by Hart, Gemma
And if it should all go wrong….
I stiffened my shoulders back, refusing to finish that thought. I was going accomplish this mission and with flying colors. You’ll see, dad. You’ll be proud.
The mansion was incredibly large and sprawling with three separate dining rooms. A maid approached me and quietly ushered me down the right hallway towards the main dining hall.
It was an enormous, high arching room that could fit a twenty foot dining table. An enormous fireplace stood at the head of the room and large curtains outlined the walls.
But instead of one long dining table, there was a shorter one, about eight feet long set at the head of the room. Then surrounding the smaller table were four circular tables.
Immediately, I recognized the hierarchy that this room instilled.
Nearly everybody in the room were men. The only other women besides myself were three women at the main table that were clearly meant as entertainment. They wore plunging necklines and short skirts with heavily made up faces. I wondered if one of them was Evie.
After all, one of the ladies was clinging around Marco.
The main table was clearly meant for the top ranking members of the Desmond Mafia. At the head sat Roy who had a bleached blonde hanging off his right arm. To his left was Marco and to his right was Gus. I recognized a few of the other men at the head table.
The men were all a little reserved and aloof. You could tell that these were men who were used to moving in shadows and keeping their faces in the dark.
By contrast, then men sitting in the smaller circular tables were the lower ranking members of the Desmond Mafia but were clearly being groomed for more. These were the next generation.
These men were a little louder, more boisterous. Though they worked in a dark business, they did not have the heaviness yet of having to carry the Family on their backs.
I had slipped into the room when everyone seemed to be on their first or third drink. I saw only one seat open at a circular table towards Roy’s right. I immediately took my seat.
As soon as I had sat down, I could feel the eyes of my tablemates boring into me. I wasn’t sure how many people knew about my arrival. I’m sure I was quite the surprise.
From my seat, I could see Marco almost directly across from me at the head table. I wondered if he had noticed me as well.
“Soooo,” a voice started from behind me. I turned in my seat. A man with long shaggy blonde hair and a scar running down the corner of his lip looked me over. The scar made his bottom lip droop a little, giving him a morose look. “There really was a female hire, after all.”
A maid came and placed a drink in front of me. I looked around. Everyone had the same drink. Apparently, this was not a dinner where one could make their own choices.
I took a sip of the amber liquid. Brandy. I felt the fiery drink burn down my throat, settling nicely in my stomach.
I gave a nod. “There really was,” I said.
The man gave a hoot of laughter as if I had said something clever. The man turned to the rest of the men at our table, all of who had their eyes trained straight at me, and laughed, “Who’d ever thought we’d be drinking with a girl tonight!”
The other men guffawed as they slurped their brandy. I realized only the head table had girls.
“I’m Wiggy,” the man said, introducing himself. “But, sweetheart,” he said, dropping his voice lower, “you can call me Big Wiggy.” He then suddenly snapped his teeth at me as if biting into a juicy steak.
A burst of laughter came from our table as the other men teased and ribbed Wiggy.
I had been around men for most of my career. As an executive accountant for a large international firm, I was the only female accounts manager. At the FBI, I worked with largely only male employees and as a field operative, I would most likely only be working with men.
I was very used to their childish and sexist teasings. It was old hat to me. Normally I could brush it off without a second thought. But I had already finished my first glass of brandy and was a few sips into my second. I was feeling a little feisty.
I waited until Wiggy was taking a sip from his glass when I leaned in and whispered breathily against his neck, “Whatever you say, Big Wiggy.”
Wiggy’s eyes bulged at my sudden intimate attack and he nearly snorted brandy out his nose.
The men around him hooted as they slapped him on the back, calling him “Big Wiggy.” I smiled, pleased, as I took another sip of liquid courage.
Feeling a little adventurous, I turned my head casually towards the main table. Was Marco watching? Had I caught his eye as soon as I had walked in?
But I was immediately disappointed when I saw him talking with the brunette who sat next to him. His eyes were low and smoldering like they had been in the den that day. I could tell from his moving lips that his voice was low and rolling, making the brunette next to him smile invitingly towards him.
I should be disappointed. He wasn’t looking at me and that was my goal, my mission. I should be disappointed that his attention wasn’t on me.
But what I didn’t expect was to be hurt as well. I felt a small pang in my chest in seeing him so distracted by another woman. It was because I wanted to succeed in my mission, I told myself. It’s just because I want to prove myself.
But as I took another sip of my brandy, I knew that wasn’t true. I knew my hurt came from something more, something intimate, something deep.
Deciding to focus on just getting through the dinner, I turned back around in my seat and caught the wait staff just as they were bringing around the dinner. Apparently, there was no choice of menu either. Roy had his set tastes and everybody was going to eat and drink what he liked.
I looked at the thick steak, glistening under the crystal chandeliers. I licked my lips. I found myself suddenly ravenously hungry.
But before I could dig in, I heard a chair scrape behind me.
Roy Desmond rose heavily to his feet. Immediately the room fell quiet, a respectful silence as they waited for their boss to speak.
“How’s the brandy?” Roy said in his gravelly voice, a jowly grin on his face. His gold teeth winked in the light.
The men around him cheered as they raised their glasses.
“Better than that shit last month, eh? Cheap fucking tasting shit that one was,” Roy said. The men dutifully laughed.
Tasting my brandy, I was pretty sure this was the kind of liquor that went for thousands per bottle. And I was pretty sure whatever was served last month was similarly priced.
“It’s good to have the Family together like this,” Roy continued. “It’s important to remember what you’re working for. This isn’t a solo gig.” He gave a hard glare around the room as if daring anyone to disagree with him. “This is a Family. You work for the Family. You bleed for the Family. And the Family will take care of you.”
There were grunts of approval and agreement from the room.
“Sometimes sacrifices are made,” he continued. “Heavy ones. Sometimes fatal ones. That’s necessary. That’s for the good of the Family. And you should never cross what is good for the Family.”
Roy looked around the room again, his eyes blazing the fire of his conviction. “Because I am the Family. You cross the Family and you cross me.” He gave a vicious smile, the gold teeth winking ominously. “And there’s no coming back from that.”
There was a pause to let his words sink in. The room was as silent as a tomb.
Then Roy raised his glass. “To Family!”
Then men dutifully raised theirs. “To Family!” they echoed back.
I raised mine and took a sip along with the rest of them, completely dumbfounded.
What the hell kind of speech was that?
Chapter Eight
Marco
What the hell kind of speech was that?
I stared at Roy as he sat back down, grunting as he fell into his seat. Claudia or Carol or whatever the fuck that blonde was immediately put her hea
d on his shoulder, murmuring about what a great speech that was.
My jaw tightened as I watched him take another sip of his brandy, his eyes still bright and alert from speaking. He always got like that. Roy was always one for adoration and attention.
Roy turned and caught my gaze. He raised a brow. “Something you wanna say?” he said to me.
I raised my own brow, keeping my face neutral. I’d mastered covering my thoughts from the age of ten. I was an expert at it. Years of beatings and watching killings will do that to you.
“I was just wondering what the fuck that was all about,” I said smoothly.
I could see the other men at the table tensing at my words. Was it stupid to talk back to Roy when he was still high from his moment in the spotlight? Probably. But I needed to know what the fuck that was about.
Normally, his dinner speeches lasted for no more than a minute. And they all essentially boiled down to: eat, drink, work hard, and don’t fuck up.
In fact, I hadn’t even been paying attention when he had risen to his feet since I was so used to his usual words. Instead I had been glaring at that little blonde brat, Halle.
She was throwing back 75 year old brandy as if it was water. And the men around her were watching her like she was one of the juicy steaks being served.
As soon as she had come in, I had taken in every inch of her before forcibly turning myself away. I was not going to give her the upper hand in catching me staring.
She wore a simple black dress with no adornments and yet the piece hugged her every curve. With its short sleeves, I got a tantalizing look at her slender arms and the skirt gave me a good look at her long, delicate legs. The black only accentuated the fairness of her skin and hair. She looked goddamn radiant, I thought grumblingly.
But seeing her hold up her third glass of brandy, I had to restrain myself from marching on over there and yanking her out of her seat and throwing her over my knee to give her one hell of a walloping.
Did the woman have no sense of danger? Did she really feel so comfortable getting sloshed in a room full of known and wanted criminals?
But I had been snapped out of my fantasy as soon as I had heard Roy talk about Family.
There had never been any of this whole “we’re a Family” shit in his previous speeches. ‘Family’ was just a named we used to describe the cesspool of degenerates that congregated in this compound. Roy could give a flying fuck about Family. And then to threaten his men about crossing him? Honestly, what the fuck?
“You got a problem with my words?” Roy said. His eyes gleamed as if hoping I would just dare to defy him.
I cocked my head a little, assessing him. There was a bit of a sweat around Roy’s hairline. That wasn’t unusual since the man was huge but there was something else. There was an adrenaline that was shining over him that normally wasn’t there.
Did he know?
I kept my face cool as my mind raced. I had been extremely careful and more importantly, slow. I had moved like a glacier to put my plan in action. But could he somehow have found out? Was that what all this was about?
With a decisive movement, I leaned back in my seat and gave a smooth smile. “Just wondering if you hadn’t approved of the Dynally job,” I said with just the right hint of teasing in my voice. “Maybe you had preferred the trash compactor instead of the LA River.”
The men at the table laughed in relief at my teasing words, glad that any kind of confrontation had been avoided.
Roy huffed a few laughs. “That piece of shit could rot where he fell, for all I care,” he said. He took another hefty pull on his drink before throwing his head back and smacking his lips in repletion.
Claudia or Carol cut him a juicy piece of steak, feeding it to him.
Roy took the bite and chewed with his mouth open.
He fixed me with a gimlet eye, the juices of the steak running down his chin. “Trust me,” he said in an even tone. “When I ain’t happy, you’ll know.”
The men around us laughed a little more nervously this time. I could see them quickly tucking themselves into their dinner to avoid the awkwardness of the conversation.
I stared at Roy.
Without words, I raised my drink to him.
I needed to move faster.
Chapter Nine
Halle
I blinked twice, trying to clear my head. My nerves had gotten the better of me and I had tossed back my drinks way too fast.
Although I was feeling a bit foggy and lightheaded, the courage my drinks had provided had paid off in one way. The group I sat in seemed to find my presence less peculiar and more amusing.
I tried my best to maintain my bravado while still trying to garner some useful information.
Roy’s speech had been unusual to say the least. The men around the room had looked a little taken a back by it but had toasted dutifully nonetheless. And with endless drinks and juicy steaks abounding, they could hardly care less what Roy had said.
Not wanting to draw too much suspicion, I had let my table’s conversation flow on its own while just soaking in whatever useful tidbits they might drop. But men being men, most of it was just nonsense. They laughed about another man’s fuck up on a job, or shared the gruesome details of a hit, or grunted in reminiscent pleasure of being with one woman or another.
I had tried to keep my eyes focused on my own plate but it was hard not to dart the casual glance over to the head table. And not just anywhere on the head table.
My eyes seemed to magically hone in on Marco.
With his crisp black buttoned shirt teasingly opened at the collar and his olive skin stretched taut against his muscled arms and neck, he looked like a man of unmovable strength even when sitting in repose.
I had caught him looking quite surprised by his father’s speech. But it had only been a momentary flicker of the eyes. He had immediately quashed the look under his normal look of bored contempt.
So Marco had been surprised by Roy’s words as well. Roy had been hinting quite a bit at the idea of family and what it meant. Could he have meant more than the Family? Could he have meant his family?
But Marco was the backbone of the Desmond Mafia. If Roy was the head, Marco was the spine that kept the body functioning and moving. Why would Roy feel it necessary to essentially threaten his own son?
“—back with that German chick again,” one of the men at my table said in a teasing tone.
I snapped my head up. German chick?
Another man shook his head. “I don’t know why we even bother with that kind of front. We have more front businesses than we know what to do with stateside and all of them make way more money. And that German gal don’t do nothing but talk business.”
Front businesses? Those were businesses that people could use to usually launder or hide money through. Usually small time crooks used places like pizza shops or Laundromats. But with the Desmonds, the scale was much larger. The FBI knew that at least one of the most powerful oil companies was actually a front for the Desmonds.
I slowly sipped my drink, trying my best not to look too eager for information.
Wiggy shrugged with his drink in one hand and a cigar in another. “Don’t question the Big Man,” he said simply. He threw a hard look towards the man who had initially spoken about the German chick. “And anyway, he ain’t asking you goons to take care of that business. That’s all Marco’s responsibility. So what do you care?”
Were they possibly mentioning the German manufacturing plants that were under Marco’s name? If so, then those plants were clearly not anyone’s priority except Marco’s. And my guess was right: the plants were small change compared to other Desmond holdings.
I watched as the wait staff came around, clearing the tables. I noticed that the men of the head table were slowly rising to their feet, concluding dinner. My heart sped up.
This was a clear chance I had to be in the presence of the regular working Desmond Mafia men. These were the men I could ask more invasive
questions without getting too much notice. I had to ask carefully, of course, but I had a better shot with someone like Wiggy than with someone like Gus.
Other men at the other tables began to make noise to rise, seeing the men of the head table rise.
Dinner was almost over! Time was running out!
“So,” I said, my voice a little too loud in my haste. I coughed and lowered my tone. “So,” I repeated, “when are you going to find yourself at the head table, Big Wiggy?” I batted my lashes a bit.