Trina was his ride or die forever. He knew he’d do anything for her, and he also knew, with the same certainty, that she’d do anything for him. And Jimmy thought he would jeopardize Trina’s love for some trick on the side? He knew Jimmy meant well, but he was out of his fucking mind.
And Reno was fucking Trina until he was almost out of his own mind. He stroked and he stroked. And then he came. Like an explosion that rocked him to his core, he came. He poured into her until she was overflowing. And his inflamed dick was white with cum, by the time he finally pulled it out.
But later that night, after Trina was fast asleep in his arms, he slipped out of bed, put on a bathrobe, and made his way downstairs. Before making love to Trina, he had ordered Security to upload the video of Bev’s shooting onto his laptop. He went into his home office to review the footage. And his worse fear was realized. Because now, watching the video, he knew that cop was wrong. The officer had suggested that maybe Reno was the target of Bev’s ex-husband’s bullet and Bev had been accidentally shot. In the wrong place at the wrong time. That was why her ex-husband became so anguished that he took his own life.
Reno agreed that Bev’s ex-husband, Glenn Stavros, was anguished. Reno also agreed that Glenn had accidentally shot Bev instead of his intended target, and that was why he took his own life. But the true target was where Reno parted company with the cop’s theory.
Reno re-racked and reviewed that video over and over. But his conclusion was the same. Glenn wasn’t trying to kill Reno. And he for damn sure wasn’t trying to kill Bev. But based on the way he positioned his gun, and turned his body, Glenn was trying to kill Reno’s kid. Jimmy Mack, Reno believed, was Glenn’s target. Jimmy Mack, Reno believed, was being targeted by Glenn, not because he wanted to harm Jimmy per se, but because he knew that he could harm Reno far greater by putting a bullet in Reno’s kid, than a hundred bullets in Reno himself.
Reno leaned back in his chair. Every one of his enemies knew his family was his weakness, and they didn’t hesitate to use that knowledge. And Reno’s stupid ass made them well aware of that weakness by flaunting it all over the place. If Reno already felt the strain of his past sins and how they affected his present family, he felt it like a sledgehammer upside his head as he sat in the dark, in his office, all alone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The following week and Wayne Lowe and Roger Bridgemont sat anxiously inside the Barker Lounge at the PaLargio. Their meeting had been scheduled for last week, but because of the shooting of some woman in the hotel’s lobby, the meeting had been pushed back another week. Now today was the day. They had their drinks before them, but they barely touched a drop.
“What time is it?” Roger asked. “Look like they should have been here by now.”
“They’re coming,” Wayne said. “But remember who we’ll dealing with. We just have to be patient.”
“But what if this backfire, Wayne?” Roger asked. “What if we get Gabrini on board and the commission still turns us down?”
Wayne frowned. “Why in the world would they turn us down? Are you nuts? Reno Gabrini is the biggest name in Vegas. If we get him, we struck the lottery! And the commission knows it.”
“They also know about his background,” Roger said. “They also know that his old man was a mob boss, that his cousin Sal Gabrini is a mob boss, and that his Uncle Mick Sinatra is the mob boss of mob bosses. What about that background? And what about the man himself? Some people are saying that he’s into the mob himself. Some people are saying that he’s the original mob boss.”
“People are always saying shit like that,” Wayne said. “It’s Vegas. That commission knows everybody’s tainted. And yeah, I’ll admit Gabrini’s a little more tainted than most, but hey. His downside is big, but his upside is even bigger. He’s a win-win for us, I don’t care what people are saying. We go before that commission with the most powerful man in Vegas on our team, and we’re a shoo-in. We go in without him, then we’re just a couple of guys off the street. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Roger hit Wayne’s elbow. “They’re here,” he said.
Wayne looked, too, as Reno and Trina made their way to their table. Reno had his hand on the small of Trina’s back, and Trina took lively steps. “Very elegant couple,” Wayne said as he watched them make the long walk to their table in the VIP section of the lounge. “Especially Mrs. Gabrini. I do believe she’s wearing Vauthier head to toe, and she’s wearing it well.”
Roger smiled. “But check out her husband. Gabrini looks like he just got out of bed,” he said. “Look at that hair. Look at that suit.”
“That suit, I’ll remind you,” Wayne said, “costs more than everything you and I have on combined. Probably every stitch of clothing you and I both own.”
“But it’s wrinkled and it’s not even one in the afternoon!”
“He’s a hardworking man,” Wayne said. “You try to run a casino and a hotel on the Vegas Strip and all the crap that goes along with it. Your suits will be wrinkled by noon, too.” Wayne smiled and rose to his feet. Roger stood up, too. “Mr. and Mrs. Gabrini,” he said, as the couple arrived at their table. “How are you guys?”
“We’re good,” Trina responded with a smile of her own.
Wayne extended his hand to Reno. “I’m Wayne Lowe and this is my business partner, Roger Bridgemont. Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Nice to meet you,” Reno responded as he and Wayne shook hands. Then he and Roger shook hands, also.
“Please, sit down,” Wayne said, motioning to the two empty chairs at their table. Reno held the chair for Trina, and then sat down also.
“I don’t know if you know this,” Wayne said, “but of all the hotels and casinos on the Strip, the PaLargio is my absolute favorite.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Reno said, who hated flattery, “but let’s get down to business. You need a partner, and you’re interested in me and my wife?”
Wayne heard about Reno’s infamous temper and lack of decorum. He was expecting as much. Just not right off the bat. But he adjusted, and nodded. “That’s correct. We need a heavy hitter on our team if we have any chance of winning the contract.”
“Several teams will give presentations,” Trina explained to Reno, “but only one team will be selected to own and operate the Vegas franchise.”
“So we only get one shot at this?” Reno asked.
Wayne and Roger nodded. “That’s right,” Wayne said.
“And what will be the cut?” Reno asked.
Roger didn’t understand. “The cut, sir?”
“The cut,” Reno said. “Who gets which piece of the pie? I need to know if this shit is worth it to us. Because I’m not getting involved in, and I for damn sure am not allowing my wife to get involved in some small-time bullshit just so you can exploit the Gabrini name. Slice up the fucking pie and tell us which piece we get.”
Trina wanted to smile. Reno was the toughest negotiator she’d ever been around. He didn’t take shit, and made that clear up front. As a result, people were usually too afraid to lowball him with weak offers. She wanted to see if Wayne and Roger had the testicular fortitude to go against that grain.
“We’re offering what I consider to be a very fine piece of the pie, as you put it,” Wayne said. He was smiling too much, Trina thought, which was probably not a good thing when dealing with a man like Reno. But she very much wanted this to work out.
“What’s the offer?” she asked. She was encouraging him to get on with it.
He understood. And blurted it out. “A third, a third, and a third,” he said. “And then Mrs. Gabrini will get the remaining one percent.”
Trina frowned. “One percent? You must be joking!”
“Why would you say that?” Wayne asked with a smile.
“Why do you think, motherfucker?” Trina asked. “Who do you think you’re dealing with? I’m not putting my name on anything that would only give me a one percent interest. That’s an afterthought.”
“Damn straight,” Reno agreed. “My wife,” Reno said, “who brought me to the table,” he added, “will only get one percent?”
“Why, yes,” Roger said. “Is there a problem?”
“I have a problem with both offers on our end,” Trina said. “Mine is obvious. But what you’re offering my husband is ridiculous too.”
Roger was confused. “How is offering the man of third of our business is ridiculous?” he asked.
“You two are partners,” Trina said. “You two get two-thirds of the company, while Reno, the man who is arguably the main reason there’s going to be a company to begin with, only gets a third?”
“And my wife,” Reno added, “who happens to be the driving force of this shit train to begin with, only gets one percent? You’re out of your fucking minds!”
Wayne and Roger were genuinely floored. “But I don’t understand,” Wayne said. “I think that’s a fair divvying up of our resources.”
“You think so, do you?” Reno asked. “Then your ass take one percent, Roger over there gets thirty percent, and me and Tree get the rest. We get two-thirds of the franchise. How does it feel now? Feel fair to you now? Feel like a fair divvying up of the resources now?”
“But we were the ones who came up with the idea,” Roger said. “So naturally we would get the lion’s share of the ownership.”
“Then I’ll tell you what,” Reno said, leaning forward and ready to end this now. “You and your partner can have all the shares, because we aren’t interested.”
“That’s right,” Trina said. “You have to come to us correct. Our thirty-four percent to your sixty-six percent is not correct on any day of the week.”
“Okay, okay,” Wayne said, throwing up his hands. He understood quickly that Reno and Trina were not bluffing. They were about to walk away and take the dream with them. “What would be an equitable share for you guys?”
“Sixty-six for us,” Trina said, “and thirty-four for you two.”
“That’s the only way we play ball,” Reno added.
Roger couldn’t believe it. Wayne either. “Can we have some time, some significant time, to think about it?” he asked.
“Knock yourself out,” Reno said, rising to his feet. He held Trina’s chair. She rose, too. Wayne and Roger stood as well.
“But let me be clear,” Reno said. “Two-thirds for us or no deal. We don’t want fifty-one. We don’t want sixty-five. We want sixty-six or no deal. If you can’t get there, fine. We understand. You take your road and we’ll take ours. But don’t you dare come anywhere near us with anything less. You have to pay to get the Gabrini name. This shit ain’t cheap.”
And then Reno and Trina left the restaurant.
Wayne and Roger stared at each other with dumbfounded expressions. They felt as if they’d just been hit by a tornado, and then a hurricane came and hit them too.
Once out in the atrium outside of the lounge, Reno shook his head. “I knew they were a couple of bullshit artists when I first laid eyes on them.”
“But if they agree to our terms, you’ll still do business with them, right?” Trina asked.
“I ran a background on them. They checked out enough. So yeah, I’ll do business with them. But our people will run the finances. I wouldn’t trust those fuckers with my money if my life depended on it.”
Trina nodded. “Agreed,” she said as her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse. “I just hope they agree to our terms. It’ll be a nice acquisition for us.” She saw the Caller ID and her heart began to pound. “It’s the school, Reno,” she said.
Reno’s heart began to pound, too, as Trina answered the phone quickly, with Reno reaching over and placing the call on Speaker. “Hello?” Trina asked.
“Is this Mrs. Gabrini?”
“Yes. Are my children okay?”
“We can’t discuss it over the phone,” the voice that they both recognized as the Principal said. “But there’s trouble. Serious trouble. You need to get to the school now.”
Trina looked at Reno. “We’re on our way,” Trina said nervously, and ended the call. “Reno,” she said, feeling as if she’d just been sucker punched. Her voice was weakened. “What could it be?”
All she could think about were school disasters. Sandy Hook. Columbine. Children in trouble.
“It’ll be alright, babe,” Reno said as he placed his arm around her and hurried for the exit. His anguish matched hers, and their anguish together was matchless.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They knew it was bad when they saw the number of police cars at the school, and men with FBI written on their jackets. It reminded them of the scene at that restaurant a couple weeks ago. Only there was no bomb blast this time, and the school appeared, as far as they could tell, to be intact. But something was wrong. That telephone call, the scene here now, and the fact that they could feel it in their bones, made that crystal clear.
But when Reno and Trina both jumped out of Reno’s Porsche, and Reno took her hand as they made their way toward the line of police officers guarding the school grounds, they were stopped in their tracks. Nobody allowed on campus. Other parents were just beginning to show up, too, and they weren’t allowed in, either. But then they saw an FBI agent. He hurried toward the front line.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gabrini?” he asked them.
“Yes?” Reno responded.
“Let them in,” the agent ordered, the tape was lifted, and Reno and Trina were escorted over the barricade and into the school.
Reno was holding onto the small of Trina’s back so tightly that she could feel his fingers press into her flesh. They both felt as if they were groping in the dark. They both felt as if they were so out to sea that they wondered if they could hold on any longer. Where were their children? They wanted to see their children! But the exclusive, private school had certain standards. Even at a time like this, when there had obviously been a terrible disaster, they obeyed protocol.
They were escorted into the principal’s office. The new principal, Mr. Lasko, was present, along with a man identified as Whittaker, the FBI’s Special Agent in Charge; and two plainclothes detectives. “Have a seat, please,” the principal requested.
Normally, Reno and Trina both would raise hell. They would demand to see their children and to see them right now. But they were too terrified to raise anything. They just wanted their children to be alright. They just wanted every child in that school to be alright. They wanted it to be anything but what it appeared to be. They didn’t argue. Or make any demands. They sat down.
“We called you here,” Whittaker began, “because of the actions of your son, Dominic.”
Trina froze in place. Her heart was about to drop. “His actions?” Reno asked. “What actions?”
“He’s going to be arrested and charged as a domestic terrorist.”
Trina’s heart dropped. Reno’s did, too. “A terrorist?” he asked. “Are you telling me that our son . . . Are you saying that Dommi . . .” Reno couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“We need to get as much background as we can from you as his parents,” Whittaker said. “Is he being abused at home? What about the two of you? Are you divorced? Separated? Are there financial issues? Is there something going on that would make him break so bad?”
“Wait a minute!” Reno yelled. “Now hold the fuck up!” His fire had returned. “Where’s our son? What are you saying he did?”
Trina’s fire was back, too. It felt as if these people had already tried and convicted Dommi, and was just looking for a reason not to give him the death penalty. “Are you trying to tell us that our son killed somebody at this school?” she asked pointblank.
“Not yet, thank God,” the principal said. “We got to him just in the nick of time.”
“What does that mean?” Reno asked. His heart was hammering. “He was about to kill somebody and you grabbed the gun? Make this shit plain! What has he done?”
“He had a switchblade on his person,” Whittaker said.
“A knife?” Reno asked. “He’s a domestic terrorist because he had a little knife?”
“He threatened to shoot students in their heads, drop them into body bags, and toss them out of the windows,” Whittaker said as if Reno had minimized the severity.
But Reno and Trina still didn’t get it. “You can’t be serious,” Reno said. “How the fuck is going to shoot people with a fucking knife?”
“He’s a domestic terrorist,” the agent said again.
But Reno and Trina waited for more. They waited to hear what the crime was. “And?” Reno even asked.
“And?” Whittaker responded. “Isn’t that enough?”
But it wasn’t. Not to them! Because in the Gabrini household, threats like that were commonplace. Sometimes they were more than threats. But that wasn’t anybody’s business. But these people knew Dommi was a Gabrini. What the fuck did they expect him to say?
“We want to see our son,” Trina said. “And our daughter. We want to see both of our children and we want to see them now. Where are they?”
“Ma’am,” Whittaker said, “I don’t think you understand the seriousness of what transpired here today.”
“We understand it,” Reno responded. “All of those fucking cops out front made us understand it. But what we don’t understand is why.”
“Why?” the principal asked.
“Yes, why!” Trina responded. “Why would you have all of these police officers and even the FBI at this school, scaring the shit out of the parents, not to mention the children, over some silly words our son may or may not have spoken?”
“What you may call silly words,” Whittaker said, “the FBI calls threats that amount to domestic terrorism. Your son is in trouble, Mrs. Gabrini.”
Reno Gabrini- the Man in the Mirror Page 9