Mick Sinatra 3: His Lady, His Children, and Sal

by Mallory Monroe

  “Oh, shit,” one of Reno’s men said with great anxiety in his voice. “Ain’t this a bitch? What have you gotten us into, Rudy? You said this would work! You said they would be dead in their graves before they found out! Now they knew all along? Ain’t this a bitch?”

  All of the men, who knew their bosses and knew Reno and Tommy Gabrini didn’t play either, decided, as if they were cowards on one accord, to make a run for it. They began shooting toward the peanut gallery as Sal’s men ran for the back exit and Mick’s men, minus Danny, ran toward the front. Danny, along with Reno, Tommy, and Charles, began firing back, taking each one out one by one.

  Rudy, on the other hand, was more than happy to let them battle it out while he quietly slipped away. But he wasn’t dealing with flunkies. He was dealing with bosses. Real bosses. Mick and Sal both pulled their weapons on Rudy and forced him to walk backwards fast, until his ass slammed against the wall. Sal was sorely disappointed in his new found son. Mick saw it as par for the course; as another day in a dog’s life.

  “Looks like your double cross, Rudy Balotti,” Mick said, “just got double crossed.”

  Tears began to appear in big bad Rudy’s eyes.

  And by the time the shooting stopped, every one of the men who turned on Mick, and every one of the men who turned on Sal, were down. Some made it as close to inches from the exit doors. Others didn’t stand a chance. But not one of those traitors got out of that warehouse alive. The only reason Rudy was still alive was because he was Sal’s son, and because Mick and Sal were smart enough to know that intrigue always had layers. They needed Rudy to peel that onion.

  While Reno, Tommy, and Charles stayed back to supervise the pickup of the pile of bodies they suddenly had on their hands, Mick and Sal escorted Rudy out of the warehouse and into Mick’s waiting limousine. Deuce McCurry closed the passenger door behind them, got in on the driver side behind the wheel, and drove away. Rudy sat on one side. Mick and Sal sat side by side across from him.

  Rudy was still teary-eyed, and was shaking his head. “But how did you know?” he kept asking. “It was all planned out. I purposely didn’t loop Danny in until after those cargo intercepts. Until after the Cleveland snatch. So he’d know I meant business. When did he tell? And why would you just take his word for it? How did you know that I was . . . ?”

  “How did we know you were full of shit?” Sal asked. “Is that your question? We knew because that’s what separates the boss from the flunky. That’s what separates the man who acts with his brain, not the man who acts with his balls.”

  “You’re stupid, in other words,” Mick said to Rudy. “You’re a minor leaguer trying to play in the big leagues. You’re a fucking snitch to begin with, bringing a bone to take one. That’s how we knew.”

  Rudy shook his head again. He was overwhelmed with grief. Not because he was caught. But because he had been outsmarted, outmaneuvered, and outclassed. And now even Sal wasn’t in his corner anymore. He was in trouble. He was in deep shit.

  When the limo arrived on the outside of Mick’s estate, Mick was about to get out, but he looked back at Sal. “We’ll get together again and deal with what we need to deal with,” he said. “You clean this shit up first.” He said this, looking at Sal’s son.

  Sal agreed, as he pulled out his gun.

  Rudy’s eyes stretched in horror. “You can’t kill me,” he said. “I’m your son!”

  Sal wasn’t going to kill him. But he was going to beat the shit out of him. He was going to put the fear of Sal deep down within him. And Sal knew it was a double standard. He knew, if any other man had pulled what Rudy pulled, he would be dead no questions asked. But he was his son. A son he despised right now. But he was his son.

  But as Mick was getting out of the car, Rudy felt he had no choice. He called in his trump card. “What about the A-train?” he said.

  Mick stopped in his tracks. He knew A-train was the nickname of his oldest son, the one he was actively searching for right now. He turned toward Rudy. “What did you say?”

  “What about Adrian?” Rudy asked.

  Sal frowned. “Who the fuck is Adrian?”

  Mick got back into the limo. “What about him?” he asked.

  “He’s the one who came to me,” Rudy said. “He’s the one who bankrolled everything. He’s the one who wants your head on that platter. I just wanted to destroy your power. He wants to destroy you.”

  Mick stared at Rudy. “Where is he?” he asked.

  Rudy frowned. “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

  “Watch it, asshole,” Sal warned.

  “Where was he when you last saw him?” Mick asked. He was doing all he could to contain his rage.

  “He was holed up in some bitch’s trailer. But that was before he put that gun to your head and took off. I haven’t seen him since. But he’s another one of my partners. And you best believe he’s no Danny Padrone. He’s not going to tell you shit. He hates your guts.”

  Mick stared at Rudy. He was an accomplished liar, and he could be lying about this. But Mick’s instincts told him this was no lie. Adrian was caught up in this too.

  Mick looked at Sal. “Get a few licks in for me,” he said, and got out of the limousine.

  “What licks?” Rudy asked as the door closed. “What is he talking about?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” Sal asked, as he moved to the edge of his seat. The limo began driving them away from Mick’s estate. Then Sal added: “But maybe he means this.”

  And then Sal commenced to pistol whip Rudy until he was bleeding. Sal commenced to give his son a beat down that wouldn’t kill him, not his own son, but would make him wish he was dead.

  His strategy worked. Because before Sal was halfway finished; before he had given him anything remotely resembling his final blow, Rudy was already begging to die.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Roz poured another cup of coffee and sat in front of Charles Sinatra. Gloria and Joey sat on either side of Charles, while Teddy stood on the opposite side of the center island, beside Roz. They were in Mick’s kitchen, the morning after that harrowing night.

  “Dad does know,” Teddy said, “that I have a job, right?”

  “He knows,” Roz said.

  “Then why did he order us here? It couldn’t be to meet Uncle Charles. We met him at the wedding.”

  “He wants all three of you here,” Roz responded, “until Adrian is found.”

  “But why?” Gloria asked. “He didn’t make us stay here when he told us what Adrian had done.”

  “That’s because,” Charles said, “Adrian has done more than that.”

  They all looked at their uncle. “Yeah?” Teddy asked. “Like what more?”

  “Like attempting to take over your father’s organization more,” Roz said.

  “He wants to destroy your father,” Charles said. “And he will attempt to do it, we believe, by any means necessary. Mick fears that could include destroying the three of you. His children. I would put you under wraps too, if you were my kids.”

  “When will we get to see your brood again, Uncle Charles?” Teddy asked.

  “They’ll be here Friday. If I feel it’s safe.”

  Roz smiled. “That’s what I think I love most about you, Charles,” she said. “You are so protective of your children.”

  “I’m all they have, parent-wise. I raised my oldest children pretty much alone. And I have three girls now too. I am all my children’s protector.”

  “Even Brent, the police chief?” Teddy asked with a smile.

  “Especially Brent, the police chief,” Charles responded. “He was born when I was only seventeen. He’s my baby too.”

  They all laughed at the idea that Brent Sinatra was somebody’s baby. And wished they had a father like him when they were young. They understood immediately why Mick respected Charles so much.

  After more talking around the table, Charles drank the last of his coffee, got up, and made his way upstairs. To check o
n Mick. He was supposed to still be asleep, but somehow Charles, knowing his kid brother, doubted it.

  He was right. Mick was not only up, but was out on the master bedroom’s balcony. When Charles walked through the French doors, Mick was pacing with a glass of half-drank wine in his hands. He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, which was fine. But not enough for the weather.

  “It’s cold out here,” Charles said, as he made his way toward the rail.

  Mick glanced at his brother. “It’s cold everywhere,” he said, as he continued to pace.

  Charles would have smiled, but he couldn’t. Because he felt Mick’s burden. Because of all of the betrayals and carnage last night. All of the pain he knew his brother had to be going through knowing that his own son wanted him dead. He could feel the heaviness of Mick’s heart. “You were supposed to be getting some rest,” he said to him.

  “I’m not going to rest,” Mick said, “until I get that motherfucker.”

  Charles stared at Mick. “That’s not the way a father is supposed to be talking about his son.”

  Mick stopped pacing and looked at Charles. “Oh yeah? You mean the son who would have killed me if my instincts had been off? That same son who thought he was pumping bullet after bullet after bullet in me? That same son who led a rebellion against me?” Mick angrily pointed his glass toward the house, with some liquor spilling out. “That same son who might try to kill my wife and my children? That boy? Get the fuck out of my face. He’s no child of mine.”

  Charles couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d never met a man harder than his baby brother. He never met a man more afraid of being vulnerable. But he knew, deep down, it was all an act. Mick was more vulnerable than most, and he wasn’t fooling Charles. “You’re in pain,” Charles said to him. “You’re in a lot of pain.”

  Mick stared at his brother, and then released a sharp exhale. He frowned. “I used to think if I threw money at it, everything would be alright. I used to think if I gave my kids what mattered to me the most, my wealth, then they would understand how I cared about them. And I was right. Giving them my money, but not giving them myself, showed them how I cared about them. It showed them how little I cared about them.”

  “Don’t say that, Mick.”

  “But that’s how they felt,” Mick said. “I was too busy for them. They weren’t a part of my life. And they weren’t. They felt that I didn’t love them enough to want them in my life. Now each one of them have their own brand of self-hate. Gloria seek out the worse men for her. Joey try to get my attention any way he can, usually bad ways. Teddy is a gotdamn pimp.”

  Charles frowned. “A pimp?”

  “He runs whorehouses disguised as nightclubs. What do you think that makes him?”

  Charles shook his head. He was surprised. “My goodness,” he said.

  “And Adrian has taken that hate to a new level,” Mick said. “Instead of destroying himself, he wants to destroy me. He wants to snuff out the source of all of his problems.”

  “But in his quest to destroy you,” Charles said, “he’s destroying himself.”

  Mick nodded. He knew it too. And began pacing again.

  Charles leaned against the rail and folded his arms. “What about your men?” he asked. “How deep is the betrayal?”

  “It’s not that deep. Just the ones who were at that warehouse from what we could gather. It happens. There are no honor among thieves. What you have to do is keep them out of the loop. What you have to do is make sure your bank account is fatter than anybody else’s. Rudy Balotti offered them a partnership. But after word gets out what became of that partnership, other workers won’t be so easily fooled.”

  “But there’s always a risk of a betrayal?”

  “Always,” Mick admitted. “That’s why you have layers of protection. One group keeps an eye on another group, while a third group keeps an eye on both of them, and they keep an eye on the third group.”

  “Gotdamn,” Charles said. “Your line of work is not the line of work to aspire to.”

  “I agree,” Mick said. “But for every one man I take on, there’s a thousand more just like him who would love to work for me. They would love to be in this line of work.”

  Charles considered him. “But why can’t you get out of it? Why can’t you leave it alone?”

  Mick made his way to the rail and leaned against it too, side by side with his brother. “Because there are layers to me too. Ghosts. Skeletons in the closet. Whatever the fuck you wanna call it.” Mick took a sip of his wine. “Even if I walk away today, I’ll still have fuckers coming after me for fifty more years.”

  Charles was stunned to hear that. He stared at Mick.

  “I stay in the game to protect myself,” Mick continued. “If they think I’m still untouchable, they don’t try to touch me. If they think I’m retired, they go after me all barrels blazing. I’m fucking Jesse James out here. My rep proceeds me. Everybody’s gunning for me.”

  Charles shook his head. “I hate to hear that.”

  “It is what it is.”

  “But you’ve got a wife now,” Charles said with concern on his face. “And your children.”

  Mick knew it too. “That’s the worst part of it all. But my wife and kids are also why I can’t get out. I have to stay on top, Charles. I have to stop any fucker who tries to take my place. It’s their only protection.”

  Charles ran his hand across his face. He knew Mick was a successful businessman who lived that gangster life still. But he thought he was coming out of it. He never dreamed it would be his forever life. “What about this beef you have with Sal Gabrini? Those Gabrinis are a force to be reckoned with, Mick. Sprig’s husband Benny Gabrini was a nasty sonafabitch, and I hear his deceased brother Paulo, Reno’s father, was even nastier. You don’t want to tangle with that bunch.”

  “I’m not interested in tangling with them,” Mick said. “But what Sal did to our sister was wrong. Just like everybody in this world did her wrong. I’ve got to make that right.”

  Roz walked out onto the balcony just as Mick finished that sentence. Mick managed to smile when he saw her, and he walked up to her. “Good morning,” he said, and gave her a hug.

  Charles was always taken aback whenever he saw Mick interact with Roz. He seemed so compassionate and kind around her, but he wasn’t that way around anybody else. Charles couldn’t imagine a less compassionate man than Mick.

  Roz pulled back, with their arms still around each other, and looked at Mick. “At least you got some sleep,” she said.

  “Some,” he said. “Everybody made it?”

  “You knew they would when you ordered them here. They came last night,” Roz said. “But you had fallen asleep. I showed them to their rooms. I didn’t see the point in waking you.”

  Mick really loved this woman. Last night late, when he got home, he phoned his children and told them to come to his compound. He wanted them under his full protection until Adrian was caught. They had no idea what was going on, and Mick was too drained to discuss it with them. He got in bed, pulled Roz into his arms, and promptly fell asleep. When word came that the children had arrived, Roz didn’t bother to let Mick know. She let him sleep on. It was obvious he desperately needed it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  By Friday evening, there was still no word about Adrian. But Roz was working the crowd. There was no other way Mick could describe it. She was moving from table to table, laughing at some, listening to others, and being the charming, well put together woman he had married.

  He stood naked at the window inside their bedroom, a window covered in privacy window film where he could look out, but others could not look in, and watched her work. She was dressed beautifully, in a pair of tight leather pants, a leather waist-high jacket, and what he could only describe as go-go boots. Her hair dropped down along her back in waves of big, thick curls, and her face, from her high cheek bones to her big, lovely eyes, glowed. She was a fashion plate if ever there was one, and out
shined every woman out there if he had to say so himself. And there were some beautiful women out there, Mick thought as he watched those women too. That was the one thing, he thought, that the Sinatras and the Gabrinis got right.

  But as Roz worked her way out of his sight, and Mick continued to stare out into his own backyard, he felt as if he was in a strange place. For the first time in his life, he actually felt like a family man. And that was a remarkable way to feel because, less than two years ago, before he met Roz and she encouraged him to do better by his children, such a thought would have been unthinkable. Businessman, yes. He had that lane down pat. But thug, gangster, hoodlum, mob boss, those were in his lane too. Yet family man would have been laughable even to him. He was no family man. But now he was able to accept that title. He was growing into it. And he was equal parts thrilled and terrified by the prospect.

  “Still not ready?”

  Mick didn’t bother to turn around. He would know his wife’s voice among a million voices.

  “Or is the better question,” she added, “will you ever be ready?”

  Mick smiled. “That sounds about right.”

  Roz remained at the door of their bedroom for a moment longer, as her eyes roamed down the length of his beautiful body; as the tingling inside of her vagina made it clear that even his ass turned her on. Then she pushed away from the doorjamb and made her way up to the window. She stood by him and looked out of the window too. And then she looked at him. His big, muscular arms were folded, with one hand cupping his own chin. Which meant, she knew, that Mick was in deep thought.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Mick shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Roz knew him too well. “But something’s not right?” she asked.

  “I’m just looking at all of the people. Our family. And I don’t know how to . . . I don’t deserve this, Rosalind.”

  Roz began to rub his back.

  “Not a man like me,” he continued. “I live by a motto most people would find reprehensible. Kill or be killed. What family man lives like that?