. Not a great start to the patient, doctor relationship she wants to build. Nor will lying allow her to help me sort out my shit. I wish I could allow her to help me. It is not an option.

  "Let's carry on shall we," she smiles, and I nod.

  She introduces the partners' therapy disclosure message and her condescending tone makes me want to bind her mouth shut with duct tape, one of its many applications, strong and cheap too. And so, I tune her out to think where I am going from here, exonerated, but on fucking probation. I'd planned this return meticulously. But as they say, 'the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.' How about never go as fucking planned. Still one must adapt goals, to reach targets.

  I scribe on my mental notepad.

  Target 1: Mafia Illyrian, and their never-ending flunky subsets like the Beso and the Kanun. Kill them all, no scratch that. Convince them it is best if they leave. If they disagree. Kill them all.

  Target 2: American Italian Mafia, my La Familia. Kill them before they kill me? No. Show them a destiny worth living. And kill whoever is left who wants to kill me.

  Just the beginning, to reach the manna and return honor to the Garko Legacy, but now, I gotta deal with probation which includes house arrest, and court-ordered therapy.

  "Tomas, not every-,"

  "I'm Mr. Garko."

  "Oh, well... yes of course. Forgive me. As I was saying, Mr. Garko, not everyone seeks therapy because something is wrong with him or her. Sometimes multiple things happen in life beyond our control. We seek help to sort it all out. I am in therapy myself Mr. Garko."

  No shit?

  "Well I did not exactly seek you out, did I? On the other hand, my life is and will always be full of difficulties. Responsibility and loss are a part of the game, right."

  "So, are you saying life is a game to you, Mr. Garko?" Eyebrows lifted; she awaits my answer. She's someone's mother.

  "There is a game being played, but I'm not the puppet master."

  Not yet,

  "As soon as my release from prison was made public, they slapped me with a felony probation charge for coercing and trapping a minor, a fucking Ballentino, my ex-in-laws, created farce. So, yeah you people are always playing games."

  As a career criminal, to hear felony probation was even a thing, shocked me. I am allowed to carry out my 'home detention' at the new place, in the mountains of New York State. Will I ever stop paying for making Celia a teenage mom, marrying her, and having to bury her soon after? For fuck's sake, we all lost. But we gained Elektra.

  "You people? How exactly are you categorizing people, Mr. Garko? And are you denying you took a teenage girl from her home and traveled out of the country holding her hostage for months?"

  "She is my daughter. We now have a bond, a beautiful relationship." She writes something in her book.

  "You spoke of responsibility and loss; you've had more than your share, it seems, beginning with the death of your father when you were a child. Can you tell me how you deal with loss?"

  I want to stretch out and let my heart bleed out of my mouth; however, I can't voice specific shit.

  Instead, I show machismo—

  "I keep moving on, like everyone else. What other choice is there?"

  And because

  Snitch is not a part of my DNA.

  Now if I can convince everyone in my life, I not fucking ratting them out, I might live to see the year out. An hour after leaving the Docs I FaceTime my fratello Donny, keeping a closer eye on him is crucial. My gut says his personal life is spiraling again, along with his health. The unlucky bastard is walking around with damaged organs because of this life.

  "Donatello, where do you disappear to for days at a time?"

  "Well, mama you want to know if I have on clean underwear, too?"

  "Don't you fuckin shit me, you stronzo— "

  "You're dropping words it happens when you get upset. Street Garko… is Force seeping out?"

  I take a deep breath.

  "Just pick up when I call." Needing this conversation to go well, I drop the big brother shit, and give him the jest of everything. His response,

  "So, in your lucrative master plan, the government is a partner that La Familia is going to sanction, somehow?"

  "Donny you look like you need a good shit. I understand. You crawled out, made a life outside for years, and now, I show my face and try to pull you back into something your body says you've given enough.

  "You are right, we are more than cousins, more than that, brothers, looking back you were my figura paterna. If you say go, I go. Come I come."

  "I was six years older than you, that's a sad notion."

  "You… have always taken responsibility seriously, you were alw
ays wise beyond your years. I remember how you impressed Ernesto when his guys pressed you, and you got them back with cunning revenge. You were not as big nor strong as they were, at that time, so you handled the payback with evil ass, wit. This is why they feared you as a boy, as a man you were and are unstoppable. Now, saying all that needed to be said, what is this less than brilliant plan of yours… trying to gain the family's trust, while working deals with the government and a Mafia Illyrian family?" He chuckled. "I would not doubt The Committee having a bounty on your head as we speak."

  He thinks I'm nuts.

  "Si, my plan is not the simplest way to regain faith in my honor and my leadership, yet not impossible. And yes, The Committee's long-reaching arm won't think twice to end my beginning. Every move must appear transparent and beneficial to everyone involved. The stars have aligned just so, fratello, I have a new vision. We can do this."

  "The last time you moved on a vision for the family they tried to take you out. Not saying this wasn't their plan for many years, however, you fueled the fire with that legitimacy rhetoric."

  "Big words for a gangster, have you started reading books, fratello?"

  "I know you jest, but I run a legitimate professional business, took a page from the book you were studying. So yeah, you stronzo, I've been reading."

  "Good fucking la de da for you, Donatello. Now look, ten years ago, yeah, I stirred shit up, they didn't want to hear it, and during that chaos— ughem— due to a lack of leadership, the Mafia Illyrian foothold, began, in New York City. Someone in our house, La Familia invited those bloodsuckers in but as Boss at the time, any outcome ultimately is on me."

  "Your new roommates, tell me more? Playing a little close to home aren't you."

  Excellent change of subject. I expected, "no, Tomas only stupid ass haters blame you for the Mafia Illyrian roaches.".

  Does Donatello blame me for his struggle? I know it's hard for me to see him and not blame myself. His injuries are a direct result of that chaos. That would be fucked up if he did, especially considering my intentions. Playing it safe—I give him machismo— I drop the subject, also.

  "Fucking courts can't handle me. The probation requires house arrest, therapy, and gainful employment, under mild supervision. I remain at home unless I am at work, lunch, or therapy. My therapist is sexy as fuck, but I won't fuck her. She's eerie, one day she might peel her skin off to reveal an she's an alien or something. I know sounds crazy, right? Fuck, I'm watching a lot of SYFY on Satellite with this home lock up. Besides, I only see her once a week. So good thing, I brought the pussy train to la casa de Forza and had them vetted in as employees before I left Brazil."

  "You crazy fuck, before you knew about the probation?" We laugh. "Merde, anybody else in your fix would have been in prison for life."

  "Anybody else in my fix would have stayed on in Brazil, drinking Caipirinhas and fucking women with the best asses in the world."

  "Yeah, but with the government, close, Ernesto is on your heels, man. He believes we owe him. His compagni on the council gave him hell, for making your half-breed ass boss only to watch you bolt."

  "They fucking tried to kill me, I died not left on vacation."

  "Everyone is denying that shit… so you come up, not dead, and to them, you possibly, staged it all, every bullet hole— he laughs. Add my reluctance, in reality, my inability, to take your leadership spot, and this enrages him more. He relentlessly checks my disability status. I have already given La Familia a fucking kidney and liver. What's left to lose, a lung?"

  Okay so maybe we are going to talk about this.

  "Something is going on with you. When will you confide in me, your brother, hmm?"

  "I'd rather focus on immediate threats first. Afterward, we can have a fuckin Kumbaya regarding me, brother."

  Machismo, I taught him well.

  "Did I ever treat you as if you were not a part of my heart?"

  "Whoa, where did that shit come from?"

  "Oh, you can confess heartfelt compliments but I'm what…" we are getting off subject. I take a moment to look into his eyes, "Your waning faith shows, does your trust follow? Donatello, in life, to get to the other side of hell, we sometimes need, to place blame… vomit the hurt out at something. If you blame me for your shit, I understand... Fuck, not too far behind you on that. It's just... its time fratello, to step out. Let's get this shit right, this time, me and you."

  "Fuck! Therapy is working, huh"

  "Donatello, don't joke, I'm serious. I want you to know while you're watching after me this time, I see you. I know where you belong."

  "I fucking missed you, fratello."

  "How is Luca?"

  "She misses me. It has been six months. I promised not to miss her birthday. She tries to act tough, lil' shit, but my sister says she cries for me at night."

  "I can bring them closer, she can visit, often. You know… if you trust La Familia's juice in little Italy."

  "I don't fucking trust La Familia, right now. I have another idea. I will bring her to live with Jake and Shawnee until events come full circle. She loves Jake."

  "Have they agreed?"

  "Elektra has, Jake, will follow. Pussy whipped my boy is, or maybe the mother of his future children scares the shit out of him. I think she is a fuckin assassin."

  "She is her father's daughter, and no one wants to peek at the high body count in that ledger."

  "I'm not worried."

  "You look it. This is what I know. She's not an assassin, per se. She is an Arms Scientist designing military-grade weaponry, defensive and offensive, is what I hear. How does it feel to have a daughter who's turned your protégé into a house-dad and is now working for The Man?"

  "Fuck the Man and fuck you for bringing that shit up."

  "Well, all I am saying is the United States Department of Defense is saying fuck you Tomas Garko while making your daughter a wealthy woman."

  Donny laughs at the irony. "Have to love America."

  "Fuck I care, as long as she's winning and they get their hands off my shit. How did she get the job with a direct affiliation to La Familia?"

  "One could ask you the same question. You're awful chummy with a suspicious government Agent Riley— I don't bite, so he goes on— Some people say she is a hazard, and safer if she works for them than an enemy. She is an independent contractor though, more unofficial than official. And I've heard rumors, a secret humanitarian group of women having enough juice to back certain missions."

  "How and the fuck you know all this."

  "I told you, I'm a—I finish for him … 'fucking professional'." He glares at me through the screen, "facetious stronzo, I have my contacts, you have yours."

  "Yeah, okay you Bond, motherfucker. Everybody around me is dealing with Government."

  "And you?"

  "Fuck 'em all, I'm gonna do what I'm gonna do. Maybe my apparent contacts cause suspicion, however, need you to—"

  He huffs interrupting,

  "I trust you… You taught me to live and breathe Omertà, fratello. You always take care of business, always three steps ahead. Your own personal hell, with the loss of Celia and Elektra, never affected us negatively, instead, you turned it into a way to leave us all rich. You just might be the alien underneath human skin."

  CHAPTER 8

  A Hunting We Will Go

  Evee

  My sister Vilia would cut me at the knees if she knew what I was up to at this moment. Swiping through hangers filled with after five dresses at Nordstrom Rack. Of my many faults, a couture whore is not one. But I will punch the lady next to me trying to look over my shoulder at my selections. This is a problem all discount clothing retail stores share.

  "Excuse me, but would you mind if I could just get to that dress…" I extend my arm in a defensive move.

  "Yes, I do mind." I smile.

  Affronted, she reports to her phone, "Bitches are so trite."

  Let it go Evelyne, you have a Beast to hunt down and catch. Then relea
se, I didn't comply with my mother's wishes to make a marriage this soon. A stand-in suitor, as busy and uninterested in commitment, as Tomas, could add years of freedom from my ultimate cross to bear. An arm brushes my shoulder, my personal space disrupted.

  "Listen, lady, women should not demean each other with awful names. Men hurt us enough with cruelty. Now if obtaining this half-off dress is what will make your worthless life meaningful. By all means, take it." She huffs, hand to her chest, stomping away. Another woman to my right laughs.

  "Was it something I said." I innocently ask.

  "Clearly." She rolls her eyes at the women's back.

  Only if this was the end of the story. Ten minutes later security found me.

  "Maam, we are going to need you to come with us."

  "Excuse me?"

  "We have reason to search your person for merchandise. Please comply."

  My lawyer persona kicks in overdrive.

  "First of all, bag searches must be consensual – You have no power to search me nor my belongings.

  If you attempt to force the surrender of my bags for search by physical force or by intimidation, I am entitled to bring a claim for the tort of assault and/or battery. Gentleman is this where we want to go with this false claim of theft made by an overzealous ninny."

  The ninny standing a few yards behind him gasps.

  The officer's head swivels between us, his large shoulders expanding with a deep breath. he thinks a moment. Deflated he says, "I guess not. Forgive my intrusion on your shopping experience here at Nordstrom Rack." He walks away.

  "Wait, is that all. What about her arrest."

  "I am Mall Security. I do not arrest anyone."

  "But clearly, she should…"

  "Hey lady. I will remove you for disturbing the peace."

  "I'll never come here again. She banters walking away.

  Unbelievable. Maybe my sister is right about retail.

  It is time to leave. "Cynthia, hurry, I need to get dressed."

  "El rojo, Chica."

  "Ugh, you always pick red."