Sal Gabrini: Just The Way You Are

by Mallory Monroe

  “Mick had no choice, so I didn’t blame him. He had to do it. Rudy drew on him. What else was he supposed to do?” Then Sal exhaled. “I felt regret,” he said. “That’s what I felt.”

  “Mick denied having anything to do with the kidnapping though, right?”

  Sal nodded. “He was offended we would even think it.”

  “I can imagine. Especially with Rudy trying to claim it was all about revenge for what happened to Mick’s sister. To your mother.”

  “That’s what he claimed. But I don’t buy that.”

  “I don’t either,” Gemma said. “Mick forgave you. I remember when he forgave you. He knew you did what you had to do that day too.” Then Gemma exhaled. “So where’s Mick now?”

  “He left after the accusation,” Sal said. “You could see how hurt he was. And I guess I was wrong to ask him the question, but this is our child we’re talking about. I had to ask.”

  Gemma nodded. “You had to,” she agreed.

  That was what Sal loved about Gemma. She was always in his corner. If he blew it, she’d let him know and would show her disapproval, but she would still stay by his side. But even still, that was only one of the hundreds of reasons why he loved her so much.

  “We’re back at square one,” he said. “We still have no idea what happened to our child. We’ve got thousands of people working to find Junior. We’ve turned this city upside down ourselves. Chicago too. But we’re still back at square one.”

  That sinking feeling returned, and Gemma leaned closer to Sal. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m going to die if I don’t hear his cry. Then sometimes I think I hear him crying, and I can’t reach him. It’s awful, Sal.”

  Sal held her tighter, and kissed her forehead. Silence ensued. Then he exhaled. He had to get it off his chest. He had to! “One time,” he said, “when I was a cop in Seattle, or more like a crooked cop, I ordered my men to burn down this house. Some thugs had stolen our stash, and I wanted revenge. So I had their house burned down.”

  He paused as if he couldn’t continue. Gemma looked at him.

  “When they set the place on fire,” he continued, “we all began to run. But one of my men looked back, and then I looked back. I saw this kid, a little boy, standing in the upstairs window crying for help.”

  Gemma’s heart dropped. “God, no.”

  “I tried to run back, to rescue the kid. Honest I did. But it was too late. The whole house burned down.” Sal sighed. “It’s karma, Gemma. I took somebody else kid’s life that day. Now somebody’s trying to take my kid’s life.”

  “It’s not karma,” Gemma said. “Don’t say that.”

  “I thought maybe that’s who’s pulling this shit now. Maybe relatives of that kid. Maybe they waited until I had a child, after all these years, and decided to get their revenge.”

  It was a plausible thought. But Gemma knew human behavior. She knew it was often said that revenge was a dish best served cold, but it was usually served piping hot. Right away. Because of the rage factor. “Did you have your men look into it?” she asked.

  Sal nodded. “You know I did. I don’t leave stones unturned. I had them look into everything. But there’s nothing there either.”

  Gemma leaned her head against his. “We’re find him, Sal. I’ve been praying. We’ll find him.”

  “Rudy is gone. Now my son is missing. Our precious baby. It’s like I’m damaged goods, Gem. It’s like all that shit I pulled in my life is coming back to haunt me through my children. I’m not worthy to have a child.”

  Gemma quickly looked at him. “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true!”

  “It’s not true,” Gemma said firmly and turned to him. Her face was the personification of seriousness. She knew how deeply he felt. “You are worthy. You hear me, Salvatore Luciano? You are worthy! If you aren’t, with a heart like yours, nobody is.”

  Then Gemma pulled him into her arms. And he let her.

  An hour later, after Gemma had set her plate on the floor and had gone to use the restroom, Tommy came out onto the terrace. His hands in the pockets of his tailored pants, he walked slowly toward the chaise and then sat on its edge. He looked at his kid brother. “I would ask if you were okay, but I already know the answer.”

  “I’ll never be okay until I find my child,” Sal said. “And we’ve got nothing so far.”

  “Trina says the FBI came by while we were gone.”

  Sal looked at him. “Yeah?”

  “They wanted to know if Gemma saw anything. But she convinced them to keep it moving. Gemma was still coming out of the fog when they took the baby for examination. She couldn’t possibly have seen anything. Then they wanted to talk to you.”

  “I bet they did,” Sal said. “They always want to talk to me. It doesn’t have shit to do with my child being missing, but they want to talk to me.”

  “Trina told them you weren’t even there when the child was snatched, what would you know? They still insisted, until she told them you weren’t here. They finally took their asses on.”

  “Good,” Sal said, and laid his head back. But he looked at his brother through the small opening of his eyes. “What about you?” he asked. “How are you doing? Grace and the baby okay?”

  “They’re good. I just got off of the phone with Grace. They’re under lock and key at the estate until we find out who’s behind the snatch.”

  “But what about you? That was a long flight to get you here. You okay?”

  Tommy attempted to smile, but failed. “I’ll be doing a whole lot better when I get to see my nephew.” He looked at Sal. “Hellava thing what happened to my other one.”

  Sal nodded. “Yeah. Know what you mean. But Uncle Mick did what he had to do.”

  Tommy nodded too. “I know it. Rudy was bad news all around. But my hope was that he would change. But for him to accuse Mick like that.” Tommy shook his head. “He had a death wish. Even I know better than to come at Mick Sinatra like that.”

  “He came here to help me find my child,” Sal said, “and I repay him by asking him if that bullshit Rudy was spouting was true. He may not forgive me this time.”

  Tommy squeezed Sal’s hand. “It was a question that had to be asked. Mick knows it.”

  But Sal thought about his son again, and closed his eyes in agony. “What am I going to do, Tommy?” he asked. “I need to find my son. I’ve looked everywhere we could possibly look. I’ve overturned every stone.” He opened his anguished eyes and looked at his brother. “What else can I do?”

  “Pray,” Tommy said firmly, “and believe. God has this all in control.”

  Sal stared at Tommy. “But why would God help me? I don’t deserve His help.”

  Tommy frowned. “Who does? Name me one person who does?”

  “Gemma,” Sal said. “Trina. Grace. Big Daddy’s wife Jenay. Mick’s wife Roz. Jimmy. You. Even Reno on a good day.”

  Tommy smiled. “We’ve all come short of God’s glory, too, Sal,” he said. “None of us deserve His grace. That’s why we pray. That’s why we believe. Only God can help us now.”

  They heard the sound of footsteps hurrying out onto the terrace. When they turned to the sound, Reno was hurrying toward them.

  Sal sat up fast. “What is it, Ree?” he asked.

  “We’ve got a line on that woman Rudy claims snatched Junior.”

  Sal and Tommy both jumped up. “Who?” Sal asked.

  Gemma, returning from the bathroom and seeing a glimpse of Reno run past, hurried out onto the terrace too. “What happened?” she anxiously asked.

  “They know the woman who took the baby from the hospital,” Sal said to his wife.

  “Who?” Gemma asked, looking at Reno. They all were looking at Reno.

  “Her name is Nalla Moss. She’s a madam that used to work for Rudy. She used to round up girls for him.”

  “So where is she?” Sal asked. “Do we know where she is?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Reno said with satisfaction on his face. �
��Big Joe tracked her down. She’s outside in Gemma’s Aston-Martin.”

  Sal was about to jump out of his skin. Tommy and Reno began running off of the terrace, to go and check the woman out, and Sal was about to take off too. But he remembered Gemma. He turned to her. “Keep your ass up here,” he ordered her. “Don’t try to run down those stairs and injure yourself. You wait here.” Then he squeezed her arms. “We’re find our child, Gem,” he said. “You keep praying and God is going to help us find our child. I’m the wrong kind of man, and I don’t deserve His help, but I’m praying our child does.”

  Gemma began to shed tears. “Go,” she said. “And be careful!”

  And Sal took off too. Gemma felt relief wash over her. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt relief. She knew their child was in good hands with a father like Sal.

  Nalla Moss sat on the backseat of Gemma’s car and Reno and Tommy were already sitting beside her, sandwiching her in. Sal got in and sat on the front passenger seat, and then turned toward her. Reno and Tommy knew Sal had to lead the interrogation. Sal was a major mob boss, whether he wanted to admit it to them or not. He had more experience at this kind of shit than both of them combined.

  The first thing Sal noticed, however, was how badly Nalla Moss had already been beaten. Her eyes were practically shut from the beating. She did not come quietly, Big Joe had to work her over pretty good to get her here, and he was glad. That meant she was ready to talk. That mean she understood they weren’t fucking with her.

  “Where’s my son?” Sal asked her.

  She shook her head. She was in pain and appeared to be on the verge of giving up rather than giving in.

  “Where’s my son?” he asked again.

  When she continued to shake her head, as if he was going to just let her go quietly into that good night, he took his fist and hit her upside her head. The pain jarred her. “Where’s my son?” he asked her for the third time.

  “I don’t know!” she cried.

  “You took him from the hospital?” Sal asked.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “For who?”

  “Rudy Balotti.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I turned him over. Like I was supposed to.”

  “You turned my son over to who?”

  She paused.

  “To who motherfucker?” Sal yelled.

  “To Sinatra. Like I was supposed to. He’s got the kid.”

  Sal, Tommy, and Reno all felt the sting. Mick was involved after all? But Sal still didn’t believe it. “Did you see it with your own two eyes,” he asked, “or is this just shit Rudy told you?”

  “I saw it for myself,” Nalla said. “Rudy didn’t have to tell me.”

  “Are you telling us,” Tommy said, “that Mick Sinatra personally came to Rudy’s place and took the baby?”

  Nalla frowned. “Who said anything about Mick Sinatra?”

  “You did!” Reno roared.

  “I didn’t!” Nalla tried to roar back. “Joey is the one that took him.”

  But it was the name Sal was stuck on. Tommy and Reno too. “Joey?” Reno asked. “What Joey?”

  “Joey Sinatra,” Nalla Moss said.

  All three men were stunned. “Joey Sinatra?” Sal asked. “Mick Sinatra’s son?”

  Nalla nodded. “He’s the one we gave the kid to,” she said. “Rudy said he bet Mick the Tick was behind it all, given that his son was the one taking possession of the kid, and he said it was because of some vendetta he had with you.” She was nodding toward Sal. “But Joey never said that. He just paid up and took the kid.”

  It was sobering news. They would have preferred to hear that Jimmy Hoffa took the kid than to hear that Mick the Tick’s son took him. Because now they had to deal with Mick again. Now they had to hope and pray that Mick wasn’t still so pissed with them that he refused to help them out. Because if Mick didn’t help them out, and they went to war with his son, they might as well be going to war with Mick himself. A war that all three men knew, now that they knew and loved Mick and knew exactly what he was capable of, they could not win.

  After getting out of the car and ordering Big Joe to dispose permanently of Nalla Moss, Sal, Reno, and Tommy prepared to make a trip. And it wasn’t a trip to Bountiful. It wasn’t even a trip to Mick Sinatra’s house. They were heading to Mick the Tick’s territory.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Mick Sinatra stood behind his desk on the top floor of the Sinatra Corporate Headquarters building in Philadelphia, and read over the agreement for his final approval. The senior management who ironed out the deal all stood around his desk in nervous anticipation. It could go either way with Sinatra, and they knew it.

  To their relief, it went as they had hoped. He signed. They wanted to high-five and pat themselves on the back, but they knew he didn’t play that. They received the signed contract, thanked him in as dignified a voice as they could, and then hurried out. Mick smiled when he heard them let out yelps of joy once they left his office. Everybody behaved as if he was some hard, unforgiving ogre. Everybody behaved as if they had to suppress all emotions around him. He didn’t play, they were right about that. But he was nothing like the heartless monster they took him for.

  He looked at his watch. He needed to call it a day. Roz had been working in New York, under tight security, and had taken the twins with her. Now that his family was back, he couldn’t wait to get home to them.

  He grabbed his briefcase and left the building. By the time he was walking out of the building, Sal, Reno, and Tommy were walking up the steep steps to head inside. When they saw Mick at the top of those steps, they stopped. Gone was his black trousers and black turtleneck and long, flowing overcoat. He now wore a dark suit, a dark tie, and dark shades, and he carried, not a gun at his side, but a briefcase. He was the founder and CEO of Sinatra Industries, a man greatly feared in the business world as well as the underworld. Sal carried the same rep, as well as Reno and Tommy. But with Mick, like everything, it seemed to be on a different level.

  “Here goes,” Sal said as they began walking up the steps again to meet him.

  “He looks so different,” Tommy said as they walked up. “Men in Black comes to mind.”

  “Or the Blues Brothers,” Reno said, and Tommy suppressed a smile.

  But when they thought about why they were there, all gaiety was gone. This was a matter of life and death. Sal’s child’s life or death.

  And when they arrived near the top where Mick had stopped walking and was waiting on them, Sal took that final walk up to the top step beside Mick. Mob boss to mob boss. Men suddenly appeared, and they all knew they were Mick’s men at the ready, just in case. But Sal still didn’t mince his words. “I believe Joey is the Sinatra who took my child,” he said.

  Mick stared at him with a look that could cower a lion. But it didn’t cower Sal. “You either take us to him,” he said, “or we’ll go and get him ourselves.”

  “Like hell you will,” Mick said.

  “Like hell I will,” Sal said.

  Mick and Sal stared at each other. Reno and Tommy were at the ready too, just in case.

  But Mick understood the stakes. “This information about my son,” he said. “Is it reliable?”

  There was no way they could be certain. Nalla Moss could have been lying through her teeth. But even if she was, it was all they had. “Yes,” Sal responded.

  Mick continued to stare at him. He knew reliability was in the eye of the beholder, and they could be selling him a bill of goods. But he also knew he had children of his own, and he would go through the fire for them too.

  He began walking down the steps. Sal, Reno, and Tommy followed him. A limo pulled up just as they made it to the bottom step, the chauffeur opened the door, and Mick stepped aside and allowed his relatives, all three powerful men, to get in first.

  The limo drove up the steeped driveway that led to a large suburban home. “This is Joey’s place?” Reno asked.

  �
�Yep,” Mick said.

  “It’s nice. You bought it for him?”

  “He bought it for himself.”

  All three men looked at Mick. “How?” Sal asked. “What’s he got going that he didn’t have going last time I saw him?”

  Mick didn’t respond to that. He knew what, and was eternally angry with Joey about it, but that wasn’t their business.

  The limousine stopped around the horseshoe driveway, and Mick, Sal, Reno, and Tommy all got out. Sal and gang began heading toward the front door, but Mick walked to the trunk of the limo, pulled out a long chain, wrapped part of it around his fist, and then led them to the front door. Only he didn’t knock. He swiped his key, and walked right in.

  Joey Sinatra, the youngest of Mick’s older children, was in the foyer, as if he was coming to see who had driven up. When he saw his father, and the men behind his father, he stopped in his tracks. “How did you get a key to my house?” he asked his father.

  Mick broke away from the others and headed straight for Joey. Although he appeared conservative in his attire, he was not there in any capacity as the good father. To Joey’s misfortune, that no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners Mick the Tick had shown up.

  “Where is he?” he asked his son as he approached him.

  “Where’s who?” Joey asked, as if he was completely dumbfounded.

  Mick took his chain clad fist and sailed it across his son’s face, causing his son to fall sideways. The very idea that he would bring this shame to Mick’s name enraged him. He slung Joey up from the ground and held him by the catch of his t-shirt. “Where is he?” he asked again.

  But as soon as Joey realized he was cornered, he did what every wounded animal tried to do. He made a run for it.

  He broke away from his father’s grasp and ran. He ran as fast as he could toward the back of his home. Sal, Tommy, and Reno gave chase too. But Mick led the charge and was on his son before his son could even make it out the backdoor. He slung his son back and threw him against the wall.