Devil's Advocate: A Dark Mafia Romance (Devil's Playground Book 1)
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“Lodare Dio!” I shouted, startling the hipster dad. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. One of the drunks at the 602 Club had blabbed to me about Vercetti’s most recent case. The DA’s slam dunk evidence had mysteriously lost its SIM card just in time for trial. Rumor had it Vercetti had a man on the inside who had snaked it for her. That meant she had it now. Was she cocky enough to keep it in her office? A long shot, but a shot I had to take.
I was already striding back to Jackson Street. This was the golden hour for office break-ins. The work day was over, but enough drones were still buzzing around that you could move through a building without drawing attention. I had to handle this carefully. The law was really hot for me right now. A murder rap is no joke, even in this blood-soaked town, so it was possible the cops were keeping a tail on me.
I absolutely could not violate my probation, so I took some extra precautions to lose a tail, just in case there was one. I wove my way through a rec center basement, then in through the front of Luciano’s Italian Restaurant and right out the back and finally up over a fenced-in daycare playground. I emerged right into the last rushing commuters on Jackson.
I decided to bypass the doorman all together and swung around the back of 111. Better not to even look at that ugly number. The building crew had left the back door propped with a brick. Thank you, Saint Nicholas, for these negligent slobs. I could hear them shit-talking each other in the office. I slipped past and jumped into the maintenance lift. So far so good. Her floor was quiet and the lights in the office were off. It really was my lucky day.
The shitty Yale lock on her door took me all of nine seconds to jimmy and I was in. I strode right past the receptionist desk. If the SIM card was anywhere, it would be locked in her personal office. It was tidy in there, mostly law books and binders, and a movie poster from The Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman.
Vercetti barely came up to my chin. Did this stone-cold hottie have a sense of humor? I couldn’t waste time on her personality right now. I needed to get out of there before the cleaning crew showed up.
If I was a hard-headed fox who thought she was smarter than everyone else, where would I keep illegal shit? I gave the walls a quick once-over. The office didn’t have a safe, so my only hope was the desk. Bottom drawers revealed a stash of white cheddar popcorn and a gym bag. Upper drawers held an insane number of pens, but a quick once-over didn’t reveal a SIM card.
Maybe she wasn’t as dumb as I thought. I squatted down and carefully removed the middle drawer. I swept my hand back and forth across the inside of a drawer and bingo-bango! There it was: a little plastic bag, tucked in a hidden compartment. I pulled it out and kissed my tiny, powerful prize. Damn, I loved being good at my job!
I popped a handful of her popcorn into my mouth and surveyed the room, making sure everything was as I had found it. With the SIM card tucked into my breast pocket, I strolled to the elevator and exited the building, like I was any other happy worker heading home to my wife and kids.
With this ace in my hand, I was one step back from the edge of doom. Now she would have to take my case. More important, she would have to win my case. Even the Don respected Vercetti. I was getting out of this ragnatela.
Chapter Seven
Sophie
I love this town, but there are some mornings I wish Chicago was a person, so I could punch it in the face. This had been one of those mornings. Or maybe I just wanted to punch the dimwit who designed the Kennedy. Traffic was ridiculous and I was already 30 minutes behind. I sprinted out of the elevator, racing for a noon filing deadline I could not miss and a Big Shoulders coffee that I really needed to drink.
Katie shot out of her seat as soon as the elevator dinged. That should have tipped me off.
“I’m so sorry, Soph…” she said, closing in on me.
“It’ll have to wait until after three,” I said, waving her off and beelining for my desk. “I have a serious deadline and I haven’t had any coffee.” Weirdly, she followed me to the door.
“Soph, seriously….”
“After three,” I said, starting to get pissed. Why was she being such a freak? I slammed the door and threw my coat on the client chair. That’s when I saw them. Propped up on my desk, getting scuff marks on my urgent filings, was a pair of expensive Italian shoes. I seriously hate shoes on the desk. These shoes were attached to the same Indro Lastra I had kicked to the curb last night. This little Soldati could not take a hint!
“I’m pretty sure I used English yesterday, Mr. Lastra,” I said, cocking my hip and staring down at his sneering face.
“I heard you loud and clear,” he said and then flicked his wrist to reveal a Ziploc bag I instantly recognized. Sitting in it, plain as day, was the SIM card from Dilbert Wayne’s cell phone. Fuck me sideways!!! I should have destroyed that stupid thing. How did Indro even know about that case?
I’m rarely at a loss for words, but that little piece of tech could get me disbarred—worse yet, thrown in jail. I just stood there like a scarecrow.
“Ma’don.” I finally muttered.
“The Madonna can’t help you,” he said and slid his feet to the floor, spreading his knees and leaning forward in the chair. “But we can help each other. Have a seat.”
“You’re in my seat, cooch.”
“It’s my seat now, gabadost,” he said with the tiniest smile on his lips. “You sit on the desk.” Of course, this big thug would boss me around. With a sigh, I lowered myself onto the corner, as far from him as I could.
“No,” he said, a tinge of menace creeping into his voice. “You sit right here and don’t cross your legs.” I pivoted to his side of the desk, sitting as far back from him as I could. Suddenly the space between us was thick with heat and danger. My heart rate kicked up a notch and my skin began to flush. I knew he’d already killed at least one man, but there had probably been others.
I was used to killers. They were my bread and butter, but this one had control over me and that was a whole different story. I needed to play this smart and slow. Not just my career, but my life, could hang in the balance.
He took a long look between my knees and then broke into a shit-eating grin. “Nice,” he declared. “Now, listen carefully. You’re going to take my case. You’re going to win it and you’re going to do it with a smile or this little felony I found will get hand-delivered to the DA with your careless little fingerprints all over it, capisce?”
I let my answer hang in silence for a beat, but I knew he had won this round. I had no choice but to take his case. And he knew it. Damn that SIM card! I would figure out how to get out of this once I got him out of my office. For now, I had to play along.
“Fine,” I said, putting my shiny red Blahnik pump between his thighs and sliding the chair to the wall. “I’m your lawyer.” I stood up in the tiny space I had made between him and my desk, staring down his wicked grin. “Now get out of my chair and hand me your case file.”
He did and it was worse than I thought. No wonder he was desperate to get me. His defense was a tiny thread of demented fantasy. Stack that up against a priest. A fucking priest!!! And another tasty tidbit—the victim was a known informant.
Indro was young, but he already had a little rap sheet. This would be a walk in the park for the DA. I could already see those assholes sharpening their knives for me. I hate losing, but I especially hate losing to the machine. There was no better defense attorney in all of Chicago, but even I couldn’t make a Catholic priest disappear into thin air. Even if I could, that would only make Indro look guiltier.
I looked over at him pacing in front of my office door. The armor of toughness had slipped a little and I could see. He wasn’t just worried about going to jail. He was a liability now, and if I couldn’t get him off, the family would ice him.
The air in the room got a little thinner. I stared hard, taking him in. A brown curl had fallen over his left eye and, for a moment, he was just a dumb goomba in real big trouble. Trouble can make a man
stupid and careless. I was going to find a way to get that SIM card back and kick this liability to the curb. Until then, I had to start winning his case. Both of our lives depended on it.
Chapter Eight
Indro
“Indro,” a voice growled as I stepped out of the law office. “What a coincidence, running into you here.”
I stopped dead in my tracks and looked to my left and then to my right. Standing there, like a couple of modern Colossuses of Rhodes, were the Maloik enforcers: brothers Guido and Nunzio.
To say that they were huge would be underselling it. Twins, who had come out at birth practically that size (no kidding, I heard their mother was in the hospital another few weeks recovering from it), they were infamous for being utterly brutal.
“Ah, hey fellas,” I said, trying not to let the sudden onset of anxiety make my voice shake. “What’s the rumpus?”
“We been sent for ya,” one of them said. I think it was Guido. He had a scar over his left eye that was fairly prominent. And he got it from a fist fight with his brother. So. There you go.
“Sent by whom?” I asked innocently.
“Funny. He’s funny, ain’t he, Nunzio?”
Nunzio issued a grunt in response. I couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a dismissal or an indication that it was feeding time.
“You know who’s called upon us, Indo. The Don wants to see yas. So, like, don’t be cute, okay?”
“Not like he can help it, Guids,” Nunzio said, barely opening his mouth. “Such a pretty face he’s got an’ all.”
“That’s right. Pretty face. And we don’t wanna do nothin’ that’s gonna mess that pretty face up. Do we, Nunz?”
Nunzio shook his head.
“No. We don’t. We surely do not.”
I slowly lifted my hands, so they could see I wasn’t carrying anything.
“No troubles, fellas. I’m happy to see the Don. It’ll be a pleasure as always.”
“That’s the spirit,” Guido said. “Good man.”
He clapped me on the back, so hard he almost knocked me over. The brothers laughed then, an ugly sound, and led me over to their car, a gold Cadillac. Subtle it wasn’t.
They shoved me in the backseat and then climbed in on either side of me, crushing me in the middle.
“Let’s move,” Nunzio said to the driver, who didn’t turn around, simply nodded, and off we went.
The brothers were so big that just their size was enough to put pressure on my shoulders from either side, without them doing anything. They smelled like cheap cigarettes and Old Spice. The odor, along with not being able to move, made me worry I was going to get car sick.
Well, that’ll show them, I thought to myself.
I took some slow, deep breaths and closed my eyes, praying that the car ride wouldn’t be too long.
After a couple of minutes, that one small prayer was answered at least. We stopped in front of the Alto Café, a quiet little coffee shop that was favored by Don Maloik and his crew. The brothers opened the doors to the Caddy and stepped out. It was like fresh air was swirling in to fill in the vacuum left by them.
I sat for a second, letting my rib cage expand back to its normal size, taking in the air that came not a moment too soon.
“Let’s go, Indro. Don’t make me yank your dumb ass outta that backseat,” Guido said.
“I’m coming. Just taking account of myself is all.”
I slid out onto the street, grateful to be out of the car.
Nunzio held open the door to the café, Guido staying behind me. I walked in, the place mostly in half-shadow. All the blinds were pulled slightly to obscure vision from the street. The better to protect from drive-bys. The Don’s gotta stay safe, after all.
I was led into a darkened back corner, where the Don was sitting. He had an espresso in front of him, the newspaper open in front of his face and just a trail of cigar smoke curling above the pages.
“Indro,” he said, without dropping the paper or looking at me at all. “Thanks so much for joining me today.”
“Don Maloik,” I said, bowing my head slightly, knowing my place, even if he couldn’t see me. “A pleasure. I’m grateful for the invitation.”
“I’m sure you are. Boys, get yourselves a snack,” he said and the brothers nodded and moved off to the counter, where they both ordered a slice of pie. And started to eat it like they were synchronized.
“Take a seat, Indro,” the Don said and I did, right across from him. I sat there for a moment, quietly. Hands on the table. I knew the drill.
I waited until he was done with the paper and then he folded it and put it down in front of him.
“Fuckin’ White Sox, am I right, Indro? Talk about a useless ball club. Why do we root for that mess of a team?”
I sat for a moment, unsure, then realized it was a real question.
“‘Cause they’re our team, Don Maloik. That’s why.”
That answer seemed to satisfy him and he nodded.
“Well said, Indro. that’s right. Our team. And supporting our team is the duty of all of us. Wouldn’t you say?”
Suddenly, I didn’t think we were talking about baseball anymore.
“Couldn’t agree with you more, sir.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re not a dummy, Indro. A smart boy. I’ve always thought so. Haven’t I, Flavio?” the Don said, calling out over his shoulder to a table back and to his right. My older brother was sitting there, in the dark and the shadows.
“Flavio,” I said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Little brother,” he said quietly, giving me a look to play it cool.
“So let’s be plain, Indro,” the Don said, “since you’re a smart kid. Let’s be plain. Do I need to worry about you in this trial coming up? Do I need to worry you’re not going to support your team?”
“Don Maloik—” Flavio began.
“No, Flavio. I’m talking to your brother now.”
I took a breath and nodded purposely.
“I’ve hired the best criminal defense lawyer in the city, Don Maloik. She’s gonna help me beat this rap. And I’m gonna walk.”
The Don looked at me through a haze of blue smoke, taking a long drag of his cigar.
“And if she doesn’t?” he said simply.
I looked over to Flavio, who gave me the tiniest of nods.
“Then I do my time. Like a man. Keep my mouth shut. Protect the family.”
Don Maloik looked at me a moment and then over to Flavio.
“Don, you can count on Indro. He’s always been a good earner, he does his work and keeps quiet. It would be a drain on our income if we bench him right now.”
Maloik sat still for a moment, twirling the cigar in his hands, and then put it down.
“Then that’s the play. But Indro, what happens when you don’t do right by your team, your manager?”
I swallowed hard.
“You get cut, Don Maloik.”
“That’s right. And you vanish. Out in the sticks somewhere, playing for a club ain’t nobody heard of. Remember that.”
He lifted up his paper again. And the meeting was over.
Chapter Nine
Sophie
I trudged through the snow falling on the city, my breaths frozen puffs before my face. This was not how I was expecting my day to go.
A known mobster wanting me to defend him from murder charges while he blackmails me into his defense. Not exactly the scenario I had pictured when I graduated from law school. But here I was.
Cars crawled past me on the street, leaving behind dirty tracks in their wake. People hustled by, clutching their heavy winter coats about them. That’s one thing about Chicago, we all obsess over the weather report. Due to the proximity of Lake Michigan, Chicago’s weather changes on a dime.
I made my way to the old St. Patrick’s Church on West Adams Street, hoping for shelter and a little guidance. Which, I supposed, is what everyone wants every time they enter a church anywhere.
The church stood silent and still like a monolith in the falling snow. The big wooden doors swung open easily as I pulled them back and entered the vestibule of the church. A familiar scent washed into my nostrils, a mixture of incense, Murphy Oil Soap and pine needles. I don’t know how many times I’ve breathed in that particular combination.
My grandmother used to bring me to St. Pat’s when I was a kid and stayed with her for a weekend. She was a devout woman, my Nannie, and she attended Mass every Sunday like clockwork. I don’t think she ever meissed a single service, not that I could remember. Even when she was sick and Ol’ Man Death was scratching at the door, she would muster her forces and get to the church on time.
As I walked in, a flood of memories came back to me, things I hadn’t thought of in years. How the ceiling loomed over you, like a dark cloud. I remembered being a kid and staring up there, wondering how they cleaned it. Wondering if people had fallen from that stony height.
I would kneel on the hassock and chew on the wood of the pew in front of me, scraping my initials into the varnish. It’s a wonder I didn’t have cancer from all the wood stain I must have accidentally consumed.
There were a few people scattered around the church, some sitting up front, a couple lit candles for the devotional. A few waited to be heard for confession. Even more dozed the day away. Homeless, most likely. It was a safe, warm place, out of the rain, and cops didn’t hassle you inside. As long as you didn’t make a scene, no one was going to kick you out. And that was appealing. Even to me.