“Very much so, yes. If I can get him back on Broadway, and that will take time, but if I can pull it off, he can take the agency to the next level.”
Mick stared at Roz, and rubbed her hair. He knew he shouldn’t interfere in her business decisions. He wouldn’t tolerate it in his business. But he had a responsibility he was never going to shirk when it came to her. He was never going to ignore a situation that all of his instincts were telling him to pay attention to. “I want to meet him before you sign him up,” he said. “I’ll give you my opinion after I meet him.”
Roz smiled. “Are you telling me just by looking at him you can tell if he’s up to no good?”
Mick smiled, and didn’t answer. But yes. He could tell.
But he wasn’t about to let some two-bit actor ruin his night. Not when he had been looking forward to being with her all day. He began to massage and finger her again. And suddenly she was the one moaning. He began to kiss her luscious lips, and suddenly both of them were moaning.
“Give me some juice,” he said to her, and she knew what that meant without giving it a second thought. She moved her lithe body further up on his hard, muscle-tight body until her nipple was rubbing against his mouth. And then he was licking it. And sucking it. And suddenly, between the ass massage, the vaginal fingering, and the nipple sucks, Roz was on the verge of an orgasm.
And then Mick told her to give him more. “More juice,” he said, and she moved further up, until her pussy was on his mouth. She began to ride his mouth, moving the lips of her vagina up and down along his tongue as he licked her and sucked her and began to eat her. And that climax that had been on the verge, spilled out. Roz had a tongue orgasm to end all tongue orgasms. She came with a hard squeeze as his tongue did not relent and he licked her even harder, sucked and ate her even more vigorously, in rhythm with her ride.
But it was just the beginning for Mick. Just the warm up act for their brand of lovemaking. Because after she had climaxed, he put her on her back. “That’s not all I’ve got for you, baby,” he said as his body straddled hers, and his fully aroused dick hovered over her. “Not by a long shot.”
He guided his cock between her legs and shoved it in with a thrust that sent Roz reeling again. She arched up against him as an orgasm that she thought was receding, found its second wind. He began to fuck her. He began to stroke her with movements that were nothing short of perfection, where he was adroitly hitting her spot just right, over and over again, until she became so immersed in his love that she wrapped her arms around his body and climaxed again.
But Mick still would not relent. He continued to stroke her. He continued to make the kind of love to her that was bordering on a branding. He knew it too. Because yet another man was on the horizon. Yet another asshole had his sights set on getting some of this ass. And he wasn’t having it. Rosalind was his and his alone. And with every stroke; and with every time his cock pushed so deep inside of her that she was on the verge of yet another orgasm, he wanted to remind her of that very fact. He stared at her as he fucked her. He watched her lips tremble as the bed shook with every thrust of his hips and every push of his cock. He was riding her wave of cum. He had one of her legs in the air, with his hand resting on the back of her thigh, as he put on her a pounding that he knew she wasn’t going to soon forget.
He even licked her toes. Not because it was his thing. But to remind her that he loved and cherished every part of her. He worked out on her. Her eyes were closed, but he knew his baby. She was arching and pulsating and behaving as if she couldn’t possibly take any more of this kind of intensity. But she took it. His baby took it. And was loving every minute of it.
And when Mick came, it changed the game again. Because as soon as Roz felt that hot liquid shoot inside of her; as soon as he saturated her to a point that seared her, she arched her hips high with a euphoric orgasm. And suddenly Mick was the one who could not bear the intensity. Mick was the one who clenched down hard as his cock pushed so far inside of her that the only thing not inside of her were his balls. He began to throb like a rapid heartbeat deep inside of her. And his cum kept coming. His cum kept shooting out against her pussy until she was drenched in his cum. And they both were emasculated. But wonderfully so.
Early that next morning, when Roz woke up, Mick was inside of her again, fucking her again. He was lying behind her in the spoon position. His hands were squeezing her breasts in that sensual way she loved, as he did her. And she began to poke out her butt, to give him even greater access, as she closed her eyes, muffled a cry of elation, and climaxed yet again.
Their big, beautiful home was as quiet as a field of dreams. Except for the bed shaking, body trembling, lovemaking that Mick Sinatra was indisputably putting on his wife.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mick arrived at Sinatra Industries later that morning. He arrived like a man rejuvenated. Even the workers in his corporation, who all feared him and avoided even riding the elevator with him, didn’t get him down. It wasn’t until he made it to his suite of offices on the top floor, and saw his youngest son Joey waiting for him, did he realize just how ephemeral happiness could be.
Joey, who was slouched down in the chair against the wall of his secretary’s office, with gold chains hanging down in front of his oversized jersey, with his sagging, hip-hop style jeans, stood up. “How could you do that, though?” he asked his father with a look of grave disappointment on his face.
Mick was well aware of his surroundings. His executive assistant, along with four other assistants, comprised his secretarial staff. They all were hard at work at their desks. But they didn’t fool him. They were all listening with rapt attention.
He kept walking toward his office. “Come with me,” he said to his son.
“But how could you do it, though?” Joey asked again.
Mick stopped his walk and looked at his son with a hardness that stopped Joey cold. Mick’s entire secretarial staff, who themselves had been on the receiving end of Mick’s wrath before, were now looking too.
Mick didn’t tell Joey to come with him again, as if his son was deaf. He simply gave him that look. And it was enough. Mick began walking again, and Joey, sufficiently assured of his own demise if he did not comply, closed his mouth and followed.
Mick entered his office, which was as large as an average apartment, and headed behind his desk. He put his briefcase on the desk, sat down, and motioned for Joey to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.
But Joey wasn’t interested in sitting down. He knew his father was not the man to trifle with. He knew his father could be as cold as a winter night. But he also knew what happened was wrong. Nobody mistreated his mother.
“How could you kick her out of her own house?” he asked Mick.
“It’s not her house,” Mick responded in a measured tone.
“But it is her house!” Joey wasn’t trying to be measured. He was animated. “It’s our house,” he added. “You bought it for her so she could raise me there and keep me out of your hair. You bought it for her so you wouldn’t feel guilty about being the lousy father you are. It is her house!”
Mick continued to sit there and watch Joey speak his mind. He was a young man, barely twenty, who had been heading down the absolute wrong path. Mick brought him into his company and, by all accounts, Joey had turned his life around and was serious about their partnership. But he wasn’t taking this like a man.
“I know you don’t give a damn about my mother,” Joey continued. “I know you think we’re all dispensable. But she’s my mother, she’s the only person in this world who has always been there for me, and I care about her. And nobody’s treating her like this! Not even you!”
Mick continued to watch his son with an intensity that could have been construed as rage. But it wasn’t rage. And it wasn’t because Mick was buying the crap Joey was talking. But Mick wanted to see if he had it in him. He wanted to see if he had what it took. Because of all of his children, Joey, his youngest,
was the most like him.
“I told her,” Joey finally said, “to stay right where she is. I told her to stay put. I told her I would take care of it and she’s not going anywhere. She’s not going anywhere, Dad.” The brazenness of his pronouncement wasn’t lost on Joey. He knew he was being brazen, dumb, and crazy to confront his father like this. But right was right.
Mick broke his stare, and nodded his head. “I’m happy to see your loyalty to your mother. That is always commendable. You’re a good son to her.”
Joey felt relieved. “So that means she can stay?” he asked.
“No,” Mick said. “She will be leaving my home either voluntarily, or I’ll have her kicked out. But that doesn’t diminish you. Nor your loyalty to her.”
But his response angered Joey even more. “Fuck loyalty, man!” he yelled. “I don’t give a fuck about loyalty! That’s my mom. That’s my heart. And you aren’t going to treat her like this!”
Mick gave his son a hard look. “What do you propose to do about it?” he asked.
“I’m going to not let anybody kick her out of her home, that’s what I’m going to do about it.”
“How, Joey?” Mick asked. “Are you going to sit shotgun at the front door and prevent entry? Are you going to barricade her inside and prevent entry? When I show up to finalize the removal, are you going to attempt to fight me?”
Joey stood there dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say.
“None of those options make sense, do they?” Mick asked. “They make no sense because they are temporary measures at best that only heighten the stakes and will put, not only your own life at risk, but your beloved mother’s. Yet you just stood up here and put her in that position. You just stood up here and backed your ass into a corner you cannot free yourself from. That’s what fools do!”
Mick stood to his feet. “Why do you think Alexander Pope wrote how fools rush in where angels fear to tread? Because they don’t think it through. They don’t weigh the options of inaction versus action. They don’t realize that fighting a man is considerably more difficult than fighting a boy. Because a man isn’t going to let your ass stand there and fight him.”
Mick tried to calm back down. “That’s the difference, son. If you want your beloved mother in a house worthy of her, then you put her in one and stop expecting another man to do it for you. That’s what a real man does. But a boy comes in here demanding that a man take care of the problem for him. As if that makes him a man when all it does is solidifies just how childish and absurd he really is. Now get the fuck out of my face, take your ass back to that mailroom, and get back to work!”
Mick stared at his son, expecting a prolonged staring contest or some equally troubling dissention. But he was wrong. Joey knew when he was beat. He knew when he had to eat crow and wait it out. His father was the big man on campus now. But that would change. One of these days, Joey just knew that would change. Then he would be the big man. And his father would be depending on him.
He left. He wanted to slam the door. He wanted to leave emphatically. But he knew his father. He stood a better chance getting to the top faster with him than against him. He closed the door so gingerly it barely connected. A statement of a different kind. He just left.
Mick sat back down. Joey was young, and he had a long way to go, but Mick still believed in him. Of all of his children, he was the one most like him. Of all of his children, he would be the one who carried his legacy forward, or into the ground.
His desk intercom buzzed. Mr. Bianchi and Mr. Stefani were there to see him, his assistant announced. Mick knew that wasn’t good. They knew never to come to S.I., unless it was vital.
“Send them in,” he responded.
And within seconds, Carp Bianchi and Yank Stefani entered his office, said their greetings to their ultimate boss, and Mick motioned for them to sit down too.
“This is most improper,” Mick said in that on-the-verge-of-true-anger tone they were well familiar with. “If you have no business with S.I., you have no business here.”
Yank was ready to leave now. He knew how quickly Mick could go from zero to a hundred. But Carp was older, wiser, and had been with Mick too long. “We fully understand, Michello,” Carp said. “But this is delicate.”
Mick sat there. He didn’t ask what this delicate matter was about. He waited for them to tell him.
“We’ve had another intercept,” Carp said.
An intercept of cargo was bad, but it hardly rose to the delicate level. “Where?” Mick asked.
“Memphis,” Carp said. “That makes four intercepts so far, Mick. Something’s going down. This ain’t no random shit. Something big is going down.”
Mick had already worked that much out.
“Have your men uncovered any leads?” Yank asked.
“Have yours?” Mick asked.
Yank shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Hardly delicate stuff,” Mick said.
Yank looked at Carp.
“Then there’s this other matter,” Carp said. “We’ve got another problem.”
Now the meat, Mick thought. “What?” he asked.
“Mo DeLuca was shot and killed last night.”
Momar DeLuca was the third Don in the trio of Dons who ran Mick’s syndicate. Momar, like Yank, were the sons of one of his original heads of families. When Mo and Yank’s fathers fell in that safe house in New York, they took over. They both were half the men their fathers were, but that didn’t mean Mick wasn’t sorry about the loss.
“Anybody claiming responsibility?” Mick asked.
“Are they claiming it? No,” Carp said. “But Mo’s men knows who carried out the hit.”
Mick stared at Carp. The name, he decided, was apparently the delicate part. “Who?” Mick asked.
Carp didn’t hesitate. “Mick, they say it was Adrian. They say it was your son. Your oldest boy.”
Mick’s heart almost stopped beating. He knew Adrian wasn’t at the dinner last night, but not showing up was a stock and trade for Adrian. Mick even figured he might be involved in some stupid shit. But he never would have guessed in this direction.
“What happened?” Mick asked.
“They say he owed Mo some money.”
“For what?”
“They don’t know what for. He came to the restaurant to talk with Mo, Mo called him back, and they didn’t think anything of it. He’s your kid, after all. What are they going to think? Then several minutes later they heard a gunshot, and then Adrian’s running out the back door just as they’re running through the front door. And their boss is dead.”
Mick usually never let anyone see him sweat, but this time he ran his hand across his face in a way that Carp and Yank both knew meant he was sweating like a motherfuck. He didn’t see this one coming.
“Where’s Adrian now? Does anyone know?”
“No-one knows,” Yank said.
“But Mo’s men want his scalp, Mick,” Carp said. “They’re going after him and they’re going hard. They want him.”
“Order them to stand down,” Mick said to Carp.
“I can suggest it, but you know how that crew can be.”
“Tell them to stand down, or I’ll stand them down. Every one of those fuckers. Make that clear.”
Carp nodded. Even they knew Mick didn’t play. He and Yank stood up. “I’ll let them know,” he said, shook Mick’s hand, and then he and Yank headed for the exit.
“Sorry about all of this, Mick,” Carp added, as they left.
When they left, Mick closed his eyes for a quick moment, and then reopened them and pulled out his cell phone.
“Yeah, boss?” It was Danny Padrone on the other end.
“Who has Adrian’s detail?”
“Ah . . .” Danny apparently checked the computer. “That would be Jim and Riley. But he gave them the slip. He always does.”
“Find Adrian and bring him to me,” Mick ordered.
“Only you?”
“Only me. Mo
DeLuca was iced last night. His men seems to think Adrian was the shooter.”
Danny couldn’t believe it. “Damn, boss. He iced Mo? What the fuck is wrong with that boy?”
“Hell if I know.”
“They’re going after him, right? Mo’s men? They’ve got to go after him.”
“I told Carp to order them to stand down, but there’s no guarantees.”
“No, there isn’t,” Danny said. “I’ll put an army on this one,” he added. “I’ll get on this one.”
“With no newbies,” Mick ordered. “Vets only.”
“For sure, boss. That goes without saying.”
“Good.”
“What’s his cell number? We’ll run a trace just in case.”
Mick closed his eyes again. He never bothered to get his own child’s cell phone number. What kind of father was he? “I don’t know the number,” he admitted.
“No problem,” Danny quickly responded. He didn’t rise to be Mick’s second in command by accident. He knew how to handle the boss. “I’ll check with Teddy,” he added. “I’m sure he has it.”
“I’m sure he does,” Mick said. Because Teddy was a responsible young man. He was Mick’s second oldest child, but he was a natural leader. Adrian viewed himself as a leader too, Mick had concluded, but nobody followed his lead. “Keep me posted,” Mick added, and then ended the call.
Mick stood up, walked to his office window, and looked out over downtown Philadelphia. Of all of his children, he was least involved with Adrian. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the fact that Adrian was his oldest, his first child, and therefore he harbored even more guilt for a longer time. Maybe it just seemed, after the passage of so many years, that it was such a lost cause to Mick. He couldn’t say.
He tried to reach out to Adrian once. He even scheduled to meet him for lunch. But Adrian didn’t bother to show up or even call, leaving Mick waiting for him, as if he, Adrian, had the upper hand. From that day to this day, Mick did to Adrian what he did to everyone (except Rosalind) who didn’t live up to their end of the bargain. He cut him off. Not consciously. He would never consciously cut off any of his children. But his actions proved the shift because he never reached out to Adrian again. He left him to fend for himself. Now he was in real trouble. Now his life was on the line and no man could save it but Mick. Mo’s people were talking a lot of noise, but they were ultimately under Mick’s control.
Mick Sinatra 3: His Lady, His Children, and Sal Page 7