“And what’s going to happen when you do?” Roz asked.
Mick hesitated. “That will be entirely up to him,” he responded.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Joey Sinatra sorted the mail, by department, in the mailroom of Sinatra Industries. Many of the young workers still wouldn’t accept that he was Mick Sinatra’s son, and every chance they got they found their way to his work station to question him about it. Like today. Two workers came over and wouldn’t take yes for an answer.
“You’re his for real son?” the younger of the two asked.
Joey smiled. “Yeah, man.”
“But I mean for real for real son?”
Joey laughed and continued to sort mail. “I’m not playing with y’all. He’s my father. I’m his son. So what?”
“So what?” asked the second worker. “Why are you down here with us if he’s your father?”
Joey wished he knew. “I’m learning the business,” he said. “I’ll work my way up.”
“Dang. Not me. If my daddy owned all this, all this, I would be king of the hill. Ain’t no way I’ll be in some dusty mailroom. I’d be in the boardroom, jack, that’s where I’d be!”
Joey smiled, but kept doing his job. They were just two poor stiffs running their mouths, and he knew it.
“But you know what we’re saying, thought?” the first guy asked.
“I know what you’re saying,” Joey said. “But you don’t know my old man. If you had a father like mine, it would be a miracle he lets you work in the mailroom. He’s hard like that.”
“Sounds mean to me.”
“He is mean,” the second guy said. “That’s why I stay clear of him.”
“I don’t blame you,” Joey said as he continued to slip envelopes through the various slots.
Then the door crept opened and, to the shock of the two young guys, the CEO walked in. They quickly moved away from Joey and returned to their work stations. Joey didn’t realize Mick had walked in until he was walking towards him.
“Dad,” he said, surprised. He’d never seen his father in the dungeon, as the workers called the mailroom. Neither had anybody else. “What are you doing here?”
Then Joey looked down. His father wore his usual expensive suit, this one a light gray, but it seemed to hang on him wrong, as if it was suddenly too big for him.
Mick looked around. “Is there a place around here where we can talk?” he asked.
Joey nodded, although he was still confused. “Sure.” He sat the stack of envelopes down. “Follow me.”
Joey escorted his father through the huge mailroom, astounding all of the workers down there, as they made their way to the breakroom. It was small, considering the amount of people it had to serve, but it was empty.
“Will this do?” Joey asked.
“It’ll do,” Mick said.
Joey sat up on the drain board near the sink as Mick walked around the room. This was a lot of things to Joey, but mostly weird.
Mick continued to walk around a breakroom he owned, but had never seen nor ventured into in his life. He stopped walking in front of Joey, who sat up on that drain board like a little kid, his red Air Jordans dangling, his thick gold chain hanging down over an Eagles jersey. His dark hair and dark eyes contrasted dramatically to Adrian and Theodore, who both had Mick’s coloring, but he was Mick’s son alright. He was Mick’s baby. And not just because of the DNA. But also because he had the same swag, those same mannerisms, that Mick had when he was young and full of shit too.
“What’s this about, Dad?” Joey finally asked when his father didn’t explain.
Mick folded his arms, and spread his legs. It was now, with that pose, did Jody see his father, not as the powerful businessman, but as the gangster. He preferred this look. “What is it, Dad?” he asked again.
“Adrian tried to kill me yesterday,” Mick said bluntly.
Joey’s mouth flew open, and Mick was surprised to see deep concern in his eyes. “What? Adrian what?”
“He tried to kill me.”
“How could you say something like that? You’re our dad! How could he try to kill you? It has to be a mistake. Maybe your men misunderstood what he was doing.”
“I was there, Joey. It was Adrian and me. He put the gun to my forehead and fired ten times, or more, I can’t be certain. It would have been over had I not removed the bullets from his gun before he fired.”
“But he knew you removed them, right?”
Mick shook his head. “No,” he responded.
Tears appeared in Joey’s big eyes. “But why? I don’t . . . Why would you remove his bullets? I don’t understand, Dad.”
“I thought I had to take him by force, to protect him from a certain crew and from himself. I didn’t want him to try to get away. But I never would have thought . . .” Mick’s voice cracked and trailed off. The pain was still there.
Joey saw the pain on his father’s strong face. Only he didn’t look so strong all of a sudden. He looked broken. And Joey couldn’t help it. His heart ached for his father for the first time in his life. And he opened his arms, and pulled his father into them.
To say that Mick was thrown by Joey’s reaction would be an incredible understatement. He was flabbergasted. He never thought in a million years that his son would hold nothing but contempt for him. But there they were, in that breakroom, holding onto each other like father and son.
And when they stopped embracing, it was Joey who still had tears in his eyes. Mick did something he had never done before to any of his children: he wiped his tears away. He thought it would feel so awkward to be this close. But it didn’t feel awkward at all.
“What are we going to do?” Joey looked up at his father, and asked him.
“Find him,” Mick said.
“And then what?” Joey asked.
Mick let out a harsh exhale. “That depends on him, son.”
Joey stared at Mick. And then he nodded his head, as if he was giving his approval.
Mick considered him. He was a man after all, he thought, and a good one. “If your brother phones you, or if you see him, you call me. You understand? Don’t approach him. Call me.”
“I will,” Joey said. “I can’t go along with what he did. He tried to kill you?” Joey shook his head again. “No. That ain’t right. I would have killed that fucker myself if he would have killed you.”
At first Joey was stunned he had said those words. But not as stunned as his father. “Don’t you dare do any such thing,” Mick ordered. But then he nodded. “But thanks,” he said.
Joey smiled weakly. They seemed to understand each other now.
Mick even ruffled Joey’s hair as he began to leave. “I’ve got to get upstairs. I’ll be in touch,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Joey responded.
And for some strange reason, his response caused Mick to think of something else. He returned to his son. “I almost forgot,” he said, as he walked back up to him. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Joey.
Joey began to open it. “What’s this?”
“The deed to the house your mother resides in.”
Joey looked up at him.
“It’s yours. My lawyers are going to put it in your name. You can sign it over to your mother if you wish, that’s your choice. But it’s yours.”
Joey smiled grandly and immediately threw his arms around his father again. Then he caught himself, and removed his embrace. He remembered how Mick planned to kick Cathleen out to begin with. “It wasn’t right to try to kick her out anyway,” he said, still standing up for his mother. Mick stared at him. He liked that. “She had nowhere else to go. You giving me this,” Joey added, holding up the deed. “Thank you. But it was still wrong. What do you want from me? Love or something?”
Mick was already shaking his head. “No, son,” he said. “I don’t want love from you. That’s a lot to ask, I know it.” Then Mick frowned. “I just don’t want you to hate me,” he added, in a strained
voice.
Joey stared at him. He must feel like the lowest thing moving after what his own son, his oldest child, tried to do to him. And Joey’s heart went out to his father. “It’s not too much to ask,” he said, speaking that truth for the first time in his life.
Mick’s jaw tightened. And he actually managed to smile. Then he ruffled Joey’s hair again, and left.
When he had gone, Joey grinned, quickly pulled out his cell phone, and called Cathleen. “Mom, mom, you won’t believe this! Daddy gave me the house! Your house! Yes. He gave me the house! I’m not lying though. He gave me the house. And you know what that means? You don’t have to move! You don’t have to move! You don’t have to move!”
Cathleen could be heard rejoicing through the phone. But not nearly as boisterously as her son.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Roz leaned back in the chair behind her desk and phoned Mick’s office. She had wanted to phone him all day today, to see how he was doing, but she knew how much he hated when she babied him. Or, at least, that was how he would view it. So she kept her distance and let him deal with Adrian’s betrayal in his own way. But she couldn’t get him off of her mind, and how distressed he looked when she arrived home last night. This morning he looked much better, but Mick knew how to wear the mask.
She phoned his office. The call was dispatched to his executive assistant. “Hey, Blair, how you doing?”
“I’m doing well, Mrs. Sinatra. How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Sinatra has gone for the day.”
“Really? Did he say where he was going?”
“He said he was going home,” Blair said.
Roz looked at the Rolex on her wrist. It was only five thirty. She couldn’t recall a time when Mick went home from work that early. “Okay, Blair, thanks,” she said, and hung up the phone.
She got up, stuffed papers into her briefcase, grabbed her purse along with it, and left for the day too.
But when she got outside, and began heading to her Brentley, parked in front of the entrance, she was stunned when she looked across the parking lot and saw Hamilton Sturgess, of all people, leaned against his Mercedes. Smoking a cigarette. Was he stalking her now? Was he that stupid?
She angrily tossed her briefcase and purse into her car and made her way toward him. When he saw her coming, he had the nerve, she thought, to slap on a smile. He straightened his tie, dropped his cigarette, and smashed it underfoot.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Roz angrily asked him as she approached.
“What do you mean?” Hamilton responded, his hands outstretched as if he didn’t have a clue.
“Don’t fuck with me, Hamp,” Roz made clear. “I am not the one.”
“Roz, settle down, okay? I just wanted to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. My husband told you how it’s going to be, and that isn’t going to change. So you need to get from around my business and go on with your life. Because that divide and conquer shit you’re trying now, is not going to work. Goodbye, Hamp.”
Roz turned to leave, upset that he didn’t get the message yesterday. But Hamilton, seeing his last chance slip away, quickly reached out and grabbed her arm, to beg her if he had to.
As soon as he grabbed her, and before he could completely turn Roz around, an army of men, some eight strong, four coming from one direction, and four from another, surrounded them. Roz and Hamilton both were astonished.
“Are you alright, Mrs. Sinatra?” one of the men asked her.
“What in the world?” Roz asked him. “Who are you?”
“We work for your husband, ma’am. We’re here on his orders, ma’am. Guard duty.”
Adrian was still at large and Roz knew what Mick was thinking. If Adrian could put a gun to his own father’s head, surely he could put one to his stepmother’s head too. She nodded. “Okay,” she said. She understood.
But Hamilton didn’t. He knew Sinatra had control over Roz, but he had no idea Sinatra was having her followed, and followed by these many goons. It was at that moment, more than any time before, did Hamilton realize just how out of his league he was. Roz was apparently cherished by the gangster. He was apparently willing to protect her at all costs. And Hamp thought he could charm her away from a man willing to go to these lengths for her? He realized just how much he was wasting his time.
He turned to get into his car, but two of Mick’s “goons” grabbed hold of his arms. “What are you doing?” Hamilton asked nervously.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” Mick’s lead “goon” asked. “Is this guy giving you any trouble?”
Roz looked at Hamilton. She used to really respect him. But now, after he wouldn’t take no for an answer and had the nerve to stakeout her place of business, she didn’t even pity him. “Are you giving me any trouble, Hamp?” she asked.
Hamilton quickly shook his head. “You know I’m not. I swear, Roz. You’re never see my face again. Never! Just call off the dogs.”
Roz could tell that Mick’s men took exception to being equated with dogs, but she wasn’t interested in unnecessary violence. “Let him go,” she said to the men holding him. They removed their grasp. Then Roz gave Hamilton a hard look. “Get out of Dodge, Hamp, before the bullets start flying.”
Hamilton stared at Roz. What kind of person had that gangster turned her into? He used to have her wrapped around his finger. She was always tough, but she was also the type, that if you showed her enough affection, could be bought too. Her weakness were good looking men like him who knew how to put it on her ass. But Sinatra was apparently putting it on her too. He had apparently strengthened her where she was weak.
“I’m out,” Hamilton said, got in his car, and gladly drove away.
Roz looked at the army of men surrounding her, and she couldn’t help but shake her head. This many? Really? This was ridiculous! But as she made her way back to her car, and they made their way back to their cars, she felt some kind of happy about it. Mick had her back unlike any other man ever could or would. She felt more certain of it with each passing day. And that made her all the more determined, as she got in her car and took off too, to get to him and show him just how much she had his back. She made a phone call, as she made her way to him.
But when she entered their home, and made her way upstairs to their bedroom, what she saw stopped her in her tracks. There was Mick, the strongest man she knew, lying in bed this time of day as if it was the most natural thing in the world. When, for him, it wasn’t natural at all. He was even under the covers, although his muscular bare chest and muscular arms were on top of the bedding. But it was a strange sight for Roz to behold. And seeing him this way, torn up, not by all of the danger he faced almost on a daily basis, but by the fact that his oldest boy hated him enough to want to kill him. Roz folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. His pain was heartbreaking to her.
Mick felt her presence before he saw her. And when he finally looked over to prove that his instincts were right, he felt better just seeing her face again. He was glad that she had come. “You’re home early,” he said.
“So are you,” she responded. Then she considered him. “Why?” she asked.
They both knew why, but he also understood why she asked it. She needed to know if he would verbalize the real reason. He couldn’t. At least not directly. “Sometimes your lifestyle,” he said, “where you’re always on the go, catches up with your body.” Then he hesitated before continuing. “It caught up with mine,” he added.
Roz knew what he meant. She pushed from the doorjamb and made her way to the side of their bed. She looked down at him. He looked up at her. “They haven’t found him yet?”
Mick shook his head. “No.”
Roz sat on the edge of the bed beside her husband. She placed her hand on his thick chest. Roz could feel his heavy heartbeat. She could feel his heavy heart. And she knew, right then and there, that words were not going to comfort him. Her presence w
ould. The fact that she was there would help. But Mick was not the kind of man who wanted to hear that everything was going to be alright. Because he knew it wasn’t.
Roz moved her hand down his chest, along the ridges of his hard stomach, and moved beneath the sheets to his resting member. When she touched it, she could see a different expression on Mick’s face. An expression that let her know she had just hit the nail on the head. He didn’t need words. He needed that.
Roz leaned down, and kissed him on his lips. Mick put his arms around her and took over the kiss. Roz’s hand cupped his balls as his kiss deepened. And when he parted his legs, she knew what else he wanted.
She got up, stepped out of her stilettos, removed her clothing, and moved her naked body between Mick’s bare legs.
Mick wanted to touch her and rub her down desperately when he saw her nakedness, but he knew he needed her touch more. Because he knew she was going to give it to him the way he wanted it: straight with no chaser. With no primers. With no hesitation.
And she gave it to him. Instead of licking him and sucking him and getting him in the mood, she lifted his member and covered it with her mouth. She went all the way down on him, and then began moving her mouth up and down along his cock with such precision that he could only lean his head back, relax, and enjoy the ride. And grow long. And hard. And stiff.
This was the tension release he needed. And he knew he could come in her mouth at any moment. But even in his distress, he could not be that selfish a lover. Because he knew she needed it too. He saw that look of concern on her face when she stood at their bedroom door. He knew his distress was hers too.
As much as he was enjoying her oral; as much as he wanted her to continue to lick his pre-cum and suck his dickhead; as much as he wanted her to deep throat him over and over again, he wanted to come inside of her more. He wanted her to be a part of this, not just her giving it to him.
He took her by her slender arms and pulled her up the length of his muscular body, and began kissing her again. It was his taste and her taste, and it was a heady feeling, as he rubbed her body down with one hand, and fingered her with the other hand. Soon, they were both groaning and moaning and enjoying the ride. Until Mick guided his fully aroused cock inside of her, and the ride changed.
Mick Sinatra 3: His Lady, His Children, and Sal Page 10