by Rye Hart
“Are you calling me a liar?” the man asked.
He thrust his gun out further forcing my bodyguards back into attack mode.
“Listen to me. I’m trying to find an avenue that benefits all of us, and you’re making it very hard for me to do so. These men at my side are ordered to protect me at any cost. Don’t make them do that. Be reasonable.”
“Reasonable?” the man asked. “There ain’t no reason when it comes to buying guns. You took your father’s place, which means you inherited his deals and his dirty work. Take the fucking guns and give us our money, or you’ll be shark bait for my son’s crabbing venture.”
“Shark bait for crabs. Got it,” I said. “Guys, could you please lower your weapons?”
“Sorry, Mr. Bianchi. No can do,” my bodyguard said.
“Too volatile,” the other man said.
“Look, I have no need for the guns. Would you pay a quarter of a million dollars for something you didn’t need any longer?” I asked.
“Your father had a use for them. I suggest you start there,” the man said.
“And I already told you, I’m no longer seeking out those avenues of business. You can take the check for twenty thousand for the inconvenience I’ve caused you, or you can walk away with nothing. The choice is yours,” I said.
“As far as I can tell, we have three guns to your two. We’ll take both of your guards out before you can grab a gun to point at us. I know you’ve got the money, Bianchi. You can turn around and sell the damn guns for all we care to recoup what you lost. But I’m not fucking leaving without the money I was promised.”
Gun runners were always so unwavering in their demands. I hated doing business with them, and I hated it when my father did. But I knew why he did. They cut him a fantastic deal on the massive number of guns and the quality he always obtained. I got it. But it wasn’t needed for what I was trying to do with the operation. I wanted to rule by respect, not by fear. But as I stared at the three men in front of me, I knew what had to be done. I didn't want to do it. I promised myself I wouldn’t get my hands dirty unless I absolutely had to. But these men weren’t letting up. I wasn’t paying them for guns I didn’t need, and since there was no paper trail, nobody would ever trace the weapons back to the deal my father made with them. I didn’t see any other way out of this mess that didn’t end in someone’s death.
And if I was going to turn my family around, it couldn’t be my death.
“I don’t want this ending badly,” I said.
“Then cough up the cash,” the man said.
“There’s no sort of deal we can come to where we all walk away happy?” I asked. “Because I don’t need those guns. They’ll simply sit here and wait for the police to trace them back to you.”
“Oh, you’ll take them. And we’ll take our money. You’ll get the guns off this damn dock and out of our sight, and then we can talk about doing another deal.”
“There will never be another deal, gentleman. Let’s get that very clear right now,” I said.
“Your father was a good customer of ours. We greased his palms, and he greased ours. We have no intention of letting our connections to your family go.”
There it was.
The straw that broke my back.
They could force these guns on me and take my money. They could threaten my life if I didn’t give it to them. They could even take their best shot at trying to take me out before my bodyguards pumped their bodies full of lead.
But they would never hold my family ransom.
I promised to dig them out of that life, and I wasn’t backing down from that promise.
“Okay,” I said. “Then you can have your money.”
The thugs looked at one another, seemingly happy with the choice I had made. I heard them utter a few derogatory comments projected specifically at me. Something about being a pussy compared to my father. I bit down on my tongue and walked around behind my car, then opened the trunk.
But instead of pulling out a bag of cash, I reached for my weapon.
I closed my eyes briefly and told myself if was them or me. I was working too damn hard to get my family out of this shit to let this go down this way. I stepped from behind my car and handled the situation the only way I knew to make it go away for good. I sighed and shook my head as I dropped the weapon back into the trunk of the car.
I was disgusted with myself, but they gave me no choice. I pulled out my wallet and flipped it open, then slipped the twenty thousand dollar check out. I had it written and everything. Ready for them to cash it and be on their way. I ripped it to shreds and jammed it back into my pocket, then folded my wallet and stuck it away for another time.
“Come along, gentleman. It’s time to get home,” I said.
“Yes, sir,” one of them said.
“Should we call this in?” the other one asked.
“Just get me home. I’ll deal with it,” I said.
I wiped my hands of the cool metal texture before I slid into the back of the car. I pulled a burner phone from my pocket and dialed the non-emergency police number, then waited until we were on a back road outside of the city before I called. I left an anonymous tip about the shooting and how I thought I heard four or five different gunshots go off.
Then I hung up the phone, took out the battery, and tossed the remnants of it into the water.
I leaned back in my seat and tossed the battery onto the floorboard of the car. I watched as the city passed me by, the car driving me closer to home. That wasn’t the first time a deal my father had dragged this family into had gone south. I took diplomatic approaches with every other one of them, but gun runners were stubborn. Shaking on something was equivalent to a paper contract. But not in my world. I grimaced as I thought about the three bodies lying there on the dock. I still wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing.
Part of me still thought I could’ve talked them away from the ledge.
“Mr. Martine.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Are you hungry?”
“Not particularly. But if you are, feel free to swing by somewhere and get yourself something. My treat.”
“I was actually hoping your mother had some leftover lasagna if it’s not asking too much.”
I grinned as I shook my head. My mother’s lasagna was known all over town. At the very least, it was known all over the family. If there were leftovers from a meal she cooked, they were never in the fridge for long. She made her food with love and care, and way too much butter and sugar for any normal human being.
“We had some last night, and I think she made a separate dish that didn’t even get touched,” I said. “Drive me home. I’ll let you guys in, and you can have at it.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mart—”
“No,” I said.
I looked up and eyed my bodyguard heavily through the rearview mirror.
“Thank you, Romeo,” the man said.
“Better. Now speed up. Talking about my mother’s lasagna has made me hungry.”
CHAPTER 8
JULIA
“Matteo!”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Do you want orange juice or milk with your breakfast?” I asked.
“Chocolate milk?”
“No. White milk.”
“Orange juice, please.”
Enrico chuckled over at the kitchen table as I shook my head. I flipped the omelet I made for my son every morning before I slid it onto a plate. Stefano had offered my son and me the chance to stay with him until things between our families settled. My father’s estate I had been at for the past six years was large and empty, and I honestly didn’t want to go back to it. My father’s death was what brought us back into the city, but when we left to go back, the house seemed way too big. It was only myself, Enrico, and my son, and the sprawling estate felt like too much. The ghost of my father and his anger toward my affair with Romeo haunted it, and I was putting off going back as long as I could.
; So I jumped at the opportunity when my uncle offered for us to stay with him in the city for a while.
“Something smells good in here. Can I place an order?”
“Morning, Uncle,” I said with a smile. “You want an omelet?”
“You frying up bacon with that omelet?”
“I can even stick it in one for you,” I said.
“Then sign me up. And in return, I’ll cook dinner tonight.”
“Uncle Stef!”
Matteo came running into the room and ran straight into the man’s arms. Enrico peeked out from behind his newspaper and watched the interaction closely. He knew how I felt about Matteo getting so close to a man who ran the largest criminal empire in the entire state. I was trying to be as cool as I could be about it, but I knew Matteo was craving that male attention. My father’s death had been so hard on him. “Come. Sit. Tell me how you slept,” my uncle said.
“Awesome. I like having a TV in my room.”
“You do, huh?” my uncle asked. “Was there anything good on?”
“Cartoons!”
“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked.
“Two eggs or three?” I asked.
“Three. And double bacon. And none of those vegetables you talk about.”
“I’m shocked you’re still walking,” I said with a grin.
I slid Matteo’s omelet across to him before I poured him a glass of orange juice. Then I got to work on Stefano’s eggs. Enrico was easy to please in the morning. Black coffee and toast with melted pads of butter on it. That was all he wanted. I wasn’t a large breakfast eater, either. I might stand in the corner sometimes and eat a bowl of cereal, but that was about it.
I preferred large family dinners after everyone had wound down their day.
“How’s my niece?” Stefano asked as he kissed the side of my head.
“Tired,” I said.
“Not sleeping well?”
“Just having some dreams,” I said.
“Want to talk about them?”
“No,” I said. “I miss my father is all.”
Stefano reached out to rub my back as I held back tears.
“Does he talk to you in your dreams like he does me?” he asked.
“You dream about him as well?”
“More than I care to admit. We talk. A lot.”
“What about?” I asked.
“The good times. When we were grunts in this business doing our own father’s biddings. We talk about your mother. He talks about you.”
“Stop it,” I said breathlessly. “I can’t—I can’t listen to that right now.”
“I know. But you know he loves you and that he’s never really gone. Not when he’s in here.”
I watched Stefano pat his chest as a tear escaped down my cheek.
“Do you think Dad would’ve wanted the peace you seek?” I asked.
I watched Stefano long and hard before I slid his omelet onto a plate.
“I think seeing you the way you were helped him to come to terms with it. Your father was a different kind of beast. Raised in an old era but spent his remaining years blossoming into a new one. I think he understood peace between the two families was necessary.”
“So all of this I’m doing—it would make him proud?” I asked.
“So long as you do what makes you happy and what’s good for his grandson? He could never not be proud.”
I held up the omelet underneath my uncle’s nose, and he took it from my hands.
“Speaking of, how did things with Romeo go yesterday?”
“Keep your voice down,” I said as I glanced over at my son.
“I know. And I am. But we haven’t gotten a chance to talk about it. You and Matteo were upstairs most of last night.”
“We were fixing those blocks my father got him,” I said. “It took us a lot longer than I thought it would.”
“Fuck, he’s just like your dad. My brother loved playing with things like that. Lincoln Logs and Legos and building blocks. Anything that made him feel like he was creating something.”
“Sounds like him,” I said with a smile.
“So, how did it go? Did you apologize to the man?” he asked.
“I did. I didn’t apologize for what I said, but for the tone I said it in.”
“Why not for what you said? The man has a right to see his son.”
“In my time, maybe. When I met with Romeo the first time, he already knew I had a son. He already knew his name, Uncle.”
“What?” he asked, seemingly surprised.
“Yeah. Which meant he was using his resources to check up on me. But he didn’t come knock on Dad’s door? If he was so intent on being a part of his son’s life, why didn’t he show up then?”
“Maybe he did and your father sent him away,” Stefano reasoned.
“Then he should have fought harder,” I said. “Knowing he had a son and not trying to see him until I show up at a meeting you arranged just feels shady to me. Like he views Matteo as a tool to get what he wants and nothing more.”
My uncle chewed thoughtfully. “That is very strange. I had no idea that he knew about the boy. And you’re right, it does seem suspect that he hasn’t tried to be a part of his life until now.” “Then I can see why you’re making the choice you are. Even for a Martine, that’s a little shady.”
“A little? I was eighteen at the time, Uncle. Eighteen.”
I watched him angrily chew his food as he shook his head.
“I still think what you’re doing is going to be good for these two families, but I now understand why you don’t want Matteo caught up in the mix. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m willing to put myself out there as an intermediary, but I won’t bring Matteo into the mix. If Romeo can prove to me that he’s really trying to make peace and go legit, then I’ll consider letting him be a part of his son’s life. Until then, he’s just going to have to deal with me.” “There was too much swirling around in my head. But seeing Romeo again and talking with a level head helped me to sort out why I feel the way I do. And it isn’t just that. There’s something about him I still don’t trust,” I said.
“Then you always have to go with your gut. But don’t back out of this plan, Julia. It will take time. Peace always does. But I know you can do this. The only issue, it will require interaction with Romeo. Continued interaction.”
“I know,” I said with a sigh. “I know it will.”
“What you’re doing, Julia? I’ll never be able to put a price on it. I’m thankful to you for aligning yourself with me. Not everyone in the family is happy about it.”
“My father always said you can’t please everyone. And being in the big seat means you have to make the tough choices even if they aren’t popular ones.”
“And he wasn’t joking. This omelet, by the way, is very good. Your mother taught you well.”
“My father didn’t have too bad of a hand in it, either.”
“One of my fondest memories of him,” he said with a grin.
Stefano finished his omelet and then kissed me on my cheek. I hugged him before he went to his study, and Matteo dumped his plate in the sink. He ran back up the stairs, no doubt to continue playing with his blocks, and I sat down to finish my mug of coffee that had grown cold.
But Enrico put his newspaper down in front of me and pointed.
“Look,” he said.
I followed his finger and saw the headline jump out at me.
“Three dead at the docks?” I asked.
“The police are calling it a gun deal gone bad,” he said. “Look at the second paragraph.”
“‘In an apparent gangland-style slaying, three bullets were found between the eyes of unsuspecting gun runners in front oftheir shipment late last night. There are no suspects at this time, but police are looking into possible gang connections.’”
“It reeks of a Martine deal gone bad.”
“The newspaper says ‘gang c
onnections.’ And that isn’t the Bianchi signature at all. They didn’t even use automatic weapons,” I said.
“His father did a lot of business dealings with guns in the past. From that exact dock, if I’m not mistaken. Romeo has to be involved in this somehow. I think your gut is right.”
But I didn’t want my gut to be right.
“This could be the work of his bodyguards. Even if Romeo is involved, this doesn’t mean he killed anyone.”
“A Martine never gets someone else to do their dirty work,” Enrico said.
“And they might not be the same guys his father worked with. They could’ve been three beginners who simply made a bad deal. You don’t know this is Romeo.”
“Have I ever been wrong, Julia?”
I grimaced and tossed the newspaper down onto the table.
“Answer me.”
“Remember who you’re speaking with,” I said, my voice more curt than I’d intended.
“Sorry. I thought I was speaking with my friend.”
I sighed as my eyes gazed out the window into the backyard.
I didn’t want to believe Enrico, but I knew he was right. At the very least, that same unsettled feeling I’d fallen asleep with in the pit of my gut yesterday remained. If Romeo was somehow involved, then that meant he was lying to me. That meant he wasn’t being truthful about wanting to clean up his family’s act.
And that rushed anger through my bones.
I knew Romeo was going to fight like hell to see his son, but if he thought he could lie to me and get his hands on his child, he was sorely mistaken. If he thought he could paint an image I wanted to see and still be the conniving, bloodthirsty hound dog his father was, then he had another thing coming. I didn’t want to believe it was true, but Enrico was a professional. He had committed his life to protecting people and sniffing out what others didn’t want to—or refused—to see.
And if he thought Romeo was somehow involved in all this, then he was most likely right.
Suddenly, my coffee didn’t seem appetizing any longer. I didn’t know what came next. Stefano wanted me to go see Romeo, and all I wanted to do was twist his groin in my hands and rip it off his body. Peace? While slaughtering gun runners on the docks of our home city? That wasn’t the way to maintain or create peace. The only saving grace in the entire damn article was the fact that the guns were still in the harbor, but that could be for any number of reasons.