by Zoey Parker
“They probably would,” Carolyn admitted.
“Absolutely. And best of all, it's gonna make the Feds look fucking stupid, right?” Gio laughed. “Like they got nothing better to do than conduct surveillance on a goddamn mafia theme restaurant!”
The silver Corvette pulled up in front of Skizm, the hottest and most exclusive nightclub in Chicago. The neon signs danced and dazzled up the front of the three-story pink building, and throngs of stylish young man and women waited at the front entrance. The music boomed and thumped from inside, making the whole block seem to vibrate like a giant amp.
Gio turned to Carolyn with a sly wink. “Not bad, right? Bet you've never been here before.”
“That's...certainly true,” she replied, looking at the club dubiously.
A uniformed valet opened Carolyn's door for her. Gio got out, handing the keys over to him. “Here you go, Benny,” he said, slipping the valet a twenty.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Mancini,” Benny answered. He got in the car and drove it around to the parking garage behind the building.
“Isn't he supposed to give you a ticket for it or something like that, so you can claim it later?” Carolyn asked.
“Nah, they know which one's mine,” Gio said. “Come on, let's go.”
“How long do you think we'll have to wait to get in?” she asked, shooting a nervous look at the crowds out front.
“Pffft, fuck that,” said Gio. “We ain't waiting around like those assholes. Follow me.” He took Carolyn's arm and led her to a side door marked “Employees Only,” knocking on it.
The door opened a crack and a pretty blonde hostess in her twenties peeked out. When she saw who was standing there, she squealed happily, opening the door the rest of the way and giving Gio a big hug. “Gio! Hey! It's been weeks since we've seen you. What have you been up to?”
Gio grinned, patting her on the back. “Good to see you too, Brenda. I've been busy with my new restaurant. You should come check it out sometime. You still seeing that guy from DePaul, what's his name...Jason?”
“Yeah, he actually proposed to me last week!” Brenda chirped, showing off her new ring.
“Hey, salut', doll! Buona fortuna, I'm so happy for you,” Gio said, giving Brenda a peck on each cheek. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced one of the new promotional coupons for the restaurant, handing it to her. “Make sure you book your reception at our place, okay? Bring all your friends and family around. We'll take good care of you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gio saw Carolyn standing to the side uneasily and watching this exchange. He knew he was being rude by not introducing her, but he was doing it on purpose. The longer he left her out of this warm exchange, the more jealous she'd become of the attention he was showing Brenda instead of her. Gio believed the best way to entice women was to keep them off-guard and to withhold affection from them just when they were starting to expect it.
Once they understood who was really in charge, they dropped the hard-to-get act and gave in. Every time.
Finally, as though it were an afterthought, he added, “Oh, this is Carolyn Aspen. She's an attorney. She's been working with me on the restaurant.”
“Nice to meet you,” Carolyn said, shaking Brenda's hand.
“You too,” said Brenda, turning to Gio again. “So you want your usual table?”
“Yeah,” Gio said.
“Okay, I'll have them set it up for you,” Brenda replied. “Just follow me.” She held the door open for them and they entered through the kitchen where cooks in crisp white uniforms prepared plates of tapas and barked orders at each other. Brenda snapped her fingers at a pair of busboys. Once they saw who was with her, the busboys immediately grabbed a small table and a couple of chairs, following them out to the main floor of the club.
The music thrummed and the dance floor was filled with dancing, gyrating bodies. As Brenda led them through the club, Gio paused at several tables to exchange greetings and embraces with people he hoped Carolyn would recognize—famous models, singers, hip hop artists, plus the children of Chicago's politicians and gangsters. He glanced over his shoulder at her, hoping to see how impressed she was.
But if she knew who any of these people were, she gave no sign.
The busboys set up the table and chairs, and Gio and Carolyn sat down. “Can I have them bring you anything?” Brenda asked.
“Yeah, give us a bottle of your best champagne,” Gio said. “We're celebrating. Also, who's the DJ tonight?”
“Vermicious T,” Brenda replied.
“Okay, he's good,” said Gio. He withdrew a pen from his pocket, scribbled a message on a cocktail napkin, and handed it to her. “Make sure he gets that, okay?”
“You got it!” Brenda said, trotting off with the busboys in tow.
“So what do you think of my ideas for the restaurant?” Gio asked, shouting to be heard above the loud music.
“You've clearly put a lot of thought into it,” Carolyn conceded. “I think you're right. It could turn a negative into a positive. We'll need to re-print a lot of the promotional materials if we want to change the name...”
“I ain't worried about that,” Gio said. “We got cash running through the place like shit through a goose. There'll be plenty for whatever we need.”
“I just want us to be careful about trying to do too much too fast,” said Carolyn. “We may have the money to do it, but that doesn't mean we should flash it around too much. My father used to have a saying when he taught settlement negotiation at Stanford: 'Pigs get fat, but hogs get slaughtered.'”
“Yeah, well, I ain't no pig,” Gio said. As he scanned the room, he saw a skinny man with a pock-marked face and bleached-blonde hair on the other side of the dance floor. He recognized him immediately—Ronnie Cambozola, a deadbeat who was two days late on an interest payment from a loan Gio had given him. He was chatting up some girl with a blue mohawk and large safety pins through her earlobes.
Okay, so maybe Miss High-and-Mighty isn't impressed with clubs and celebs, Gio thought, but I'll bet this will do the trick.
“Give me a sec, okay?” he asked, getting up from the table. “I'll be right back.”
Gio strolled over to Ronnie, tapping him on the shoulder. Ronnie turned around, saw him, and smiled. “Hey, Gio! I was hoping to find you. I asked around, and people said you like to party here. Listen, I'm sorry my payment's a couple days overdue, but my sister's kid got hit by a car and I've been helping out a lot over there. I've got it all here for you, though, every penny.” Ronnie pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket, offering it to Gio.
“Thanks,” Gio said. He tucked the cash into his own pocket, counted it quickly, then grabbed a beer bottle from a nearby table and smashed it over Ronnie's head. Ronnie went down on his knees, blood trickling from the lacerations on his scalp. The girl with the mohawk screamed, and several of the dancers around them turned to watch.
Gio grabbed Ronnie's collar, bringing his face inches away from Ronnie's and brandishing the broken bottle. “Now you listen, fucko. You make a payment two days, two minutes, even two seconds late from now on, and I'll start taking your fucking fingers. Got it?”
“Y-y-yeah,” Ronnie stammered. “Sure, Gio, whatever you say.”
“Good.” Gio let Ronnie go and he sagged to the ground with tears in his eyes. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
Ronnie scrambled to his feet and lurched for the nearest exit. Gio turned to strut back to his table. He saw that Carolyn's eyes were wide, and she looked pale.
Good, Gio thought. Now you know what a badass I can be when I need to. You can pretend seeing violence like that shocks and horrifies you, but deep down, I know it makes you wet.
As Gio sat down again, Carolyn asked, “Shouldn't we leave? What if they call the cops?”
“No one's calling any cops,” Gio assured her. “Like I said, they know me here.”
The song that had been playing ended, and the DJ's voice boomed through the speaker syst
em. “Folks, this next song is dedicated to Miss Carolyn Aspen, the most beautiful woman here tonight. Hope you enjoy.”
Carolyn looked up, confused, as the song played. It was a romantic ballad by a young, fresh-faced female pop star who'd recently become a Top 40 sensation.
“I remember this came on the radio while we were leaving the bank after the meeting,” Gio said. “You said it was one of your favorites. Come on, we're gonna go dance now.”
Carolyn stood up from the table and grabbed her purse, turning to leave. Gio stood up too, blocking her path.
“Hey, where are you going?” he asked.
“I'm getting a cab and I'm going home,” Carolyn said.
“But I thought we were having fun!”
She pushed past Gio and hurried out into the lobby of the club, where the music was more muted. He ran after her and grabbed her by the arm roughly. “Hey, who the fuck do you think you are, shoving me like that? What the hell's wrong with you?”
Carolyn sighed. “Gio, I know you're attracted to me. You've made that very, very clear since we started working together, and I've tried to stay polite and professional about it so it wouldn't jeopardize our working relationship. You wanted me to come out and celebrate with you, so I said yes. But one minute you're trying to impress me with all the money you have and the people you know, and the next minute you're beating some guy up in front of me because, what, you think that's going to make me want you? And now you're dedicating love songs to me and asking me to dance with you? It's all too much.”
“Look, okay, maybe I overdid it,” Gio said. “I just wanted to show you a good time. Come back to the table. Let's enjoy our evening.”
“I told you, I'm going,” Carolyn said. “Tomorrow, we can pretend none of this happened and go back to working together.”
“But I don't want to pretend none of it happened,” Gio insisted, “and I don't want us to just work together. I want you, and I know you want me.”
“Gio, unless you're planning to break a bottle over my head too,” Carolyn said slowly and coolly, “you should step aside now and let me leave. You're scaring me right now, and I don't like it.”
Gio lingered for a long, dangerous moment, breathing hard with his eyes locked on hers. He was suddenly very conscious of the people in line to get into the club, all watching him. Some were even recording it on their phones.
Jesus, he thought, can't people get a fucking life? They see an argument between two adults, and they feel like they've got to live-Tweet it and YouTube it and who knew what the fuck else?
Gio stepped aside, quivering with rage.
He watched as Carolyn walked to the nearest exit and stepped out into the Chicago night, raising an arm to hail a cab.
Once she was no longer in sight, Gio snatched the phone from the hand of the nearest spectator, tossing it to the floor and smashing it under the heel of his shoe. “I ain't your fucking evening's entertainment, asshole,” he snarled, heading back to his table.
Chapter 11
Carla
The taxi pulled up in front of Carla's house, and she paid the driver and got out. Across the street, the boy in the bandana and the rest of his crew started calling out to her.
“Hey, looks like your date with Donnie Brasco didn't go so hot, huh?” Bandana jeered as his friends laughed and hooted.
Seeing what Gio did to the man in the club—and enduring the confrontation that followed—had already put Carla on edge. Her hands were shaking and her heart was pounding.
She'd been in violent situations before when participating in raids out in the field, but those had still seemed more detached and anonymous, and she'd been surrounded by other agents. Tonight had felt darkly personal and intimate, especially when she thought about the dangerous obsession that had glinted in Gio's eyes as he looked at her.
As the kids on the street mocked her, she was tempted to pull out her badge and gun and show them who they were dealing with. But of course, she couldn't do that without blowing her cover. And even if she could, she'd left both of these items in her house before leaving for the evening—he'd refused to tell her where they were going, and many Chicago clubs had bouncers and doormen who searched purses for weapons.
So she did her best to ignore them, entering her house and securing all three of the locks on the front door.
Carla kicked off her high heels, made sure all the curtains were closed, and eased herself out of her black dress with a weary sigh.
Even with all of Gio's heavy-handed flirting and innuendo over the previous week, Carla had to admit that so far, things had been going extremely well. It seemed like Gio trusted her legal expertise, and even respected her on some level he usually wouldn't reserve for women. She'd seen him relax around her a lot more, and she had found herself relaxing with him a bit too, dropping true anecdotes from her own life in among the manufactured cover stories.
Carla told herself that other undercover agents did this from time to time to add brushstrokes of sincerity to their performances. But deep down, she wondered whether she was just growing comfortable talking to him.
She even caught herself admiring his looks on rare occasions when his attention was focused elsewhere. His features really were striking in the timeless way that certain old Hollywood legends' were, and she'd come to notice a certain sadness behind his eyes.
She found it increasingly hard to picture this man killing Fred. She tried to force the image into her mind, but it simply refused to fit, like a square block in a round hole.
Still, when she'd finally agreed to go out with Gio tonight, she'd expected him to try to push her into something sexual and she knew she'd have to definitively put a stop to it. She'd even rehearsed several versions of a “Let's keep things professional, please respect my boundaries” speech that she'd hoped would make things clear to him without jeopardizing her mission.
But she hadn't expected him to work so hard to dazzle her or to show her he was top dog by forcing her to watch him seriously injure someone for no reason. And she certainly hadn't expected him to try to block her from leaving.
Her cell phone was on her kitchen counter next to her badge, gun, and mic setup. She'd had to go out unwired as well, since her dress hadn't left any room to conceal surveillance apparatus. She picked up the phone and dialed the direct number for Don.
“How'd it go?” Don asked. “Did he try anything?”
“That's putting it mildly,” Carla replied.
“Well, are you okay? Did he get handsy with you, or try to...?”
“No, it didn't go that far,” she said. “But he did break a bottle over some poor guy's head just to try to impress me. And when I tried to leave, things got pretty intense.”
“Goddamn psychopath,” Don spat. “I can't believe you gotta work so closely with a mad dog like that.”
“The job's the job,” Carla said, trying to sound mild. “It's no different from what any other undercover agent has to go through. It's not like we're trying to infiltrate Santa's workshop here. These are bad guys we're trying to get close to.”
“It is different,” Don insisted. “It's one thing for male agents to pal around with a bunch of fat Eye-Tie businessmen for a month or two, tryin' to prove they're mixed up in union rackets. But puttin' a woman like you next to some predatory pervert with a head full of broken glass? The guy sounds like he could wake up one mornin' an' decide to rape you an' cut your throat just 'cause his toast got burned. It's like throwin' meat to a damn rabid tiger.”
“I'm not meat,” she answered primly, “and no offense taken from that analogy, in case you were wondering. And besides, Gio's not some monster. He's just got some serious problems, that's all. To tell the truth, sometimes I feel kind of sorry for him.”
“'Sorry for him?'” Don echoed incredulously. “Really? This I gotta hear.”
“It's hard to explain,” she said, “but if you saw how his father treats him, you'd understand. He's insulting, tyrannical, dismissive...”
&nb
sp; “Yeah, an' I bet he didn't buy Gio the Tommy gun he wanted for his sixth birthday,” Don cut in. “What's your point?”
“He grew up in a family of liars, thieves, and murderers,” she countered. “Cruelty and greed were completely normalized for him as a child. Who knows what that does to someone? He's clearly the victim of decades of systemic emotional abuse. No wonder he's perpetuating that cycle with his own behavior. That's all he's ever known.”
“Yeah, an' I'm sure that thought was mighty comforting to Fred when he was getting' his head caved in by a Goodyear,” Don barked pitilessly. “Jesus, hon, do you even hear yourself? Just what the hell's goin' on over there, anyway?”
Carla opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wasn't used to hearing such a harsh tone from Don, and she wasn't sure how to respond.