by B. B. Hamel
She glared at me and tried to compose herself, but I clearly knocked her off her game.
“Look, I’ve been working freelance for a couple years now,” she said. “Been writing all these awful little nothing stories for the Inquirer and the Metro, and I’m sick of it, you know?”
“I can imagine,” I said.
“I need one decent story to break in,” she said. “Maybe a profile about… you know. An interesting person, such as yourself.”
She stared at me with those pretty dark eyes and I felt a chill run down my spine.
“You want to write about me,” I said.
“A profile,” she said. “No names, no real solid details that would let anyone know it was about you. But something real, you know?”
“Interesting.” I sipped my beer again. It was hoppy and strong and felt good in my stomach. “But I’m having a hard time figuring out why I’d do something like that.”
She bit her lip. “Well, because… it would be good for you.”
I arched an eyebrow. “How?”
“All press is good press, right?”
“I’m not sure you really understand what I do.”
“But I do,” she said. “You guys, you’re not driving around breaking knees and killing people, right? You have legitimate businesses, all that stuff. A good profile about you, one that doesn’t make you look like some backwards monster, that might be good for you and your whole family.”
I watched her for a long moment, and I tried to figure out if she believed her own bullshit or not.
The last thing I wanted was a profile by a journalist.
It was true that we had legitimate businesses. More and more, we were going legit, because the profits were better and the risks were lower.
But we still did fucked-up things. We sold drugs, we stole, we extorted. We didn’t directly buy and sell girls, but we had plenty of strip clubs where the girls did a little something extra on the side and we took a cut of it. Most of our money came from that shit and no profile in the Inquirer would help business.
Then again, I had another couple weeks in the city at least, and I was bored. I was desperate for something to keep me entertained, and I knew this sexy little thing might be exactly what I needed.
I tilted my head and watched her. She squirmed a little and I thought I saw a bead of sweat roll down her arm. Fuck, it was almost sexy, the way she stared at me with a little hint of fear in her eyes.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Really?” She brightened. “I mean, really, you should think about it. You should do it, I mean, I promise—”
“Don’t make promises,” I said, holding a hand up. “And don’t get too eager. I said I’ll think about it, and that’s the best I can do right now.”
She let out a breath and nodded. “Okay, great. That’s… really great.”
I leaned toward her and was going to say something clever and a little cutting, but my phone began to buzz in my jacket pocket. I sighed and took it out, stared at the screen for a second, then stood.
“My father,” I said. “Excuse me.”
She nodded and I walked a few feet away down the sidewalk. I stood in the shade of a small tree, just starting to grow into something mature, and took the call.
“Don Leone,” I said.
“Vincent.” My dad sounded annoyed. “Where are you?”
“At lunch.”
“Did you forget something?”
I tilted my head and stared at the stoop a few feet away. Slowly my brain churned until I let out long breath.
“I’ll be there,” I said and checked my watch. “I have time.”
“You better be there,” he said. “This is important.”
“I get it.” I took my phone from my ear and hung up on him. I slipped my phone away then walked to the table.
Mona looked up at me. “Everything okay?”
I nodded. “All good.” I took my wallet from my back pocket and took out a crisp wad of twenties. I counted them out then dropped twice what we owed on the table. “I have to go.”
She stared at the money then up at me. “Wait, really?”
“Sorry,” I said. “We’ll talk again soon.”
She chewed her lip again, that cute as hell habit, then nodded.
“Right. And you’ll think about that profile,” she said.
I smirked at her, slipped my wallet back in my pants, and let her catch a glimpse of the gun I kept in my shoulder holster. I saw her eyes go wide, and I wondered if she really wanted to do a profile on me, or if she was just attracted to what I represented.
Danger, excitement, the gritty side of life.
She had no fucking clue what I was.
“See you soon,” I said then turned and walked away.
Doing a profile was a bad idea. Spending more time with that girl was definitely a bad idea.
But I was intrigued. I didn’t have to do anything important, didn’t have to show her anything major. I could always drag her around a little bit, show her some spots I used to hang out at, introduce her to some of the guys in the family.
I could give her a little taste, just to wet her lips, and then take what I wanted from her, slowly and for a long, long time.
I smiled as I pictured her stripped and bare, her long dark hair covering her breasts, her mouth hanging open in pure ecstasy.
4
Vince
The room was draped in velvet and smelled like an old man’s locker at a YMCA, all spice and aftershave. I ignored the bookshelves stuffed with leather-bound tomes, ignored the expensive paintings hanging on the walls, the files strewn about almost casually on top of real mahogany tables, and pulled out a seat next to my father at the conference room table.
He gave me a flat stare. I could tell it was his unhappy face, but he didn’t say anything right away. I took out my phone and studiously pretended to ignore him while still getting a feel for the vibe in the room.
Tad and Roberto stood against the far wall, both of them wearing black. Roberto had on a turtleneck, and his bald head gleamed in the lamplight. Tad fidgeted side to side and I wondered if the skinny, former junky was using again, but it didn’t matter. Both men were armed and intensely loyal to my father, and really that’s all they were good for anyway.
“You’re late,” my father said.
I looked up from my phone. “I had a meeting,” I said.
He frowned. “Who do you need to meet with here?” he asked.
“Journalist,” I said.
He snorted. “Right. If you’re not going to take this seriously, I won’t bother waiting for you next time.”
I made a little gesture and put my phone face-down on the table.
“Where’s Maksim?” I asked.
“On his way.” Father looked away, over toward the window. If there was one thing he hated even more than his son being late, it was his rival being late.
Don Leone looked like he’d aged five years since I last saw him. He was seventy now, though still spry, despite the fake cane he used to hobble around with. He had on a cardigan and a pair of simple, comfortable khaki pants, and he looked like any old grandfather hanging around in a South Philly stoop.
But my father was no ordinary man. He was Don Leone, head of the powerful Leone Crime Family. I grew up with this man, was raised by him, molded by him, shaped into the piece of shit monster I’d become. We hadn’t gotten along in years, maybe never had, and I suspect he sent me up to New York to establish our family there just as a way to get me out of his hair.
Worked just fine for me.
“Tell me again why you’re doing this?” I asked, just to get under his skin.
“I’m not going over my plans with you again,” he said.
“Humor me. The Russian isn’t here yet.”
He rubbed his face and sighed. I saw Roberto frowning at me, annoyed that I was needling my old man again. Roberto was the most loyal man in the whole Familia, and I was willing to be
t the man would gladly give his life for the Don.
Though certainly not for the Don’s son.
“The Russians are weak,” he said. “Maksim is barely holding on to power. His son is disgraced and living in Chicago. His top men are beginning to push back against his authority. I believe it’s time to create an alliance, one which benefits us both and cements our power over the city.”
I nodded and spun my phone on the table. It annoyed my father to no end, and I could tell all he wanted to do was reach forward and snatch it away.
In NYC, I never would’ve been so openly hostile. I was a professional when I did my business, even when I had to sit down for meetings with men I didn’t particularly care for. That’s how I took the Leone Family from just one small regional Philadelphia power, and gave us a solid foothold in the biggest city in the country.
“You still haven’t told me why we’d want that,” I said. “Makes more sense to kill Maksim off, let his organization fracture, and take all their territory.”
“Stop that,” my father said, slamming a hand on the table.
I smiled at him and stopped spinning the phone.
“On edge?” I asked.
He let out a breath and leaned his head back, eyes closed, for five deep breaths. His face was composed when he looked at me again.
“We don’t want to own the city outright,” he said. “Even if we could reach out and take it right now, that would bring too much attention down on us. Yes, we own politicians and police officers, but if we draw too much attention, there’s only so much they can do. We need Maksim to retain some measure of power and control, even if it’s only a distant second place. If we have influence over him and his organization, it will leave us in a stronger position, long-term.”
I nodded and crossed my arms. It was a sound theory, and I actually agreed with my old man. I had to admit, it was kind of a brilliant strategy. The Russians would become our vassals and they’d owe us for their very existence, and in effect we’d own the whole city, although we’d do it through proxies.
It was really, really smart. There was a reason my father was the head of this family and one of the most powerful mobsters in the world.
And yet, I still hesitated. I still didn’t like it.
The Russians weren’t weak. They were weakened, that was true, and they were only a shadow of their former selves, but they weren’t weak. They could regain their strength, bide their time, and make a move years down the road when we weren’t expecting it. Perhaps my father wasn’t thinking past his own death, but it was on my mind all the time.
There was a knock at the door. My father stood, spry as ever, and looked at me. I got to my feet as the door to the conference room opened and Dino walked into the room, followed by Maksim Volkov himself.
It was strange to see the old Russian in my father’s home. He was wrinkled, with lines around his eyes and on his forehead. He had a square chin, straight nose, white hair, and a trim gray beard. He was thin, like he kept himself in shape, and wore simple jeans and a sweater.
“Luciano,” Maksim said. He approached my father and held out his hand. I watched a vein in Roberto’s skull throb like the enforcer wanted to attack, and was barely holding himself back.
“Maksim.” My father smiled and shook. “How are you doing?”
“Well, well.” Maksim looked at me. “And this is Vincent. Ah, little Vincent, how long has it been?”
“Too long,” I said, not showing the annoyance that crept through my body. I walked around the table and shook his hand before gesturing at a chair.
“Can we get you something?” I asked.
“No, no,” Maksim said, taking a seat.
I returned to my chair and lowered myself down as my father sat with a sigh. The two old men looked at each other for a long moment, both of their expressions guarded, and I took a second to marvel at them.
They’d been at each other’s throats for a long time, possibly for the entire time either of them had been in control of their organizations. The Russians and the Italians were lifelong enemies, and seeing them at a table together was almost jarring.
Maksim was a hard and a shrewd man. He didn’t rise to his position without some brains and some muscle. The only reason they’d taken such a beating lately was due to his moron son getting his ass handed to him by one of my old friends from when I was coming up, back before I left for New York. That little war had fractured something within the Russian organization, and they were losing ground little by little nearly every day.
“I’m happy you came,” my father said. “I know things have always been difficult between us, Maksim.”
“Difficult?” Maksim grunted. “Please, you make life miserable. You come and kill soldiers, you steal shipments. Of course, I do same to you, so things, they are even. But still, we should say what we mean, yes?”
“I agree,” my father said.
“Then let me ask you. Why am I here?” Maksim crossed his arms over his chest and looked from my father over to me then back again.
I raised an eyebrow and waited. My father took a moment to compose himself before folding his hands together on the table and leaning toward Maksim.
“I’ve come to offer you a deal,” my father said.
“You make me deal?” Maksim laughed. “I do not think you make me good deal.”
“Hear me out, Maksim,” my father said. “I know we’ve been at odds for a long time, but believe me. I think I have something that will benefit us both.”
Maksim blew a breath out from his nose and looked at me.
“Does he think that just because I have accent, that I am stupid?” Maksim asked me.
I grinned and shrugged. “Could be,” I said.
My father gave me a sharp look. “I know you’re not dumb, Maksim. Otherwise, I would’ve killed you years ago and taken over your territory.”
“Like you do now?” Maksim asked. “Oh, yes, you pretend like you are not hurting me, but I know you chip away at edges, little bit by little bit.” Maksim made a disgusted face. “And now you call me here, you talk of deal.”
“It’s an alliance,” I said. “A mutually beneficial alliance.”
“You do not do mutually beneficial,” Maksim said. “You do personal beneficial, but not mutual.”
“Maksim, I know you’re hurting,” my father said. “Yes, you’re losing territory, and yes, some of my Capos are taking it from you. But it’s not just me and you know it. Just three days ago, one of your top ranked soldiers left your organization, isn’t that right?”
Maksim scowled. “Did do you know this?”
“Of course I know,” my father said. “It’s my job to know, but beyond that, he made sure the whole city knew about it.”
“Pah,” Maksim said, waving a hand. “He was coward. Not willing to fight.”
“But he’s not alone,” I said. “More of your guys are talking about following. They think you’re weak, Maksim. Think you’re ready to roll over and let the young men take over.”
Maksim narrowed his eyes at me. “Men such as yourself?”
I held my hands out, palms up, and smiled.
“What my son’s trying to say is you need help right now,” my father said. “We can provide you with that help. Stabilize you.”
“Why?” Maksim said slowly. “I see no reason to do such a thing.”
“We need you,” my father said. “With you in the city, all the attention won’t be on my family. We don’t want a street war any more than you do. Maksim, working together makes more sense now than it ever did, and if you can look beyond the past, I think we can see a future where both our families are stronger together.”
Maksim took a deep breath, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m listening.”
I smiled and stood up as my father launched into an explanation of the plan. It was a long, detailed, and incredibly boring speech about logistics, about selling Maksim
drugs at good prices, at helping them set up a distribution network where the money flowed between both families. I walked out of the meeting and felt Maksim’s eyes on me, tracking my movements until I slipped out the doors and into the hallway.
My job was done. My father wanted me in there as a show of solidarity and to convince Maksim to listen. I’d been away from the city long enough that I didn’t have a history of fighting with the Russians here, and so my father thought I might be useful.
So I served my purpose and then I was done.
I walked a few feet away, down the plush red carpet with its alternating geometric and floral designs. I stopped beneath a painting of a boat in a river at night, the water reflecting the white moonlight with little swirls of white paint.
I took out my phone and made a call.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Mona,” I said.
“Vince,” she said. “I thought I just got rid of you.”
“Maybe, but I haven’t gotten you off my mind just yet,” I said.
She laughed. “The lines are getting better.”
“Good.” I tilted my head and smiled. I reached out and ran a finger down the painting. I knew it was probably worth millions of dollars, though the painter escaped me at the moment. I touched the canvas, the oil, felt the bumps and long marks where the brush had been pushed, pulled, stamped down.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“I’ve been thinking about your little… idea,” I said.
“Really?” Her tone was eager, much too eager.
I smiled and dropped my hand from the painting.
“Really,” I said. “Come meet me at the Art Museum in an hour and we’ll discuss it.”
“Wait,” she said. “But—”
I hung up the phone.
If she wanted this, she’d show up. And if she didn’t, well, I hadn’t been to the museum in years, and I was sure I could get lost and entertain myself for a while.
5
Mona
I ran home from Whole Foods with only half of what I went there to get, jumped into the shower, and just barely managed to make it to the Art Museum an hour after that phone call. I stepped out of the Uber, my heart beating fast, as I looked around for Vince.