Mick Sinatra: No Love. No Peace. (The Mick Sinatra Series Book 9)

by Mallory Monroe

  Roz looked at him and smiled. She was weak, too: she was weak for him.

  “I know what you mean now,” she assured him, “about that extra weight.”

  Mick looked at her with loving eyes. He was pleased that she got it; that Rosalind always got it. And he found the strength, despite the impossibility, to hold her anyway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Big Daddy Charles Sinatra, Mick’s older brother, tied his robe as he hurried down the stairs and opened the door of his beautiful home. He was shocked and pleased to see his brother and sister-in-law standing there, but worried too: it was three in the morning. And Mick was suited up in his long, white coat, black trousers, and black turtleneck shirt.

  “What the hell,” he said to both of them. Then pulled them in. “Come on inside!” He looked outside, and only saw the limousine and driver that had transported them from the airport, and then closed the door.

  He gave Roz a hug. “How are you, baby?” he asked her as he hugged her.

  “I’m great, Big Daddy,” Roz said with a grand smile on her face. “How are you?”

  “I was asleep,” he said, causing Roz to laugh. “But I’m wide awake now.”

  Then he looked at his kid brother. He looked at Michello Sinatra, the man who was never really a boy. The man who had the responsibilities of adulthood, just like Charles, from a very young age. And Charles could see the burdens of those responsibilities all over Mick’s face. They rarely hugged: Mick was not that kind of man. But unlike Mick, Charles was a paternal creature. He raised his boys alone when he divorced, and showed them his love and affection daily. He was determined to show Mick, too. He hugged him tonight.

  Roz was pleased when Mick embraced him back. He even held onto Charles, which told Roz a lot.

  It told Charles a lot, too. A lot about his brother’s state. Because if he knew anything about Mick, it was his absolute distaste for relying on anybody, or clinging to anybody. He was and always would be his own man. Something was wrong.

  “Let’s go into the living room,” Charles suggested when he and Mick stopped embracing. But just as they were about to make that move, Charles’s beautiful, African-American wife, Jenay Sinatra, came walking down the stairs tying her robe, too.

  “I thought I heard voices down here,” she said as she came. A big smile was on her pretty, brown face, and Roz was especially pleased to see her. “Why didn’t you call and tell us you were coming? Or you did call, and that husband of mine forgot?”

  “No, we didn’t phone,” Roz said as Jenay made it downstairs and she and Roz hugged.

  “You wanted to surprise us, hun?” Jenay asked as she and Mick hugged. “Well, count us surprised.”

  “In a big motherfucking way,” Charles said, and they all laughed.

  Then Charles escorted them all into the living room, poured everybody a drink, and they all settled down: Mick, Roz, and Jenay on the sofa. Big Daddy sat in the chair. And crossed his legs.

  “How are the children?” Mick asked, before he could ask the pertinent question.

  “They’re all okay,” Charles said. “They have their individual issues, as you can imagine, but they’re okay.”

  “Carly still in Boston?” Mick asked.

  Jenay smiled. “You know what that means, honey,” she said to Charles. “He wants to know if our daughter is still in Boston with Trevor Reese. He wants to know if they’re still together.”

  Charles laughed. “Yes, Uncle Mick, your niece and Trevor Reese, a man I know you respect because I respect him, too, are still together. In Boston.”

  “And before you ask it,” Jenay said, “the answer is no. He has not proposed to her yet, and she doesn’t know if he ever will, or if she will ever accept if he did.”

  Mick smiled. “Okay,” he said, and they all laughed.

  “What’s up with all of your children?” Roz asked. “What’s up with everybody?”

  Charles was the father of four biological sons, and two African-American adopted daughters. He and Jenay also had a little girl together. Because he had so many children, Mick often called them Charles’s baseball team.

  “Tony’s good,” Charles said.

  “He’s still with whatshername?” Mick asked. “That sweet school mistress?”

  “They’re still talking, although I don’t know where it’s going. Tony, as you know, doesn’t discuss his personal life with anyone. But they seem okay. Ashley’s okay, too,” Charles said. “She keeps hooking up with the absolute wrong guys, in my opinion, but she’s okay.”

  “What about Robert?” Roz asked.

  “Bobby’s alright,” Charles said. “He’s still mayor, although he has a tough reelection fight coming up. And Donald is . . . well, Donald. But I can say this: he’s doing better than he used to do.”

  “That’s good,” Roz said, nodding her head. “Joey is still trying to get it together too, but he’s getting there.”

  “I like Joey,” Jenay said. “He’s a kid who wears his emotions on his sleeve. When he hits his stride, the world had better look out!”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mick said, and Jenay laughed.

  “What about Brent and Makayla?” Mick asked Charles. “Brent still police chief?”

  Charles exhaled. “You know it. He loves his job. But he and Makayla are having their issues, I’m sorry to say. But I’m hopeful it’ll all work out.”

  “You try to stay out of it?” Roz asked.

  “No,” Jenay said. “He’s all up in it because that’s Charlie. But I believe they’ll be okay, too. What about on your end? Everybody’s good?”

  “Everybody’s good, thanks,” Roz said. “They’re all at the house.”

  “Uh-oh,” Charles said. “Why’s that?” He looked at his brother. “So what’s going on, Mick? Why in the world are you two at our house three o’clock in the morning, and why are your children in Philly on lockdown?”

  Mick removed his arm from around Roz’s waist, and leaned forward. “I didn’t want to alarm you,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t phone.”

  “Okay, now I’m worried,” Jenay said, as she glanced at her husband, and then looked at Mick. “What is it? What would have alarmed us if you phoned and told us?”

  Mick didn’t know how to say it, except to just say it. “Arianna is out, Charles,” he said.

  Charles and Jenay both were floored. Charles frowned. “She’s out?” he asked. “When the fuck did that happen?”

  “A few days ago. Hammer Reese says she’s here, in Jericho.”

  Jenay looked at Charles, unable to shield her worry. She knew how vindictive his ex-wife could be.

  Charles could hardly believe it. He knew the day would come when she would get out. He just never dreamed it would be this soon. “Where is she? Do you know?”

  “Yes,” Mick said. That surprised even Roz. She didn’t know that he knew where.

  “Where?” Charles asked.

  “From what I’ve been told, she’s staying with Donald.”

  Charles could hardly believe it. “I’ll be a sonafabitch!” he yelled. “What? Wait until I get my hands on that boy,” he added, rising to his feet.

  But Mick motioned him back down. “Not so fast, Charles,” he said. “I need to see Arianna. And I need to see her unannounced.”

  “But why, Mick?” Jenay asked, seriously concerned. Charles was concerned, too, as he sat back down.

  Mick hesitated. “She hired hitmen to take out me and my family.” Mick swallowed hard. “She almost succeeded.”

  “Good Lord,” Charles said. He and Jenay were stunned.

  “Now it makes sense that she would hole up at Donnie’s,” Jenay said.

  “Why’s that?” Roz asked.

  “He lives out in the woods, way out and alone, in one of Charles’ shacks.”

  Charles was the largest property owner in Jericho. Some of those properties were, as Jenay called them, shacks that many, usually single men, had no problem inhabiting. Donnie was one of
those men.

  Charles got up again. “Let’s get over there,” he said. “What are we waiting for?”

  Arianna Sinatra woke up from her sleep at the sound of knocks on the front door. She jumped up, got out of bed, and pulled out the loaded gun she kept in the nightstand. She grabbed her keys and ran across the hall to her son’s bedroom.

  Donald Sinatra, Big Daddy Sinatra’s son in his mid-twenties, was just waking up himself from the sound of the door knocks.

  “Get up, Donnie!” Arianna urged, as she shook her half-asleep son. “Get up!”

  “What is it?” Donald asked groggily.

  “It’s your father and your uncle Mick. Tell them I left. You’ve got to tell them I just jumped in my car, and took off!”

  “But what are you talking about?” Donald asked as he got out of bed.

  “I’m talking about do what I just told you to do, Donnie, dammit! That’s what I’m talking about!” She was unhinged. She had no idea Mick was on to her. No idea!

  “Now go!” she yelled as she pushed him toward his bedroom door. “Get up there now!”

  “But I don’t understand,” Donald said as she hurried him out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into his small living room. It had been the joy of his life when his mother suddenly appeared at his home late one night, and asked if she could stay with him. She swore him to secrecy, however, and he agreed. He didn’t understand all of it, but after all the years of estrangement, he just wanted his mother back. Now this.

  “Why are you rushing me?” Donald asked his panicking mother.

  “Because I need you to help me. Your Uncle Mick is with your father. He’ll kill me, Donnie, if you don’t help me.”

  “Kill you?” Donald asked.

  “You know he’s a gangster. He’s Mafia, and he has an old score to settle with me. He wants me dead. If you don’t help me, he’ll kill me!”

  They were in the living room now, and Donnie was near the front door.

  “You’ve got to save my life, Donnie,” Arianna said. “You’ve got to save your mamma’s life!”

  Donald was so overwhelmed with so many emotions that he didn’t know which way to turn. His father and uncle were outside, banging on the door as if they were going to bang it down. And his mother, the woman he always loved but knew she never loved him, needed his help.

  “Open up, Donald!” he could hear his father yelling. “It’s your father. Wake up, and open this door!”

  “Go, son,” Arianna said, trying to smile. “Go now.”

  Donald went to the door, and opened it. But the security storm door remained locked. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Open the door,” Charles said. “I need to talk to your mother.”

  “About what?”

  “That’s none of your damn business! Now open this door. What’s your problem?”

  Donald looked at his Uncle Mick. And his mother was right: he never came to Jericho just for the hell of it. He came whenever there was trouble. And he made up his mind. “She’s not here,” he said.

  “What do you mean she’s not here?” his father asked.

  “All of a sudden, she left. She left a few minutes ago. She jumped in her car and just took off.”

  “Took off to where?” Charles asked, as Mick stared at Donald.

  “I don’t know where,” Donald said, glancing at Mick.

  “Which way did she go?” Charles asked.

  “Toward town,” Donald said. Lie after lie. But, as usual, he was caught in the middle. “But what’s going on, Dad?” he asked Charles, but then his uncle got his attention.

  When Mick was certain that he had Donald’s undivided attention, his eyes moved down to the storm door’s lock. Then back up to Donald’s face.

  “Let’s go, Mick,” Charles said, ready to chase after Arianna. But Mick hadn’t believed a word Donald had said, and wasn’t going anywhere.

  Donald stared into his uncle’s cold eyes. The other thing he knew about his uncle was that he didn’t chase unless the person needed to be caught. He trusted his uncle. He unlocked the storm door.

  But by the time Mick and Charles opened the storm door and barged his way inside, Arianna pushed Donald toward them, and took off through the kitchen, and out of the back door.

  Donald stumbled into his father, but Mick sidestepped him and ran, his long, white coat flowing, after Arianna. That witch wasn’t about to get away from him!

  Arianna jumped into her car; a car she had parked at the door should a moment like this arise, just as Mick ran out of the backdoor. She began to back up. But as she did, Mick jumped off of the back porch and landed on her hood. Charles and Donald ran out of the back door just as Mick jumped.

  Then Arianna began firing her gun at Mick as she backed up. Mick held on, nearly falling off once, and ducked and dodged her erratic bullets.

  Charles, terrified, jumped off of the porch and ran toward the wayward car to defend his brother.

  “Dad, be careful!” Donald cried out.

  But Mick needed no defense, as Mick kicked in the windshield, avoiding her terrible shooting as he did. Then he grabbed hold of Arianna and snatched her up and out of the car through the broken windshield as if he was snatching up trash. The driverless car crashed into a tree trunk, and stopped in place.

  Mick threw Arianna off of the car, onto the ground, and jumped off of the hood himself.

  “No!” Donald cried, as he ran to his mother. She was getting back on her feet just as Mick was pulling out his gun, and Donald immediately jumped in front of his mother.

  “You can’t kill my mother,” he said to his uncle. “You can’t kill my mother, Uncle Mick.”

  “Get out of the way, Don,” Mick ordered angrily. “Get the fuck out of the way!”

  Charles hurried up to move Donald out of the way, but Arianna grabbed Donald, and put her gun to his head. Then she began moving sideways, so that her back wasn’t to either Mick nor Charles.

  “Don’t do it, Ari,” Charles pleaded. “What kind of animal are you? That’s your son! You’re putting a gun to your own son’s head?”

  “Come any closer,” Arianna warned, “and I’ll kill him. I swear I will!”

  But Mick wasn’t heeding her warning. He continued to advance on her. He continued to point his gun at her, and advance.

  “I mean it, Mick! Tell him, Charles. I mean it!”

  Donald was in tears. Not because he was being held hostage. But because his mother was proving to him what he knew, deep down, all along. She didn’t care. She never cared!

  Then Arianna, to show that she meant business, cocked the trigger of the gun she had pointed at her son’s head, leaving no room for him, or anybody else to doubt: she didn’t give a shit about him.

  And Charles knew it. At that moment, he knew it. “Mick, stop!” he cried. “She means it! She means it!”

  And only because of his brother’s plea, did Mick stop advancing.

  “Drop your gun,” Arianna ordered Mick, “or I’ll kill his stupid ass. I swear I will!”

  Mick, reluctantly, dropped his gun.

  But Arianna knew she had to create a diversion. She had to create some scene that would stop them, at least momentarily, from pursuing her.

  That was why, as soon as Mick dropped his gun, Arianna pushed Donald away from her and shot him in the back. She shot her own son in the back!

  “Nooo!” Charles cried in shock, as his son fell into Mick’s arms. And Arianna, certain they would not pursue her until they were certain Donald was alright, hurried for her car.

  Mick and Charles were shocked when she shot Donald, and both eased him to the ground. But if Arianna thought Mick was going to give up that easily on her, she was rudely mistaken.

  As Charles administered to his son, Mick ran after Arianna. Before she could get in her car, he was pulling, not one, but two guns out of the inner lining of his white coat.

  Arianna ran behind her car, when she realized Mick was in hot pursuit, and began shooting her wi
ld shots again. But Mick shot her hand and shot the gun right out of it. She was weaponless almost immediately.

  And Mick began advancing on her.

  When Charles realized, with relief, that Arianna’s bad shooting had extended to her son, and the bullet had only grazed his back rather than penetrate it, Charles’s anger over what she had done took over. He jumped up, ran past Mick and up to Arianna, and tackled her as if she was a dude.

  Then Charles, a man who eschewed violence of any form, began to choke the shit out of her. She was gasping for air. She was kicking and begging to breathe. But Charles was determined to choke her to death. Charles was determined to choke the life out of her.

  But Mick pulled him back. Arianna’s neck was so red it looked raw. She began coughing and covering her badly bruised neck.

  But Charles was able to jerk] away from Mick, and tried to grab her again. He never hated anyone the way he hated her at that very moment.

  But Mick pulled him back and away from her. She was still coughing and gasping for air. Mick turned Charles to him, and held him by the catch of his shirt. “Listen to me,” he said anxiously. He could see Charles’s eyes were still filled with vengeance. But he shook his brother. “Charles, listen to me!”

  It was only then did Charles stop seeing red, and actually saw Mick.

  “Our father killed our mother,” he said to his big brother. “Remember that? Remember what that did to us for years? You don’t want your sons to live with that horror, too. You can’t kill their mother. You can’t repeat that cycle!”

  Charles stared at his brother. And he understood what Mick meant. But so much anger and hatred and bitterness for that woman was still in his eyes.

  “Go take care of your son,” Mick said. “I’ll take care of her.”

  Charles tried to regulate his breathing. He tried to stop hyperventilating. He couldn’t. But he looked back at Arianna. He looked at the woman he once loved, was once married to, and once had four sons with. And words could not express his hurt. His anger. His hate. But he left her in good hands, and went to his son.