Beware the Snake
Mafia Soldiers Book One
Samantha Cade
‘Beware the Snake’ Copyright Samantha Cade 2017
All Rights Reserved
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"The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason, he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
Chapter One
Snake
It’s dead quiet in this car as we hurtle deeper into the desert at the California/Nevada border, except for the thumping in the trunk. Even though he’s not as noisy as when we first left the city, I find it agitating. My body is buzzing from the adrenaline, so intense it vibrates my eardrums. I want to close my eyes and feel that energy coursing through me, powering me, pumping me up for what we have to do next. But I can’t do that with this fucking thumping.
Salvatore is driving, drumming the steering wheel to a beat only he can hear. Anthony is in the front seat, hands folded in front of his face, his eyes focused on the road ahead. We’re all taking this quiet moment to prepare for what’s to come. You can’t just get there physically. You have to get there mentally too.
If it wasn’t for that fucking thumping.
I nudge Bruno, who’s beside me in the backseat, and point my thumb towards the trunk with a smarmy look.
“This fucking guy,” I utter under my breath.
Bruno gives me a slight nod, then squares his massive shoulders towards the window, where he looks out at the pitch black night. He holds his hands in tight fists in his lap. His knuckles are bruised and bloody. The guy in the trunk had put up one hell of a fight, but he was no match for Bruno. They never are.
I don’t know who that guy is, and I try not to think much about him. All I know is that the order came down from the boss himself. Whoever that dumb fuck is thumping around back there, he crossed the Mariano’s. That’s his fault. Not mine. I have to think about myself here. I want to be a Mariano soldier, and the only way to do that is to about face and act like one.
There aren’t any streetlights out here. I was born and raised in the grimy streets of the city, and it always shocks me how bright the stars are on these drives. They’re nearly fucking blinding. As we get closer to the spot, I grip my hands into fists and breathe hard, forced breaths. This is another opportunity to prove myself, to show my loyalty to the family. Salvatore told me a few days ago that the books are open. I’ve been hustling for this family since I was fifteen years old. Twelve years later, I finally have my chance to be made. The fact that I don’t have a kill under my belt is the only thing holding me back.
Anthony and Salvatore mumble to each other from the front seat. Salvatore slows the car, and pulls over on the side of the road. Bruno and I exchange hardened glances before getting out of the car. Anthony bangs on the trunk then pops it open. The guy looks up at us, blinking in the starlight. His hands are tied behind his back with thick rope, and his mouth is gagged with a balled up towel, held in place by duct tape. We stare down at him. The four of us must look fucking terrifying, standing over him in our black, tailored suits, which is the Mariano family dress code. I look into his red, panicked eyes for a moment, and wonder what’s going through his head. What’s it like to know you’re going to die?
Anthony flicks his head towards Bruno and me. “Let’s go,” he says impatiently.
I don’t like his disrespectful tone, but I keep that to myself. Since he’s made and I’m not, I have to do what he says. I grit my teeth and remind myself that it won’t be for much longer. Bruno and I grab the guy by the shoulders and muscle him out of the trunk. As soon as his feet hit the dry ground, we push him forward.
“Walk,” I grunt, next to his ear.
Anthony and Salvatore walk in front of us with flashlights. The guy struggles weakly against us. His screams are muffled by the gag, but I can make out the gist of what he’s saying. He’s claiming he’s innocent, that we got the wrong guy. Sorry, pal, but the judge and jury have already spoken. We’re just the executioners.
We walk, for I don’t know how long, until the road disappears from the horizon.
“This is good,” Salvatore says.
Bruno and I grip the guy’s arm, holding him like in a vice, while Salvatore walks towards him. Salvatore’s upper lip is curled. His eyes are cold and hard. He stands at least a foot taller than our guy. Bending down to look into his eyes, Salvatore breathes out loudly with a chilling smile.
“You thought you could fuck with the Mariano’s,” Salvatore says. He presses his gun up under the guy’s chin. The guy screams something through the gag. Salvatore smirks, then calmly pistol whips him across the face, so hard the guy’s nose starts to bleed. “On your knees,” Salvatore says, walking away.
I push down on the his shoulders at the same time Bruno gives him a swift kick in the lower back, knocking him to his knees. The guy’s screams turn to sobbing.
“I’m guessing you want to do the honors?” Anthony says to Salvatore.
Salvatore shakes his head. He puts his gun away, then lights a cigarette.
“I think our friend, Snake, can get the job done,” Salvatore says.
Bruno and Anthony whip their heads towards me. I look at the dusty ground, embarrassed by the swell of pride in my chest.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” Anthony says quietly to Salvatore, but we can all hear it. “He’s not made.”
Salvatore, ignoring Anthony, holds the cigarette between his lips as he hands me the grip of the gun. When I take it, he pats me on the back. I look into his eyes and give him a grateful nod.
I’ve never killed before, but I’ve seen a handful of people die. It makes me a little queasy to point the gun. I clench my jaw, forcing that feeling down. Now’s not the time to punk out. This is my job, my life. I set my sights on the back of his head, and exhale as I pull the trigger.
Just like that, it’s over.
His wails are snuffed out in an instant, and he topples forward. The chirping of crickets rise up in the stillness of the desert. My arm remains in the air, still aiming the gun. There’s a slight smoky smell from the shot, and I can feel the heat from the barrel. Salvatore and Bruno pat me on the back.
“Good job, soldier,” Salvatore says with sarcastic salute. “There’s no getting away from us now. You’re in too deep. I’ll talk to my father about you taking the omertà, getting you made.”
“Congratulations,” Bruno mutters, and shakes my hand. I want to tell Bruno that maybe soon he’ll get his shot too, but I don’t know if that’s true.
Anthony approaches me, hands in his pocket, looking at the ground. When he’s in front of me, he extends his arms, and gives me a quick, professional hug.
“I always knew you had it in you,” he says with a smile that makes me want to punch him in the face. “But you’re not done yet.”
Anthony digs into his pockets and pulls out a needle and thread, which he throws against my chest. “Sew that rat’s lips shut.”
I haven’t looked at the body since I fired that shot, so I do now. The blood pooling around his head is so dark it looks black. I walk over to him, grab his wet hair, and pull his head up. His face is pretty fucked up, but I can still see what he looks like, which is like just a regular guy.
Anthony, Salvatore, and Bruno look on as I work the needle through the upper lip. The needle’s not very sharp, so I have to jam it through.
“You want to be a real soldier now, huh?” Anthony says, smoking a cigarette. “Get ready, kid. This is when the real work begins.”
Chapter Two
Jess
; (Two years later)
I stand in front of the full length mirror in my bedroom, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. I’m squeezed into a tight, short, black dress that pushes my tits up nearly to my chin. The black leather stilettos, fresh out of the box, make my legs look long and lean. From the neck down, I’m a hot package of curves. My face, however, is another story. The artificial light reflecting off of the bare walls of this apartment cast a yellow haze onto my skin, making me look sallow. The truth is, I don’t much like looking at myself in the mirror these days. I haven’t recognized the person staring back at me for some time now. I see my hair, light brown and wavy, that I’ve always kept long. I see the familiar pattern of freckles on my arms. But the face belongs to someone else.
My cell phone rings, and I answer it without looking to see who it is. I know it’s my dad, who calls every night at eight pm sharp. I could set a clock by him.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, turning to the side to regard my reflection.
“What are you up to tonight?”
“Just catching up on some work.” I open a new tube of red lipstick and smear it on my lips in an attempt to make the top match the bottom.
“How is work?” Dad asks.
“Great,” I respond, which is the same answer I give to his usual list of questions. “How are you feeling?” “Great.” “How’s your boss?” “Great.” Everything is great, great, great.
Dad gives me the usual speech about how he and my mother are so proud of me and how far I’ve come, and that he won’t feel the need to check up on me for much longer. I thank him, like I usually do, and tell him I love him. We say goodbye.
I catch my face in the mirror when I hang up the phone. My cheery, fake smile disappears, replaced in an instant with my usual cold, dour expression. There she is, the woman I don’t recognize. I suck it up, and practice smiling and flirting in the mirror for a few minutes.
I take out the black, sequined wristlet I bought today, and pack it with my cell phone, lipstick, some cash, and my ID. The documents are laid in a neat pile on top of my dresser. I’d printed ten pages of the hundreds more I have stored on the CD-ROM that’s stashed beneath my mattress. I stare at them, considering how I’ll carry them. They’ll never fit in this purse. I lay the pages out flat, and carefully take a picture of each one with my cell phone.
It’s time to go, and I’m getting nervous. I’d give anything for a shot of vodka, just one to calm my nerves. Rubbing my temples, I visualize the liquor store down the street, and their display of airplane bottles in the window.
No, I can’t give into that anymore. I don’t want instant gratification, something easy and quick that will make me feel good only for a little while. I throw open the dresser drawer and find my sixty day chip. I’ve been sober much longer than sixty days, that’s just when I quit going to meetings and talking to my sponsor. I quit because I didn’t need them anymore. I found a purpose, a yearning that burns brighter than the need to stay loaded all the time.
I’m going to find the man who took everything from me, and I’m going to kill him.
It starts tonight.
Chapter Three
Snake
I want to smile from ear to ear while I watch Bruno in the ring, taking shots like champ. But I can’t. I have to play the part. I cover my face with both hands, shaking my head. I kick a metal chair when his opponent lands a nice one right across his jaw. The guy he’s fighting is fierce, but nothing Bruno can’t handle. That tower of muscle is an ace in the hole. He can defeat anything that crosses his path. Which is why everyone else bet on him to win tonight.
Bruno swings and misses. This gives the other guy the opportunity to deliver a sharp uppercut. It’s so hard, his fist briefly disappears beneath Bruno’s sternum. I cringe. Bruno drops to his knees.
“That’s it,” I say under my breath. “Stay down.”
I watch as the opponent grabs Bruno by the hair, and starts pummeling his face. My knuckles are white as I hold my fist under my chin. I need this fucking payday like I need air to breathe. Nothing else worked out for me this month, and it’s almost time to pay tribute.
There are about a three dozen other guys watching the fight, various players in LA’s criminal underworld. The crowd is made up of gang members, wise guys, and even a politician or two. They all seem as upset over Bruno’s performance as I’m pretending to be. A few of them are giving me the side eye. They’d be wise to suspect that something’s up. When Bruno takes his loss, we’ll have to get the cash, then get the hell out of here.
Bruno’s pinned flat on this stomach, his opponent straddling his back. The referee has started the count. I watch closely, counting silently in my head along with him. The opponent is cheesing for the crowd, posing, and being a real fucking asshole. When we’re down to the last couple of seconds, the guy bends down and kisses Bruno square on the lips.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself.
I can barely watch as Bruno presses his hands into the mat, and gets up on all fours with his opponent on his back. Bruno shoots straight up, standing on his knees. The crowd goes crazy as the opponent falls backwards, slamming on his back. Bruno’s on him in a second. He hurls his huge arm back, then lands one solid punch to the side of his opponent’s head.
Bruno stands up. The other guy doesn’t.
The crowd fucking loses it.
A guy in a cheap suit walks up to me with his hand out. I take the wad of cash out of my pocket, and lay it in his palm.
When Bruno gets out of the ring, I squeeze passed the handful of chicks lining up to suck his dick, then pull him to the side.
“What the fuck happened out there?” I say into his ear. “You were supposed to take a dive.”
Bruno crinkles his bruised and swollen face. “You saw what that prick did. I couldn’t let that stand.”
I want to bust Bruno’s balls a little longer, but he’s distracted by a blonde number in a tight red skirt who takes his hand and pulls him away. I’d been hoping to run out of here with my pockets stuffed with cash, but since no one’s after me for fixing the fight, I might as well have a drink. I straighten my tie and head to the back.
There’s a makeshift bar set up in the back of this warehouse where a curvy Latina wearing next to nothing is serving drinks. This warehouse is owned by a bouncy house rental company. There are deflated castles, slides, and a jungle with palm trees lining the walls. The owner hosts these little events in exchange for a cut of the action. I guess these days, people have to be creative when finding other streams of revenue.
I order a shot of whiskey and drink it down. I’m fucked for the month. There’s no use in worrying about that anymore. I can salvage the night by getting raging drunk, and finding a pair of tits to get lost in.
I order another. This one, I sip slowly while I survey the crowd, seeing what kind of ass is on the menu tonight. There are the usual suspects, the working girls who stand to make a lot fucking more than me tonight, the girlfriend’s of mobsters who I’ll only touch if I want to lose an eye, and then there are the women who don’t belong here. They come from good families, good neighborhoods, who think getting fucked by a bad boy will shake them from their white bread boredom.
I’ve already fucked a good percentage of the women here. I drink my whiskey, smiling as it burns deep in my chest. I want a taste of something different.
At the end of the bar, I catch sight of a cascade of wavy, light brown hair. The body underneath is tight, toned, and served up on a silver platter in a skimpy black dress. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and I see her face.
I’ve never seen her before. Her deep brown eyes dart around as she drinks something clear. She doesn’t belong here. She’s not one of us. But she doesn’t seem afraid. Her back straightens suddenly. She feels me watching her. I hold my gaze.
Her eyes flit over to me, then back to her drink, then back to me. She smiles. I watch her a little longer, just to make sure that she’s not with a gangbanger or a wise guy.
When I don’t see anyone claim her, I adjust my suit, smooth back my hair, and walk over there, cock first.
“Good evening,” I say, the words rolling smoothly over my tongue as I sidle up next to her at the bar. It’s crowded, and there’s not much space, so I have stand so close to her her arm grazes against my chest. She looks up at me, batting her lashes, her cheeks turning pink. I drag my finger up her bare arm. “You here with anyone, sweetheart?”
She giggles, then lets out an exasperated sigh. “I came with my friend, but she ditched me.”
Just as I thought, she’s daddy’s little girl, looking to take a walk on the wild side. Well, I can give her the adventure she craves.
“I’m Jess.”
“Snake.” I take her hand and kiss it. Her skin is soft underneath my lips. I want to taste more. “You’ll never guess how I got my nickname.” I glance down, signaling what I’ve got under the hood.
Jess gives me a sideways smile. “You’re direct.”
“This isn’t some West Hollywood bar where people dance around what they want. Everyone here is here for a specific action.”
Jess turns towards me, giving me full view of that lovely rack. “And what’s your action?”
“Business,” I say, cocking my head to one side. “But that’s over. Now, I’m after pleasure.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Business, huh? You’re with the Lombardi’s?”
I laugh, straightening my cuffs. “The Mariano’s actually.” I see her eyes light up at this. She’s found the mafia bad boy she always wanted. I lean closer to her. She shivers as my fingertips dance down her spine. I whisper in her ear. “Now that I’ve told you that, I have to make sure you’re not wearing a wire under that pretty dress.”
Her skin goes cold. She giggles nervously. She looks at me through her lashes. She’s hesitant, but she wants it, I can tell.
“Come on, sweetheart.” I slip my arm around her shoulders. “Let’s make both of our nights.”
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