by B. B. Hamel
Vince pulled my door open and helped me out. As I stood on the sidewalk, the front door opened up and a man with a thick neck, a bald head, a cheap suit, and a deep scowl stepped out onto the stoop, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Vincent,” he called out.
Vince looked over and sighed. “Roberto,” he said. “You’re fast today.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to see my father.”
I leaned against the car as Roberto’s eyes swung over to me. His scowl deepened as he looked me up and down.
“Not with her, you won’t,” Roberto said.
“She’s coming in,” Vince said. “Go tell my father it’s important.”
“I’m not going to bother the Don with this.”
“Roberto.” Vince walked to the end of the stoop and stared up at the big bald man. “If you don’t get your ass inside, I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll make sure you end up cleaning corpses from the Schuylkill for the rest of your pathetic, ass-licking life. Now fucking move.”
Roberto stared down at Vince before shaking his head. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll make your father turn you out then.”
“Tell him it’s about the Jalisco,” Vince said.
Roberto hesitated briefly then headed inside again.
Vince leaned against the railing and rubbed at his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He looked back at me. “I’m fine,” he said.
“You don’t look fine.”
He pushed off the railing and walked toward me, his eyes hot and hard on my body.
“Did you hear what I said in the car?” he asked.
I nodded. “I heard you.”
“Keep your mouth shut in there.”
“We’re not in there yet.”
He lingered for a second and I could see his frustration.
“This is a big deal,” he said, his voice low. “This is the sort of fucking thing that will keep me from going back to New York.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “And you care more about getting back to the city than you do about a possible war with this cartel?”
“More or less,” he said. “Not that you’d understand.”
I shrugged. “I get the sense you don’t love it here and don’t really get along with your father.”
He laughed, a harsh and short bark. “You noticed?” he asked.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“I bet you’d like that,” he said, leaning toward me. “You want to hear about my daddy issues? I’d rather hear about yours. Or maybe you can just call me daddy and we can move on with our lives.”
I glared at him. “No need to be an asshole.”
He smirked at me and put a hand on my cheek. I tried to pull away but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
“Don’t forget what I said,” he whispered, leaning close to press his lips to my ear. I let out a little breath, choking back a groan. “Keep your mouth shut in there, for your own sake. I don’t want to see you get hurt, my little journalist.”
He let me go and turned away just as the door opened again.
Roberto stepped outside, looking even more annoyed and miserable.
“He’ll see you now,” Roberto said. “Come with me.”
Vince grunted, opened the car door, and grabbed the black snake box from the back seat. He slammed the door shut and walked up the stoop. I followed, holding onto the railing.
We stepped into a wide entryway with a high ceiling and a crystal chandelier. Wood paneling covered the walls and oil paintings hung in neat, orderly rows. Expensive and intricate mosaic tilework covered the floor. It seemed like the kind of place a British lord or lady would be happy with.
Roberto led us through the entry, down a back hall, and cut left. We walked down another hall, our footsteps muffled by a plush, thick red carpet. More oil paintings on the walls, some of them expensive, and a few I thought I recognized. Old Masters, mostly, the sort of things that should be in a museum, but end up in a private gallery instead.
Or end up hung on a gangster’s wall as decoration.
Roberto took us to a door at the very end of the long hallway. It took me a moment to realize that the hall was far too long to go through only one house. The Don must’ve owned most of the block, maybe the whole thing.
The door was large and heavy looking. It was made of some dark hardwood, maybe oak or something like that, with intricate carvings all along the front.
Roberto knocked twice then opened it. Vince nodded and slipped inside.
I followed, heart racing.
Roberto shut the door behind us. I jumped when it clicked closed.
The room surprised me at first. The carpet was green and patterned. The walls were covered in bookshelves. There was a table to the right, a little bar to the left, and filing cabinets overflowing with papers along the back walls. An enormous mahogany desk sat straight ahead, and an older man with a shock of white hair, a deep red velvet bathrobe pulled around his body, and a deep frown on his face sat behind it.
Vince skipped the pleasantries. He walked right up to his father’s desk and dropped the box down on it. His father stared at the box then up at his son with a bemused, annoyed expression.
“Well?” his father asked.
“This is why I’m here,” Vince said. “Open it.”
I felt his father’s eyes flip over to where I lingered just inside the doorway, feeling exposed and so far out of my depth that I just might drown. I wanted to ask questions, wanted to ask if the paintings I saw out there were real, if the heavy leather-bound tomes lining the bookshelves were all originals, and if I was going to get out of this alive.
His father frowned at me then looked at the box. He lifted the lid gingerly and stared inside without betraying anything.
I felt like I might pass out. My knees shook, my ankles almost broke. I wished I wasn’t wearing heels.
“Well?” Vince asked.
“Well,” his father said. “This is interesting.”
Vince looked back at me and I could see the exasperation on his face.
“No shit,” he said. “You know what it means, don’t you?”
“Of course,” his father said and a hint of annoyance strayed into his tone. “The better question is, does that journalist standing back there know?”
I saw Vince tense as he looked back at me. I stared at the two men, my heart racing. I could see Vince’s resemblance to his father, in the jaw and the eyes, but where his father was crooked and crinkled, Vince was smooth and masculine.
“Hello, ah, Mr. Leone,” I said.
Vince’s father smiled at me. “Hello, Mona,” he said. “Lovely to meet you. Why don’t you come over here and join us?”
I hesitated then stepped forward at Vince’s nod. I moved over to stand next to Vince and did my best not to betray how absolutely terrified I felt.
“I understand your hesitation,” Vince said. “But Mona and I have an arrangement. She’s writing an article about me that will not include any incriminating or identifiable information.”
“And how is she going to write such a thing?” his father asked. “And how in the seven hells is that even worth her time? Think for a moment, son.”
“Sir, I don’t plan on betraying any confidences,” I said. “He’ll see the draft—”
“And why is it speaking?” his father said, his voice a snarl.
I took a step back, my eyes wide. Vince stared at me, his face hard, and shook his head once.
“She won’t speak again,” Vince said. “But she’s right. She can be trusted, father.”
“She’s a journalist,” his father said. “She can’t be trusted, no matter how pretty she is. I don’t care how long her legs are, how perky her tits are, she can’t be trusted.”
Vince tensed and bristled. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Vincent, if you need something to fuck, we can procure you something,” his father sai
d. “If that’s all you need, there are plenty of women within the family that you can have.”
“It’s not about that,” Vince said.
His father shook his head and waved a hand. “I want to discuss business,” he said. “Send the girl away.”
Vince looked at me, his eyes hard, and he nodded once. “Go wait in the hall,” he said.
I hesitated. I looked at Vince then at his father. I opened my mouth to speak, but caught the look Don Leone was giving me.
So I shut my mouth, turned away, and walked to the door. I opened it up and stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind me with a dull thud.
The hall was empty.
I leaned up against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my body tight, and had to bite my lip hard to keep from bursting out in tears.
I wasn’t going to cry. Goddamn it, I wouldn’t cry.
I was a journalist. Danger was the whole point.
I just met Don Leone, the most dangerous man in the city, and he knew what I was. He knew and he didn’t approve, which meant my life was in serious danger no matter what Vince said.
God, this was such a mistake.
But there was no turning back now.
I closed my eyes and took steadying, calming breaths, and waited for Vince to come back out.
9
Vince
I found Mona sitting on the floor outside of my father’s office a half hour later. She looked up at me and I could see the tears still shining, though they hadn’t fallen.
Good for her. Most girls in her position would have broken out in sobs the second that door shut.
I lingered over her. “You okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
I held out a hand. She hesitated then took it and I helped her to her feet. She stumbled and ran up against me. I held her lower back to steady her, pulling her body tighter against mine.
“Careful,” I said, my voice low.
She stared at me then shook her head and pulled away.
“I’m fine,” she said again.
“Good.” I walked down the hall and she hurried to keep up.
“What happened in there?” she asked, her voice soft.
I glanced at her and shook my head once.
She took the hint and didn’t ask any more questions. We moved back down the main hall, turned right at the far intersection, and headed through the entryway. Roberto was near the front door, looking bored and annoyed all at once.
I was pretty sure that was his default setting.
“Have a wonderful evening, Roberto,” I said as I opened the door and let Mona out into the night.
Roberto grunted in response.
I smiled and followed Mona out. I helped her into the car, walked around, got behind the wheel, and started it up.
She turned to me and I could see the questions forming.
“Just wait,” I said. “Okay? I’ll answer your questions back at my place. I just need a second to think. And a fucking drink.”
She closed her mouth and sighed. “All right. But you’d better answer.”
“I will,” I said and pulled out.
There were very few things my father and I agreed about. I thought he was too complacent and too quick to form alliances where none were necessary. I thought the Russian deal was stupid and foolish. I thought he needed to be stronger, needed to accept his role as the dominant force in the city. I thought the family needed to expand across the continent.
Where I was brash, reckless, and strong, he was quiet, calculating, and careful.
But for once, there was no argument. There was no disagreement.
Getting the snake was a very, very bad thing.
I drove in silence and let my mind wrap around the conversation I’d just had with my father. I glanced at Mona, at the slit of her dress riding up her leg. Fucking hell, she was gorgeous.
I wondered if my father was right, if she really was just about getting a taste.
There was some truth to that. I wanted her and wasn’t trying to hide it. Every time she came around, I wanted to put my hands on her skin, feel her soft body, make her moan, make her whisper my name.
But it wasn’t just that.
There was something about her. It was there, in the way she approached me that first night. It was in her smile, in her swagger. In her inability to keep her mouth shut back in my father’s study, even though I told her not to speak up no matter what.
It was that little spark that drew me to her.
We made it home and I parked in my usual spot. I got out, opened her door, walked her up the stoop. We got inside and she collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. She took off her shoes and threw them onto the floor then lounged back.
I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a drink. “You want one?” I called out.
“No, thanks,” she answered.
I carried my whiskey back into the living room and looked down at her. She stared up at me, adjusted her dress, tilted her head.
“Well?” she asked.
I sipped my drink then slowly sat in the brown armchair next to the couch. I let out a sigh and stared at my shoes for a few seconds.
“My father doesn’t know why we were given that warning any more than I do,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t. We have some guesses, but we’re not sure.” I took a longer sip, nearly finished off the drink.
“What are your guesses?” she asked.
I reached into my jacket. Inside was a plain manila envelope with several pieces of paper tucked inside. I took out the envelope and tossed it to her.
“If you want to hear them, you need to sign that,” I said.
She stared at the envelope then shook her head. “What the hell is this?” she asked.
“That’s a standard Leone Family NDA,” I said.
“A non-disclosure agreement?” she asked, her mouth hanging open.
“That’s right.”
“How the hell am I supposed to sign this?” he asked.
“With a pen,” I said.
She glared at me. “I can’t write an article if I sign an NDA,” she said.
“There’s a clause in there allowing for a reasonable change of details,” I said. “I had my father put it in.”
“You two were in there making a contract for me?” she asked.
“The NDA is standard, the only change we made was to section four, clause six. Open it up and take a look. It basically says you can’t release any details about our family, but you’ll be allowed to write an article that reasonably hides our identities.”
She stared at me and shook her head in disbelief. “You’re really going to make me sign this?”
“If you want access, you’d better,” I said.
“Fuck that.” She tossed the envelope aside. “And fuck you, Vince. We had a deal.”
I clenched my jaw. That was exactly what I’d said to my father. But he made it clear that if I didn’t get her to sign, he’d send Roberto over to get the job done, and Roberto wouldn’t be kind about it.
My fucking piece of shit father.
He pretended to be a kind, hobbled old man. But there was ice water in his veins, and I knew he loved hurting people more than anything else in the world.
I stood up and finished my whiskey, throwing it back in one gulp. I slammed the glass down on the table then turned to face her.
“Sign the NDA,” I said. “Sign it before my father comes here with a fucking goon and makes you do it.”
“Oh, so now you’re threatening me?” She stood up, rage in her eyes.
“No, Mona, I’m trying to protect you,” I said. “My father wanted me to get rid of you. He wanted me to throw you out of the city and send you packing. Either that or put a bullet in your head and save him the trouble of paying you off.”
She stared at me, eyes wide. “What the fuck?”
; “He hates journalists,” I said. “He thinks you know too much now. He thinks you’re a goddamn problem. So sign that NDA, make him happy, and we can move on with our lives.”
“This is bullshit,” she said. “I thought you trusted me. I thought we were trying to trust each other.”
“I do trust you,” I said. “And you’d better learn to trust me by signing that fucking piece of paper. It doesn’t change anything, but it makes my father feel better.”
She stared at me, her body shaking with rage. She turned, walked to the envelope, and grabbed it off the couch. She pulled the documents out and stared at them.
I took a pen from my jacket pocket and held it out.
She walked over, snatched it from me, and slammed the NDA down onto the table. She initialed each page, scrawling the letters big and angry, then signed her name and dated it on the very last page. When she was done, she threw the pen across the room.
“Happy?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “But my father will be and now you won’t end up dead or thrown out of the city.”
She shook her head. “You assholes,” she said. “You act like you care, but we both know you don’t.”
“Mona,” I said.
She turned away. “Whatever. Pretend like you’re better than he is, but we both know you’re not.” She stomped to the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
I watch her head up and let out a breath.
Fuck. Well, that went about as well as I expected.
She had every right to be angry. Signing that document essentially gave my father every legal right over whatever article she ended up writing. Even if she ended up writing something reasonable and well within the bounds of the deal we set up, my father could still fuck her in the ass if he wanted.
I wouldn’t let that happen, but she had no reason to believe that.
My eyes drifted over to her shoes, still lying on the floor.
Goddamn. She was gorgeous. And even sexier when she was pissed.
I smiled a little, gathered up the pages, and slipped them back into the envelope. I walked into the kitchen, refilled my drink, and leaned against the counter.