by D J Parker
There was a time when Maria’s bread could be smelled from around the corner. The strong green, white, and red colors of the Italian flag would wave brightly in front of her bakery even in a storm. After she died, the bakery was replaced with a laundromat. Where Carmine’s Pasta once stood in one of the four kitty corners was now Chen’s Chinese restaurant.
Speaking of which…
There needed to be a restriction of how many goddamn Chinese restaurants were allowed in one community. I’d counted at least eight on my way up here.
Although a lot had changed over the years, the room I now scanned had not. Dons, underbosses, consiglieres, and members of the commission were all under one roof convening what we called, “church.”
Church, a congregation made up of the five families, was just as organized as Catholicism. Instead of the innumerable graces that came to Catholics through the transubstantiation of bread and wine becoming the body and blood of Jesus Christ, each man in here had to become one with La Cosa Nostra through sin. We had to be the greatest of sinners: thieves, liars, cheaters, and killers. And like Catholics, outsiders were not welcomed to take part in the Eucharist. One had to be soulless in order to receive the soul and divinity of La Cosa Nostra.
Today marked fifteen years since I had become an official member of this flock of sinners. Each of us had sacrificed something to be here. If there was one thing I’d learned in the past fifteen years, it was that we operated no different than businessmen on Wall Street. Yeah, we used rather distasteful methods to get what we wanted, but were businessmen on Wall Street any different?
Fuck no!
Everything was business until it wasn’t. If any of the rules we had each vowed to uphold had been broken, then death was imminent. Understand that golden rule and the lifespan of a member just doubled.
“So who’s this new DA?” Francesco, head of the DaVecchio family, ran his hand over his slicked back hair.
“It’s a woman,” Salvatore said, passing each of us a black folder. “And before you ask, she’s not connected. For obvious reasons.”
“Minchia!” Luca, the underboss of the Salmieri family, whistled. “Does she got a mouth on her.”
I flipped the file open and froze.
It’s her.
The woman I’d left in the penthouse suite. The woman who ran off and had not called. I had to admit, I was a bit surprised she had not called asking for her shoes. Hell, I hadn’t expected her to leave either. With no dress or shoes, I’d wanted to keep her confined to the suite. But when I got back and she was gone, anger surfaced. For a moment, I couldn’t understand the reason why I was so angry that she had left. Truthfully, I wish more women had that same approach. But, I didn’t want this woman to leave.
Two weeks. It had been two whole fucking weeks since I’d last seen her. I figured by the end of the first week, she’d call me, ranting about how much of a sick asshole I was for stealing her shoes. But she hadn’t. Instead, I’d found myself trying to devise a new plan.
It had taken everything in me not to seek her out, use the same persuasive techniques on her like I’d done many times when a problem arose. Still, I was conflicted. This problem wasn’t exactly unwelcomed. My raw desire to have her again was almost too painful to bear. I found myself chasing the memories as I stroked myself each night. I knew I needed to see her again and I had known it the moment I slid away from her body that morning. The sight of her naked body intertwined with the white hotel sheets had burned its way into my brain, imprisoning me by a lethal memory.
After I got dressed, I found a Sharpie in the desk drawer and crawled between her thighs. I lapped up her juices with a slow sweep of my tongue. She stirred, moving her thighs close around my face as my tongue pressed against her blooming bud. I inhaled her ripeness, tempted to tongue fuck her awake, but I felt her swollen lips wrapped around my tongue. I pulled away, gently spreading her thighs further apart, bit the cap off of the black Sharpie, and wrote my number on her soft flesh.
As I neared the hotel door, I spotted her shoes just as a quick plan fell into place. Turned out I was wrong. Not all women loved their shoes.
I was angry that I didn’t know her name. It was like she’d vanished. Although I’d spent the past few days trying to figure out who Capone was and hiring the top attorney for Tommy, my nights had been haunted by her. I don’t know what was worse, not knowing who she was or my nightmares about Vincenzo. It made me sick that it even got to that point, but damn if my heart didn’t beat ten times faster as I stared at her picture. She looked younger in person. A little more fresh-faced. I looked down at the picture again, finding more differences. She looked like your typical stiff wearing a black suit, hair pinned back, and pearl earrings with a law library and American flag waving in the background.
I reluctantly tore my eyes away from those captivating brown eyes that the camera had managed to capture. I looked up at the rest of the room. Silence blanketed the room as I looked up to find all the men, including my father, staring at her picture. A possessive feeling overcame me, which infuriated me to say the least. I didn’t know this woman, yet she controlled these familiar emotions I’d once had control over with little to no effort. I reeled myself back in, checking my anger. I placed her picture face down and pulled out the papers that accompanied her photo.
“Reign Johnson,” I said out loud, lifting the silence off of the room.
Some of the men cleared their throats while others shifted in their chairs.
As conversations began to fill the room again, I read her file. She had a clean background. She was married to some self-made millionaire named Keith Stealth. She was originally from Staten Island, New York, but had been working in D.C. for the past ten years.
“Do we got any dirt on her?” Luca asked, quieting the room. “She might be a problem if we don’t. It says right here that she has a ninety-five percent conviction rate.”
But it also said that crimes had been low in her district for the first time in sixty years. She led the campaign on bail reform which led to several pre-trial alternative bail programs to be started. She even created an alternative to incarceration programs and presented that as an option for those convicted of a crime. The woman was a force and was most definitely going to a be a problem for many people in this city.
“Nothing.” Salvatore sat in a chair at the head of the table. “Her father is Raymond Johnson.”
“The hedge fund owner?” I asked, recalling the name I’d heard throughout the years. He was among the few companies in New York that were still a private corporation.
“Yes,” Salvatore confirmed. “He owns Omega Management.”
“Whatever happened to sticking with our own?” Matteo, the underboss of the DaVecchio family asked. “We always had someone connected to the old country. Clearly this is a moolie.”
“We didn’t choose her,” Uncle Ciro revealed.
“Then who did?” Vinny asked.
“You can thank your governor.” Uncle Augustino’s snide remark could not be missed. “It’s official. Reign Johnson will be our first black DA.”
Francesco switched to my father’s native dialect of Italian. “I don’t know what America is turning into but if the blacks take over, I’m moving back to Italy.”
“You’d be leaving a lot of money on the table,” I responded, pushing the file to the side.
“True,” Francesco nodded. “But I don’t like the way this country is heading. Blacks rising up, women in politics... the whole thing gives me a headache.”
“You sound old-fashioned.” Battista pulled out a cigar from his pocket.
“Old-fashioned worked,” Francesco argued. He was one of the older Dons, who couldn’t part ways with the past.
“Old-fashioned worked for that time. Now we have to look ahead and adapt to the time or get left behind,” I said, looking down at my watch. We were already spending too much time on this woman.
“What about Scappa?” Vinny asked before taking a sip of
his cappuccino.
“What about him?” I countered.
Vinny placed his cup on top of the saucer. “Shouldn’t we be concerned about him being a canary?”
“He knows not to sing,” I said, dismissively. “Besides, let him enjoy retirement for a bit before we clip those pretty little wings of his.”
“But should we really trust this broad?” Luca asked, his voice laced with concern.
“Enough about her,” Salvatore interjected. “What’s the count?”
Everyone went around the room, giving an update about their quarterly earnings. Angelo Salmieri, the acting Don of the Salmieri family, was the last to announce his family’s quarterly earnings. “We’ve dropped.”
Salvatore threw his half-eaten Italian Ice into the garbage pail beside the register. I recognized the venom in his blue eyes. It resembled my own when it came down to the business. My father’s lips quirked into a half-smitten smile. That fucking warped sadistic smile was his signature. The room had fallen silent with everyone looking at Angelo while my eyes never left my father’s.
“How low?” Salvatore’s calloused voice spilled into the room, bringing red to the colorless scene.
“Angelo brought this to my attention when he noticed there was a freeze on the Union 697 account,” Lenny Salmieri, the younger brother of the late Don Carmine and the great uncle of Angelo, explained. “My guy down at the Office of Labor and Management told me he’d handled it.”
“What’re the figures?” Salvatore asked through clenched teeth.
Angelo lowered his head like a scared child. “There are none. No money is moving in or out.”
Uncle Ciro cleared his throat. “Is this the same union from last year?”
“Yeah. Ray Castellano,” Angelo spat out. “My grandfather—”
“Gave you the order to handle it from his deathbed,” Uncle Ciro snapped, cutting him off. “Am I right?”
It was less of a question and more of statement. Uncle Ciro rarely asked questions. He was presumptuous by nature, rarely asking questions he didn’t already have an answer to. My father and uncles each had signatures that stood out in the commission, yet they all supported each other just the same.
Angelo pressed his lips against his steepled fingers. For a few long tense seconds, he was silent with eyes cast downward. Before anyone could remind him that he’d been spoken to, he replied dispiritedly. “Yes.”
“Yes, who?”
“Yes, Mr. Balducci.” Angelo cut his eyes at Uncle Ciro. “My grandfather gave me the order. We roughed him up a little and he swore he’d drop the accusation.”
“Then why are we here?” Salvatore asked. “Why is there a freeze on the accounts?”
“I don’t know.” Angelo’s head lowered like a scolded child. “He was supposed to—”
“You were supposed to get rid of him,” Uncle Ciro reminded. “Not spank him. Seems to me you can’t follow orders. And because of that, we’re losing money.”
“What can your guy do to make this go away?” Salvatore turned to Lenny.
“Nothing. This is way past the Office of Labor and Management. I reached out to my guy down at DLOIG. It’s outta their hands,” Lenny explained. “Even my guy down at the IRS is unsure of who’s investigating.”
“Why not ask Ray Castellano, himself?” Uncle Augustino asked. “Find out who he’s been talking to.”
Angelo lifted his head as if a light bulb had just lit up in his head. “Or should I just get rid of him?”
“Can you believe this guy?” Every muscle in Salvatore’s face rolled around, resetting to transform into the monster I knew all too well. “Who asks for permission for an order that was already given?”
Angelo’s cheeks flushed to a new shade of red. His deeply-set brown eyes coated with fear, nervously darted around the room. The silent plea he gave his great-uncle, Lenny, couldn’t be missed.
“Un uh,” Salvatore cut through the quiet SOS. “He can’t help you and I ain’t repeating the question.”
“I…ah,” he stuttered. Angelo looked away again.
Strike one.
“This guy thinks I’m the floor.” Salvatore snickered as he stood and walked around the tables. He stopped in front of Angelo’s table. “You’ve got a pair of balls on you, kid.”
Salvatore looked around the rest of room. Like puppets, members of the four families chuckled, feeding into this poisonous ego that flooded my father’s bloodstream. He wasn’t going to let up.
“No one must’ve told you about my balls.” Salvatore aimed the barrel of his gun at the center of Angelo's forehead. This enticed sinister chortles to escape the throats of my uncles while members of the other families sat idle.
“He’ll do it.”
All eyes landed on me. Half the men looked like deer caught in headlights while the other half looked like they were afraid to have a reaction. So, they settled on the safety of blank expressions. It certainly got the attention of Salvatore and my uncles who were now staring me down with the same glowing lethal eyes I had inherited.
I could feel each heartbeat space out as I mirrored my father’s stare. Like him, I had no intention of repeating myself. After a brief stare-off with eyes that refused to blink, Salvatore cocked his gun back and tucked it into the side of his waist. He broke his eyes away from me and turned his attention back to Angelo.
“Handle it or else it’ll be my son putting a bullet between your eyes.” Salvatore cut his eyes to the side, setting his sights on me. “Don’t forget this is still a trial run for you.”
Church ended an hour later with everyone walking away with a piece of the sermon to carry with them as we ventured back into the world. Not much had changed. My father’s closing statement had been a reminder of the bounty on the person responsible for the deaths of my brother, Vincenzo, and my cousin, Andriano.
“Nicolai, um…” Angelo approached my table. “Thank—”
“Angelo,” I interrupted. “Like my father said, don’t let it be me.”
I didn’t interrupt my father because I wanted to save Angelo. Frankly, I didn’t give a shit about the kid. It was stupid for Don Carmine to have passed up on his right-hand man, Peppy, to give his estranged grandson power over a whole family. But, I gave less fucks about a dead man’s decision. Sooner or later, Angelo would get snuffed out. He just better hope it wasn’t by me.
I stood to stretch my legs, locking eyes with my father. People often said we looked alike, but the similarities ended there. We couldn’t be any more different. Judging by the way he stared at me, I knew he wanted me to stay.
As the last of the men filed out of the room, I walked over to my father and sunk into the chair beside him. I had a pretty good idea what he wanted to talk about. After all, he probably saw weakness when I stepped in to spare Angelo a bullet.
The older man’s face was relaxed as he spoke in Italian, “What do you think of this new DA?”
“There’s no way to know for sure if she’ll be a problem for us. We just got to see how she moves. The only problem I see is that Tommy’s going to be tried in her district. If Scappa was in office, we could make this go away.”
Salvatore nodded. “Did you get him an attorney?”
“The very best money could buy. But top attorneys only stay at the top when judges can be paid off and witnesses change their stories. This is completely different. Tommy had enough heroin, opiates, and cocaine to open up a pharmacy. There’s no way to hide that when there’s pictures of cops loading drugs from his apartment into the van.”
“He was arrested with two other guys. Can he pin everything on one of them?”
“That’s an option.”
“He can’t do time. Tommy’s many things, but he’s not built for a cell. He’d sell out his mother before he does time.”
“Tommy doesn’t know anything about us. He’s not even an associate.”
“We don’t know what Vincenzo…” He paused. “What he may have told him. If he even knows a fract
ion about us, it can open up a whole investigation.”
“So let it. I worked hard to legitimize everything.”
“But not everyone is legitimate. We have to protect this family and the other four families. That’s how we survive. Protecting our own. And whether we want it or not, Tommy is considered our own.”
I ran a hand down my face. “You’re right. I’ll handle it.”
I got up to leave, but Salvatore’s voice stopped me. I returned to my seat, sitting beside him again.
“Your mother was happy to see you when you came the other morning. She really enjoys seeing you.”
“It’s good to see she’s holding up.”
“She’s strong. Come around more.”
“Business has been crazy these past few months so we’ll see.”
Salvatore looked away and nodded. I studied my father’s aging skin. Before being taken over by wrinkles, I used to be able to read each line on this man’s face, matching it to the different layers of his emotions. Now, it all looked the same, each wrinkle sagging over each other and each emotion concurrently meshing into the next.
He looked back up at me. “She already lost one son. Don’t make her feel like she lost two.”
Reign
“I’m so glad we were able to squeeze in dinner before you really got elbows deep in work.”
When I envisioned what a superhero looked like, I always pictured her to be a lawyer who spent the day fighting for justice in six-inch-heels. Though she had traded her six-inch-heels for three-inch-ones, Governor Banks was still my version of a hero.
“Its great to see you again Governor Banks.” I embraced her with a hug that we only exchanged in private.
“Governor Banks?” She cocked her head to the side as she released me. “No need to be formal. Its just you and I here.”
I followed her to the round table set for two. “Well before you were Governor Banks, I called you Attorney General Banks.”
“And what did I say all those years ago?”
“Call you Maxine when no one was around.”