Mob Lawyer 5: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  “It’s delicious, mom,” Annie responded before she took a sip of the sweet drink.

  “Thank you, dear,” her mother responded.

  Anthony forced a smile onto his face as he scooped some of the antipasto onto his plate.

  “You’ve really outdone yourself,” he said. “And thank you for feeding the guys. I expect them to be done before dinner.”

  “Of course,” the matriarch said. “I enjoy feeding them. And the cousins are still learning some of my recipes. Angie wants to write them down into a cookbook. She says that I should publish one and sell it.”

  “I’m sure it’d make millions,” my client said.

  “I’d buy it,” I said. “If you ever decide to start a restaurant, you’ll have me as a patron for life.”

  Sal pinned me with a look that said that might not be too long, but he didn’t add anything to the conversation. The patriarch continued to eat his food in silence while the rest of us tried to make smalltalk and ignore the tension that hung in the air like a wet blanket.

  The ladies talked about going to the market in the nearby town. There was apparently a new bakery that had set up a stall, and the winter fruits and vegetables had started to make their debut. The talk about food led into more chatter about the recipes, and Gulia blushed prettily as she wondered if she really should write a cookbook. She had all of the recipes from her mother, and she’d tweaked a few of them to fit with what she could easily find in America.

  I nodded my head and added a few comments when I could, but I focused most of my attention on my plate. I still wasn’t that hungry since I’d just had the roasted tomatoes and eggs at breakfast, but the crisp lettuce of the salad and the juicy tomatoes were enough to tempt me to overeat. I stuck to the lighter fare so that I wouldn’t want to take another nap, and I had two glasses of lemonade before I finally called it quits.

  The tech guys came in and out a few times while we ate. They’d lean over to show Anthony something that they’d found or ask questions, and then they’d hurry right back out before Sal could glare a hole through them. They did make sure to pay their respects to the patriarch, but it was clear that Anthony was the one in charge of them.

  I’d just finished the last of my salad when one of the guys, a middle-aged man with shaggy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses, rushed in. He nodded his head to Sal and Gulia in turn, and then leaned over to whisper something into Anthony’s ear. He bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for my client’s reaction, and then confirmed that what he said was true as he handed a piece of paper to the younger Febbo.

  “Excuse me,” Anthony said as he stood.

  The motion was so abrupt that the guy beside him had to jump back to avoid being run over by the heavy wooden chair. He apologized for the interruption and then scurried back into the living room before my client could say anything else.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “It will be,” the younger Febbo said in a dark tone.

  I’d rarely seen him so angry, and I almost pitied whoever was about to receive that rage. I quickly went over the last few days in my head, and apart from the rash argument that I’d had with his father, I couldn’t think of anything that I’d done to deserve his wrath. I assumed that it had something to do with the names on the list, but I wanted to give him a few minutes before I followed him back upstairs.

  “Sal,” Gulia said as she restarted the conversation. “Do you think that you can come with me to the market this weekend? I’d love to have your input on what we make over the next few weeks. And I’ve heard that they already have the apple cider booth that you like so much.”

  “We’ll see how things go,” the mafioso said with his first smile since lunch had started. “I do love that cider. Although, yours is better, of course.”

  “Naturally,” the matriarch preened. “That’s because I make mine with a hint of rum.”

  “That’ll do the trick,” Sal chuckled.

  The rest of the Febbo family fell into idle conversations about the house, potential winter plans, and Annie’s need for all new clothes for their annual ski trip.

  I excused myself a few minutes later, as soon as I thought that it had been long enough, and then I forced myself to walk slowly up the stairs toward the office. I could already hear shouting through the thick wooden slab as I neared the door, and I took a deep steadying breath before I knocked.

  “Come in,” Anthony shouted.

  I opened the door just enough to go through and then slipped inside. I didn’t see anyone else in the room, and I let out a sigh of relief as I realized that I wouldn’t have to worry about any flying furniture or broken windows. I eased forward and took my usual seat while I debated whether I should take my phone out so that I could translate what the young Febbo was saying.

  He paced back and forth behind his father’s desk as he screamed in Italian. He talked so fast that I was pretty sure that the translation app wouldn’t work anyways, and I also thought that it was best that I had plausible deniability just in case he’d decided to follow his father’s advice.

  My client suddenly stopped as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line, though whatever he was hearing wasn’t improving his mood. He tapped his foot as a deep scowl pulled down the corners of his mouth. He looked at me, shook his head, and then began to speak in Italian again.

  Sal joined us a few minutes later, and the patriarch shot me a glare as he took the seat that Anthony had occupied earlier. He crossed one leg over the other and drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair as he listened to his son. His shoulders were still tense with rage, but he didn’t add anything as the younger Febbo talked.

  “Figlio di puttana,” Anthony grumbled when he finally hung up and tossed his phone onto the desk.

  I looked between the two tense men, but I didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. I had a feeling that it would draw attention to me that I didn’t want. I also wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, and I hadn’t yet decided whether or not I wanted to know what was happening. I still had plausible deniability since the decision on what to do with the list was still hypothetical, though I sincerely hoped my client would stick to the original plan.

  “You need to take care of this,” Sal said.

  “I know,” Anthony responded as he pulled out three glasses and the bottle of whiskey that was kept in the desk drawer.

  I watched as the younger Febbo poured heavy doses of the liquor into the glasses and then handed them over to us. I sipped on the strong drink, but the two Febbo men tossed theirs back in one go. I tried to think of what they could’ve learned that was bigger than the mayor of New York being paid off by the Serbian mob.

  “Do you have a plan?” the head of the Febbo family asked as he leaned forward to set his empty glass on the desk.

  “Yes,” my client said as he plopped down. “I just want to make sure that the information is right before I make a move.”

  “You can’t put this off,” my client’s father warned. “It’ll make us look weak.”

  I looked between the two men. I was sure that it had something to do with the list, but it didn’t sound like they were still talking about murdering everyone on it. I tried to remember all of the names that I’d seen because clearly, someone on there was different, and I was fairly certain that whatever Anthony had planned would make him a made man.

  “I know,” Anthony growled as he plopped down in the chair behind the desk.

  “We can figure out what to do with everyone else later,” Sal sighed. “But this is urgent. You need to make sure that it’s taken care of before the other families find out about it.”

  “I will,” the younger Febbo said while he poured himself another glass. “At least we found out before they could do anything to really fuck us over.”

  I downed the rest of my whiskey, leaned forward, and put my glass next to Sal’s on the desk.

  “What the hell did you find out?” I asked.


  Anthony shared a look with his father, and I wondered for a moment if they would even tell me. I’d proven that I could be trusted, but both men had trust issues, and whatever it was seemed to make those worse. I tried to be patient as I waited, and then my client sighed and ran a hand down his face.

  “Two of our guys were on the list,” he said.

  Chapter 15

  “Shit,” I whispered as I took the offered paper.

  I knew that it would be bad, but to find out that two of their own people were in on the take was worse than I’d imagined. I scanned the list until I found the two highlighted names. I didn’t recognize them, but if they were working with the Serbians, then there wouldn’t be a reason for them to be taken to court.

  “Joey LeBlanc and Mattias Rossi,” Anthony muttered. “All of our guys do business with them. If the other families find out that they were working for the Serbians, then our whole operation will be under fire.”

  “I’m going to let you take care of this,” Sal said as he pushed himself out of his chair.

  The head of the Febbo family gave me a stern look like he was silently telling me to stay out of it, and then his gaze softened as he looked over at his son.

  “I will,” my client reassured his father.

  The older man lingered for a few more seconds before he nodded to himself, turned, and hobbled out of the office. He didn’t bother to look back, and it seemed like he’d just confirmed his retirement without uttering a word.

  “How do you plan to take care of it?” I asked Anthony once we were alone.

  “I’m going to cut ties with them,” the mafioso said with a nonchalant shrug.

  I studied him as he put away the decanter of whiskey. I didn’t think that the young mobster would be able to get away with just cutting ties with the traitors, especially if the capos found out, but my client had never been as bloodthirsty as his father.

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  “I have to do something, Hunter,” my client huffed. “I can’t let them get away with betraying the family. It’ll make us look weak, and then we’ll have even bigger problems than corrupt politicians and Serbian mobsters to worry about.”

  The dark-haired man stood up and began to pace behind his desk with his hands stuffed into his pockets and an angry scowl on his brow. He was in a terrible position, I understood that, but he had to be careful because how he responded would set the tone for every decision he made for the family in the future.

  “I get it,” I said as I tapped my fingers on my pants leg. “But whatever you do, it has to be subtle, or you’ll risk the feds or the Serbians figuring out that you had something to do with it.”

  “The feds won’t look at us,” Anthony said as he waved the idea away. “I’ll have my guys take the names off of the list, and their numbers, too, so that they won’t even have a reason to suspect someone is missing from it.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea, and it was something that Gabriele could do even if he’d just woken up and still hadn’t had his first energy drink.

  “That’s a good plan,” I said. “But we also need to make sure that the Serbians don’t realize that we’ve figured out about the traitors. If they do, then they’ll know that we have the information from the servers.”

  The future head of the Febbo family sighed, grasped the back of his leather chair, and then ran a hand through his curly hair. He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept at all the night before, and his suit was more wrinkled than I’d ever seen it before. He needed a good night’s rest, but that wouldn’t happen until he’d decided what he wanted to do about the snakes in their operation.

  “Sometimes I miss when the only problem I had was if the bar was stocked enough for a Friday night,” Anthony sighed before he sat down in his father’s chair.

  “You could always go back to that,” I said.

  I knew he wouldn’t, even before he raised his eyes to stare at me like I’d lost my mind, but I sometimes missed the carefree young man that I’d met a year ago. I’d watched him take on the mantle for a life he never wanted, and I’d realized that he’d never be able to walk away again. I still liked working for him, and I still thought that he was one of the best men that I’d ever met.

  “I think that ship has sailed, Hunter,” my client muttered. “But it’s still not too late for you if you’re having second thoughts about being my legal representation.”

  “Not a chance,” I said with a smirk. “You’re stuck with me. Besides, I think I’m addicted to your mother’s cooking.”

  He threw his head back as he laughed, and the years that had settled on his shoulders melted away. He wiped a tear from his eyes as he shook his head.

  “She is a fantastic cook,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure you’d have to clear it with her if you wanted to leave completely.”

  “I think she’s more terrifying than your father,” I chuckled.

  “They’re a good match,” my client said.

  He took a deep breath, let it out, and then spread his hands out on the desk as he sobered. He looked around his office as if he was lost in his memories rather than the decision in front of him, and I stayed quiet as I waited for him to figure out what kind of leader he wanted to be.

  I had every faith in him to make the right choice, but the family had always done things a certain way, and he was trying to change that. I wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to fight against the pressure from his father and the capos.

  “Alright,” the young Febbo said after several minutes of silence. “I’m just going to tell my guys to cut ties with them. We’ll take all of our business elsewhere.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I said. “You’ll need a cover story, though. What do they usually do for your business?”

  The mafioso lifted an eyebrow at me. I usually didn’t ask too many questions about the operations, but I’d just helped his hacker break into Gryffon, and I’d beaten up a Serbian guard at Galic’s house, so I was already neck-deep in it. I would still need plausible deniability for anything that involved murder, and I’d try to stay out of their less than legal activities, but I needed to know what Joey and Mattias did for them if I was going to help come up with a cover story.

  “They work in transport,” Anthony hedged. “They can move anything in the city. Anything at all.”

  “That explains why the Serbians wanted them,” I said. “It would make their own business operations easier to set up if they have already established shipping routes.”

  “Exactly,” my client said with a nod of his head.

  “Okay,” I said as I crossed my leg and bounced my foot. “So you’ll need to find someone else to help with transportation. Do you need people with trucks, or would one of the biker companies work?”

  “Vehicles would be preferable,” the future head of the Febbo family said. “We sometimes have large import boxes that a bike carrier wouldn’t be able to handle.”

  “Right,” I said.

  I started to go through the lists of companies that I knew could handle them. I was sure that we could say that they’d outbid Joey and Mattias, but they’d need to be associates of the family if anyone would believe that Anthony had picked the lower price over their established friends.

  “I’ve got it,” I said as I slapped my leg. “You could have some of the guards reassigned.”

  “What?” Anthony asked.

  “Your bodyguards drive you and everyone else around the city all the time,” I explained. “They know the ins and outs of the streets better than almost anyone. And you’ve decided to have them move your imports so that you know that your product is being carried by someone who can protect it, what with the Serbians looking to muscle in on your territory.”

  The dark-haired man nodded his head as he processed the proposal. He could easily convince his men and anyone else that he was worried about their business being interrupted by corrupt cops, and the families were all aware of the Serbian mafia’s incursions.
Anthony had already had so many of his associates arrested, that the next logical step would be to come for the Febbo family’s money-making operations.

  “I think this plan will work,” the mafioso said. “I can pick some of my closest men to take over, and no one would look too closely.”

  “Including the Serbians,” I said. “And you can tell Joey and Mattias that you’ll see about coming back to them once things have blown over. You can make it seem like it’ll only be until your associates aren’t under so much pressure, and they won’t be able to say it won’t affect them without revealing that they’re traitors.”

  “Damn, Hunter,” Anthony said with a grin. “Are you sure you aren’t a capo?”

  “Very,” I chuckled. “But I am a lawyer, so that probably helps.”

  My client picked up the phone to call someone and tell them to hurry upstairs, that he had some work for them to do, and that they didn’t have to knock before they entered. He drummed the tips of his fingers on the desk as he waited, and a few minutes later the man with thick-rimmed glasses cautiously opened the door.

  “Mr. Febbo?” he asked as he took a tentative step in. “What was it that you needed me to do for you?”

  “I want you to erase those two names from all of the data we have,” Anthony said. “The names, numbers, payoffs, everything. Make it like they were never in business with Gryffon.”

  “Uh… o-okay,” the middle-aged man said with a furrowed brow.

  “And save the edited data on a new USB,” the mafioso said.

  “Yes, sir,” the tech guy said. “I can have that ready for you in half an hour.”

  He waited until Anthony waved his hand at him, and then he hurried out of the office as if my client had just pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.

  “He’s jumpy,” I said.

  “No one likes to be the bearer of bad news,” the younger Febbo said with a shrug. “He’s probably worried that he’ll be punished for it.”