But four months later, I’m still caught in the past.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and turn to Joe, breaking the connection, both physical and emotional, that sizzles between us. “I’m so sorry about Grandpa.”
He pulls me into his arms for a quick hug, thanking me for making the visit. “You know how much he loved you, Shaye. He would always reminisce about your marathon games of Scrabble and say how much he missed them once you left.”
“I loved him, too. And he was a good contender.” I manage a watery smile and swipe at a stray tear. “But you know he’s happy with Grandma Lou now.”
Joe nods. His face is stoic, but his eyes are vacant. Not something I’d expect from him. He is always on his game, no matter what the circumstances. The whole thing about people sensing weakness and all that. I’d expect nothing different now since he’s just taken control over the family in the wake of his father’s death. But I guess sometimes you just need to let it go and let the sorrow overtake, if only for a little while. We all need time to grieve. “I know. Thank you again for being here.”
“If you need any help with Lily while I’m home, just let me know. I don’t have any big plans, and I bet she can use some cheering up.”
Joe smiles and squeezes my hand. “I’d appreciate that. She’d love to see you.”
I take that as my cue to move toward the coffin, but not before I toss a quick glance over my shoulder to confirm there are not two, but four bimbos crawling all over Nico’s black Armani suit. I grit my teeth, carefully kneel before Grandpa and pray not only for his soul, but for the soul of his only grandson. It appears he needs it right now more than ever with the flock surrounding him, not even able to control themselves long enough to let Grandpa’s body turn cold.
But really, is it that surprising? Hadn’t I always known he’d have never chosen love over his livelihood? If it’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that Nico Salesi doesn’t make rash decisions. He’s probably the most calculating person I know, and he evaluates all of the risks before taking action. It’s one of the reasons why he and Max connect so well and have maintained their friendship despite our family’s feud. Max is the exact opposite of Nico, and somehow they balance each other out. My hotheaded brother could probably use a little more of that balance, but hey, hope springs eternal.
For some people, anyway.
When I stand up from the prayer bench, I catch a glimpse of my parents shaking Joe’s hand on my right. No words are exchanged, none have been for longer than I can recall, but they’re here and that’s the most important thing. I turn to my left and see Max whisper something in Nico’s ear. Nico nods, but keeps his gaze locked on me. It’s like we’re the only people in the room, standing in our own little bubble, preserving the fantasy I foolishly believed could become a reality until he unceremoniously popped it and destroyed my dreams.
I square my shoulders and walk toward him, four pairs of heavily made-up eyes dissecting every inch of me as I approach. Max is already heading out the door, leaving me on my own to handle this situation, a situation he obviously knows nothing about since Nico is still very much alive and breathing. Had Max suspected a thing, Nico would have most definitely been another casualty in the world we live in.
I have to make a choice. Right this second.
I made the wrong one before, and I don’t want to repeat my mistake.
But as broken as my heart is, I want it — no, I need it — to become whole again.
Only one person can stitch it back together.
And he’s standing right in front of me, the smell of wanton sex and pheromones assaulting my senses…and I honestly don’t know if that smell is coming from those harlots or from me.
So I ignore every feeling that I have right now and walk right past him without so much as a nod.
2
Nico
“Did you catch that dickhead Lucchese pawing at my sister last night?” Max grunts and tosses a football into the air while reclining in a plush leather chair in front of my desk. “Fucking guy has some nerve.”
Did I see it? Maybe the more apropos question would be have I been able to think of anything but that dickhead pawing at her? I clench my fist tight around the bottle of Vitamin Water, denting the plastic. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just trying to flex his muscles now that he’s back from California.”
“Yeah, why the hell is he back here again? I thought he was gone for good when your grandfather banished him from northern Jersey.”
So did everyone else in the family. But my father has other plans and ordered him back here. It doesn’t make Alfonse deVincenzo — the bookie he robbed a quarter of a million dollars in bets from — happy. And it sure as hell doesn’t make Max happy, since he was angling to become deVincenzo’s business partner and lost hundreds of thousands right along with Alfonse all because of Rocco. Max is also the one who blew the whistle on Rocco, who had been operating as a bookie without getting the necessary permission from Grandpa. Rats are rats regardless of the good that came from it, and Max’s reputation went spiraling down the toilet after that. Once a rat, always a rat. “I’m sure Dad has his reasons. Don’t worry about him.”
“Worry? Give me a break. He’s the one who should be worried. deVincenzo has been foaming at the mouth, waiting for an opportunity to sink his claws into that douchebag. And you already know how I feel.”
“If deVincenzo knows what’s good for him, he’ll just let it go. Same goes for you. Grandpa punished him, and now my dad claims the debt is cleared.”
“It’s a bunch of bullshit. He’s a fucking two-faced thief who’d cut his own grandmother’s neck for a nickel.”
“You do realize his grandmother died last year.”
“Fine. You know what the hell I’m talking about, man. He’d do it if she were still alive.”
“Max, you have to let this shit go. Just forget it. He’s a thief, but you’re a snitch according to the rest of the family, which is just as bad. Rocco served his time, and now he needs to start over with a hell of a lot of suspicious eyes on him. It won’t be easy for him to rehabilitate his rep. But you’ve had opportunities while he’s been dicking around in California. The job here at the club can be a real stepping stone for you, but only if you don’t let yourself get sucked back into the past.”
“I still didn’t like the way he looked at my sister. I’d fucking kill any of the guys if they laid a finger on her,” Max grumbles, his tirade against Rocco silenced only for the few seconds it takes him to gulp the remaining Blue Moon from his glass.
And what would he do if he knew his best friend had laid more than just a finger on his baby sister? Underboss or not, mine is the throat he’d be cutting. So I snoozed on the most important decision of my life, making it open season for guys like Lucchese who think a fat wallet is the only thing that will make Shaye Oriani happy.
It isn’t. I knew what would make her happy. I just couldn’t give it to her.
“I think they know that.”
“She’s home for the next few weeks. Maybe I should make an example out of Lucchese so the other assholes know I mean business. I don’t want any of them getting any ideas about her.”
“She’s a big girl. I don’t think she’d appreciate you putting Rocco in the hospital for comforting her at the funeral.” I look around my office…it’s large, sleek, and occupies its own floor of Culaccino, the “nightclub” that I singlehandedly opened and turned into the hottest spot in downtown Manhattan. Sex, drugs, top-shelf booze — we can get it all. The Salesi family runs the biggest gambling and prostitution rings in the country, and those businesses have made us very rich. But we don’t play in the drug ring. Breaking into that business is what caused the fallout between us and the Orianis in the first place, and it was decided a long time ago that it would never be one of our primary money-makers. But even though drugs aren’t a primary focus, we can get our patrons anything they desire because of our connections, for a price, of c
ourse.
I’ve spent the better part of the past three years making this club famous — or infamous — for Hollywood elite, politicians, musicians…if you’re an A-lister, you’ve either heard of my club or been here for one of the many VIP events we host, especially during awards season. I’m damn proud of what I’ve done here, and I know Grandpa felt the same way. I’ve never been an enforcer. My skills lie on the business side, and they’ve made me a hell of a lot of cash.
But recently, my success has only shone light on the things I’ve had to give up along the way…namely, Shaye Oriani.
Because this isn’t a life for her. It’s not a life for us. And as much as I’d love to give it all up and walk away, I can’t. Too many people depend on me, and too many people have invested in my vision. There are expectations, ones you just can’t escape from, especially if you’re Joe Salesi’s son. And now that Grandpa is gone, there are a lot of rumblings among the families. People are trying to grasp whatever slivers of control they can, and that includes Tony Oriani, Max and Shaye’s dad. Grandpa was the glue that held our organization together. He had proven himself to his allies and made them plenty of money over the years because he knew people, knew what they wanted, and most of all, knew how to deliver. He also knew how to negotiate for the best possible outcome. Now everyone is trying to build their own empires, to see who can rise the fastest and grab the available reins so they can keep the cash flowing. But they will never be Grandpa. Never in a million years be able to fill his shoes.
My dad was never one to control the masses. He always preferred to stay in the background, letting Grandpa exert his will. Truth be told, I don’t even know if he really wanted this life or if he just allowed himself to get sucked in.
Like I did.
But now he’s front and center, like it or not. He has decisions to make and alliances to build…quickly. Tony Oriani is a problem — he always has been with his big ideas and equally big ass mouth. Dad knows he needs to work fast and smart to hold him at bay before he does something that will throw the whole organization into upheaval. Hell, he’s the reason for the feud between our families. Tony had the bright idea to partner with one of the New York families to run drugs, and he laid the plans in motion before letting Grandpa Vito in on the details. That didn’t go over well—with him or my dad. And the head of that New York family, Frank Cappodamo, was not happy when the deal crumbled. He lost plenty, as did Oriani.
Oriani was always a power-hungry bastard, and he’s carried a grudge against my dad ever since, just waiting for the chance to get out from under his thumb and take over. Maybe he thinks that time has finally come.
But neither he nor Max knows that we have a supplier, one who is in direct competition with Cappodamo and wants nothing more than to decimate his business. Because the Russian bratva has nothing to lose and everything to gain if Cap is taken out.
“If Rocco shows up here, I’m going to take him outside and shove a baseball bat so far down his throat that it’s gonna come out his ass.” Max picks up a second bottle from my desk and takes a long swig.
Grandpa always liked Tony, and never took sides when he and Dad had their falling out. It’s always business, never personal, he’d say. I agreed, and since Max is my best friend, I wanted to help him out. Nobody wanted the liability of having such a hothead involved with their businesses after that whole thing with deVincenzo, so I gave him a job. I figured, just like everyone else did, if he was affiliated with me and a successful business, doors would open up for him.
But they’re still slammed shut.
Grandpa even tried to give Max jobs to get him exposure to the other family heads, but everyone knew his reputation and how dangerous it would be to have him on the inside, especially after he’d snitched and gotten Rocco banished to California as punishment for his deceit. So now I’m stuck. And Max has given me more fucking headaches than I care to think about. Fucking the staff, knocking a couple of them up, beating the crap out of patrons for so much as looking at him cross-eyed…it’s a miracle I still have a business.
“Are you still pissed off about him and Sloane? You’ve been hot on her this whole time. Is that your problem?”
Max’s shoulders square and he turns his head toward me. I smirk at the fire in his narrowed eyes, something only a best friend could do, especially since the baseball bat he was just referencing is sitting on the floor at his feet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But I do. I know Max was pissed off about his lost business, but I also knew he’d had a thing for Sloane, who also happens to be Shaye’s best friend. He didn’t want the competition making a play for Sloane, and I knew that she was also one of the reasons he ratted out Rocco. Sometimes I think Max just wanted an excuse to get him out of the picture, not that he needed one since it was pretty damn obvious she was interested in Max and not his nemesis.
“Yeah, well if you didn’t want her to screw him way back when, you should have told her how you felt. You’ve been carrying this torch for years.” Look at me, the irony of doling out relationship advice. As if I’ve got a fucking leg to stand on.
He shrugs. “I don’t care that he nailed her. It happened a long time ago. Besides, we…I mean, she’s busy with school and I have my own shit to deal with. You know how things go.”
“Bullshit. Something happened between you guys at Thanksgiving when she was home. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” He can deny it all he wants, but Max can’t handle being taken down a few pegs. It all goes back to that whole perception of weakness. Just act like you don’t care even when you do, and nobody will be the wiser. But I can see the truth even if he can’t admit it.
When the regret eats away at your insides and chews up your heart until it’s shredded like the dreams you’ve long given up…it’s hard to act like you don’t care. I know. I tried four months ago, and I tried again last night.
It still hurts, no matter what I do, how hard I work, how many women I screw as an escape from my reality. It never helped. It never erased the memory of Shaye’s lips on mine. It never replaced the insane fantasy that we could have a normal future together. I drank, I fucked, I snorted. It didn’t help. Nothing eased the pain. Nothing filled the void. Nothing soothed my soul. She was my balm and I had to walk away from her.
And I know Max suffers from the same affliction even though he refuses to admit it. Sometimes it’s just better to suffer in silence. Shit, we’ve all got our own crosses to bear and we play with the hands we’ve been dealt. I’ve got a Mercedes SK550 parked outside, a Rolex on my wrist, a boat off the coast of Miami, and two houses filled with enough toys to start my own film production company. I know I’ve got a good life.
But it’s always missing something…the one thing I can never have because the price is just too high to pay.
Max drums his fingertips on the black lacquered desk and snickers. “It doesn’t matter. I’m over it. Don’t worry, I promise not to have the cops breathing all over you when Lucchesi ends up at the bottom of the East River.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You already have the drop point set, huh?”
Max winks at me. “You know I’m a planner.”
“Stop acting like a deranged lunatic and tell me about the delivery.” I rub the back of my neck and let out a deep sigh. I got next to no sleep last night, and I really want to head home for a few hours before tonight’s star-studded event kicks off. I can’t leave Max on his own for too long or shit will go sideways fast. Sometimes, it would be nice to have a business associate on staff who wouldn’t beat the ever-loving fuck out of a patron or two in a wild fit of rage over something as ridiculous as failing to acknowledge the great Maximo Oriani.
But then again, my best friend isn’t known for his even temper. He’s known for landing guys in the hospital for even looking at the female company he keeps. Once, he pummeled some moron with a tire iron because he asked Max’s date for a lighter. And I know for a fact that smoking wasn’t anything the guy thought about
for months after they reconstructed his bashed-in face.
“They sent everything they were supposed to…” Max’s voice trails off and his expression hardens.
“But?” I can see there’s a but coming. There always is.
“But they wouldn’t give me any of the paperwork. Said they’d only deal with you.” He slams a fist on the desk and drains the rest of his beer. “It’s pissing me off, Nico.”
I let out a long breath and settle into my ergonomic yet luxe, leather swivel chair. “Max, you know it takes time.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have time. I’m tired of being on the outside of everything going on right now. My old man is up my ass to get into some legitimate shit, but nobody’s interested.”
I say nothing, but a million thoughts race through my mind. Bloody images, brutal confrontations, drunken, gun-wielding threats, too many shots fired, too many bruised egos. Is it any shock that nobody wants him on their turf? Even though the families in our organization band together, everyone has their own separate interests. The Orianis’ interests were the Saleseis’ interests until Max’s hotheaded father tried to double cross my dad. That dumb fuck had it made. All he needed to do was just keep his damn mouth shut and follow simple instructions. But no. He needed to make the rules. He needed to make his own mark with the drugs. He thought he’d become Cappodamo’s golden boy. His plans backfired. And now, Max and Tony are both scrounging. They were safe until Grandpa died. Now they’re trying to figure out how to maintain their cushy fucking existence. I did what I could for Max since I need to keep him close anyway. But Tony dug his own grave, and there’s no way I’m sticking my neck out for him.
“You need to give it some time. This is a good place for you to be, to meet people, to establish credibility, to learn the ropes. Trust me, when everything blows over, you’ll be in high demand.”
Screwing the Mob Page 2