Mick Sinatra 4: If You Don't Know Me by Now

by Mallory Monroe

  MICK SINATRA 4

  IF YOU DON’T KNOW ME BY NOW

  By

  MALLORY MONROE

  Copyright©2016 Mallory Monroe

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  AUSTIN BROOK PUBLISHING

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  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for the story’s sake.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  The Maserati came to a rolling stop and Mick Sinatra and his son Teddy jumped out of the front, while Angelo Jovanni, Mick’s enforcer, jumped out of the back. All three men ran into the building, took the stairs two at a time, and ran onto the hall past the dormant elevators.

  Mick led the charge. He was accustomed to crisis. He was accustomed to getting there before any shit jumped off. But he wasn’t accustomed to this. His ankle length white coat flared around his black suit as his swift walk became a run. Just thinking about it had his heart pounding. Just thinking about it had him racing. Teddy was younger, but he could barely keep up with his father. And Angelo couldn’t keep up with either one of them.

  Mick ran to the condo and used the key Gloria had given him to unlock the door. But the lock had been changed. Another surprise. She left her small apartment and moved into the spacious two-story condo, a home nestled inside one of the most luxurious condo buildings in Philly, less than three weeks ago. She changed the locks then and gave him a key. Now they were changed again?

  “I’ve got it, boss,” Angelo said, knowing that he came on gigs like this for his muscle, and he was ready to knock down that door if he had to. But Mick didn’t give him a chance. This was his daughter they were talking about. This was his daughter who was screaming in that phone. Every second counted. He did his own dirty work and kicked in that door so savagely that the door fell off its hinges.

  Teddy began calling for his sister as soon as they got inside. “Gloria? Gloria? Glori!”

  But there was no answer. Teddy and Angelo began running throughout the condo in search of Gloria Sinatra. But Mick stood still. In the middle of the room. He had to see what he could see, and rushing around wasn’t going to show him the hidden evidence. He looked at every piece of furniture. He looked at every section of every wall. He turned around. He turned back around. But he saw nothing. No blood. No signs of struggle. Nothing.

  “Dad, up here!”

  It was Teddy. And from the desperate sound in his voice, Mick knew it was bad. He ran upstairs in mere seconds, across the landing and into the master bedroom. Angelo was already there.

  But even though Mick was expecting the worse, he was still not prepared for the bloodbath he saw. Because blood was everywhere. On the walls. On the bed. On the knobs of Gloria’s bedroom door. Mick’s heart was pounding when he walked through that room. He saw blood, but no body. Was it in the master bath?

  “Nothing’s in there,” Angelo said. “It’s clean as a whistle in there, boss.”

  But Mick knew something was there. He could feel it in his bones. No kidnapper left this much blood, and allowed Gloria to phone her father screaming, unless they wanted him to find something. They wanted Mick to see this carnage.

  But Mick knew there was more to see. He knew there was more. He tore that room upside down. He, with Teddy and Angelo helping him, rummaged through every drawer, tossed the mattress, tossed the bedspring, knocked over the dresser and chest, knocked over the dressing table. But they found nothing. Not in the furniture, not under the furniture. Nothing. Until Mick thought again.

  “The safe,” he said as if it was a revelation in and of itself, and then he took off.

  “What safe?” Teddy asked, running behind him.

  Angelo’s big bulk ran too, but he was no match for the Sinatras. By the time he made it downstairs, across the living room and into the home office, Mick was already unlocking and then opening a safe that had been tucked into a wall behind a painting. There was some cash in it, some expensive jewelry too. But also a DVD. When Teddy saw the DVD, he grabbed it.

  He saw the title of the DVD. “Dad, look,” he said, and handed it to his father.

  The handwritten name on the DVD was what caught Mick’s attention too. For Dad were the only words written on it. For Dad was the title.

  Teddy stared at his father. He could see the agony in Mick’s big, intense green eyes. But Mick was never so thrown that he couldn’t handle business. “Put it on,” he ordered Teddy, and handed it back to him.

  Mick sat behind his daughter’s desk as Teddy put the DVD into her laptop computer. Teddy stood beside Mick, Angelo stood behind Mick, and all three watched. Within seconds the beautiful face of Gloria Sinatra, Mick’s biracial daughter, a woman in her early twenties, appeared on the screen. She was sitting in this very study, exactly where her father was now sitting, when she made the video.

  “This is difficult,” she said. He could see the pain all over her pretty face. “This is really hard. But it’s been that kind of a few months. I tried to keep it from you, Dad. And I hope you never have to see this. I hope nobody does. But . . .” Tears appeared in Gloria’s big, sad eyes. “I’m afraid, Daddy.”

  Mick’s heart squeezed in pain. Teddy moved in closer.

  “I’m afraid Daddy,” Gloria repeated, “and I can’t keep overlooking what I know. I can’t keep making excuses for what I’ve found out. So I have to do this. I have to let you know that if anything happens to me, anything bad, I want you to know who’s responsible.”

  Teddy and Angelo looked at each other. What the fuck? But Mick didn’t move a muscle. He sat still and stared at his terrified child on that screen.

  “If anything happens to me,” Gloria continued, and then she hesitated again. “If anything happens to me, please know that Roz is behind it.”

  As soon as Mick heard that name, he rose to his feet. His face was frowned, his entire countenance was in disbelief. Teddy was equally stunned.

  “Roz either did it herself,” Gloria continued, “or hired somebody to do it. She’s the one responsible. Tha
t’s where you have to look first.”

  Mick’s heart was hammering. Teddy’s heart was hammering. And Angelo was dumbstruck. He looked at Mick. “Roz?” he asked. “But that’s your wife, boss. Mrs. Sinatra is Roz. What is she talking about? That’s your wife!”

  Teddy looked at his father too. His stunned eyes unable to receive it. But Gloria didn’t tell lies. Gloria didn’t hold grudges. Gloria loved Roz!

  And Mick, for the first time in all his life, was speechless.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Five Weeks Earlier

  African-American socialite Tamron Dawson-Blake walked into Anstrom’s and was immediately greeted by Danielle, a gangly saleswoman anxious to please. “Mrs. Blake, welcome back!”

  “Thank you, darling,” Tamron said as she held her clutch against her side and removed her gloves. She was married to Benny Blake, starting wide receiver for the Philadelphia Eagles, and everybody knew her for her charity work. They also knew her for her lavish lifestyle.

  “Is there anything I can help you with today, ma’am? We have a new shipment of your favorite scarfs. They came in yesterday.”

  “Actually, I’m good. I’m meeting a friend of mine. Mrs. Sinatra.” Tamron began looking around. “Has she arrived yet?”

  “I don’t believe so, no, ma’am,” Danielle responded, looking around too. But it was the name that stuck with her. Sinatra Industries was one of the largest companies, and employers, in Philly. Mick Sinatra was a name as well known around their town as the players for the Eagles and the 76ers. Could the person she was waiting for be that Sinatra? She decided to test it. “Mrs. Mick Sinatra has not yet arrived,” the saleswoman said.

  “I’ll just browse around then,” Tamron said, “until she comes.”

  “Let me know if I can be of any assistance,” Danielle replied. But as soon as Tamron left her side, and began looking at the expensive clothes in the expensive boutique, she hurried behind the counter, picked up the phone, and called the office upstairs. She called the owner of Anstrom’s.

  “Mrs. Benny Blake is here today,” she said into the phone.

  “Good,” the owner responded. “Treat her well. We can use every large order we can get.”

  “She also mentioned,” Danielle continued, “that she’s waiting for the arrival of Mrs. Mick Sinatra.”

  A bump sound was heard, as if the owner had quickly risen to her feet. Danielle smiled.

  “Mrs. Sinatra?” the owner asked with sudden excitement in her drab voice. “Mrs. Mick Sinatra is coming to our shop? To my shop?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Are you certain, Danielle?”

  “Unless there’s more than one Mrs. Mick Sinatra, I’m certain.”

  “I’m on my way down. If she gets there before I can, you treat that woman like royalty. Her connections could get us back on the map!”

  The saleslady smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, and hung up the phone. But it was no laughing matter for Danielle either. Anstrom’s was struggling in this economy. Many of the elites who used to shop there had either gone bankrupt, were near bankruptcy, or were too cautious with their money to splurge. If things didn’t pick back up, their doors could shut in a matter of months. Although Danielle didn’t see how one wealthy woman could make the kind of difference they needed made, her boss seemed hopeful. So she was hopeful too.

  Mrs. Parks, the heavyset Caucasian owner, made it downstairs just as the doors of the shop opened and Rosalind Sinatra walked in. Although Danielle didn’t recognize her, the owner did. She’d seen her in society columns, or on the arm of that gorgeous Mick Sinatra at different high end functions around town. Many of the women in her circle despised her for taking Mick away from them, but the owner knew Mick wouldn’t give any of those females the time of day anyway. She was just pleased that his wife was in her shop.

  “Get your phone out,” Parks whispered to Danielle. “Take a few snapshots as I greet Mrs. Sinatra. If she doesn’t buy a thing, we can still make it worth our while.”

  “By posting it on social media?” Danielle asked.

  “Of course,” Parks responded, and made her way toward the entrance.

  It seemed tacky to Danielle, but she wasn’t the one struggling to keep a business afloat. Her boss was. She pulled out her cellphone and privately did what she was told.

  “Roz, you made it!” Tamron said gaily as she hurried over to her friend. She and Roz hugged vigorously. Then Tamron leaned back and took a good look at her. “Don’t you look fab as usual,” she said.

  “Thanks, girl.” Roz began looking around as she placed her clutch beneath her arm, and began removing her leather gloves. She was dressed in a mid-length dark blue jacket with a thick belt tied at her waist, and a flare-legged tailored pantsuit beneath the jacket. “It is so cold out there!”

  What Tamron loved most about Roz was her style. She dressed marvelously, she thought, no matter what combination of clothes she wore. She also looked marvelous, with her thick black hair, her flawless dark brown skin, and her big, bright brown eyes. And the fact that she was Mick Sinatra’s wife only enhanced her beauty. She had to have something awfully special, Tamron knew, to wrangle a man like him. “You’re shivering,” she said, rubbing Roz’s arm.

  “I can’t seem to stay warm. It’s so cold out there.”

  “Come on, now, Roz. I know your New York ass is not complaining about our mild weather.”

  “Oh, yes, she is,” Roz said, and she and Tamron laughed.

  It was only after they began laughing did Mrs. Parks, the shop owner, decide to interrupt. She hurried over. “Good afternoon, ladies,” she said.

  “Hello, Ethel,” Tamron said. “Roz, this is Ethel Parks. She owns the place.”

  The women shook hands. “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Parks.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Sinatra. Am I correct?”

  Roz found it strange when people she never recalled seeing before knew who she was. But Mick was well known around town. She was always with Mick. She was getting used to it. “Yes,” she said. “That is correct.” Then she began looking around. “Very nice shop you have here.”

  “Thank you so much,” Parks said with a big smile. “We cater to our customers one thousand percent. So if you see anything you like, anything at all, even if it’s not in your size, we can order it for you and have it to you within a day.”

  Roz liked her customer service. But she also knew the place it was coming from. “Why thank you, Mrs. Parks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Please let me know if you need anything.” And then she walked away.

  “Desperate much?” Roz asked.

  “And how,” Tamron said. “Her sales have tanked like a rock in the ocean over the last few months. When she was flying high she barely knew my name. Now she’s all up in my grill. Please.”

  “Nothing wrong with somebody doing all they can to stay afloat,” Roz said as they began looking at clothes. “I’ve been there myself.”

  Tamron smiled. “I forgot we used to be Broadway actresses.”

  “Struggling Broadway actresses,” she reminded Tam. “And it was pretty much off-Broadway actresses most of the time for both of us, thank you very much.”

  “But at least we knew when to call it a day,” Tamron said. “At least we didn’t let all of that experience go to waste by waiting for that big break. You made your own break with your talent agency. I’ll bet you aren’t struggling anymore.”

  “Thank God,” Roz said as she made her way to the lingerie section. “To God be the glory for my success. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the struggle. I haven’t.” She looked at Tamron. “And I never will.”

  “I’ve forgotten it already,” Tamron said defiantly. “I act as if I never struggled a day in my life, and people respect me for it. You ought to forget about that past stuff, Roz, just like I did, and move the hell on. We’re doing fab now and that’s all that matters. As for all of those losers we left behind? I say tough. If
we could get up, they can too.”

  Roz looked at Tamron. She never understood how she could so easily forget her past. It was such a contradiction. Tamron gave to charities all day long, and hosted giveaways to the poor every holiday, but she seemed to despise the people who needed the help. There was a time, not that long ago, when Tamron was a telemarketer out there trying to make a living too. Then she married a baller who happened to have a little money, and suddenly she was a rich socialite with no sympathy for anybody? Roz wasn’t cut from that kind of cloth. She would like to think she was made of sterner stuff than that. Like empathy. Like compassion. Like respect no matter what station in life people found themselves. Because Roz had been at the lowest station herself.

  “So how’s the twins?” Tamron asked.

  Roz smiled. “Spoiled,” she said, as she held up lingerie. “How else? Mick is their father.”

  Tamron laughed. “They’re spoiled rotten then. And it’s been what? A month since you had those beautiful babies?”

  “Six weeks and a day. That’s why I told you to find me a good place for lingerie that’s not my usual stores because I do not want to hear it from those ladies.”

  Tamron smiled. “You mean they’ll know why you suddenly want to look sexy again?”

  “Exactly,” Roz said.

  “Well, honey, you have no points to prove. You kept your shape and everything.”

  “That’s what you think,” Roz said. “I’ve got a few more pounds to lose.”

  “Mick’s complaining?”

  “Are you kidding? He thinks my baby fat is cute.”

  “Cute? Don’t you believe it! He just wants you as unattractive as possible to stave off all these hungry brothers out here.”

  Roz laughed. “I’m sure that’s not it.”

  “Don’t be so certain now,” Tamron said. “Men can be very calculating, especially if they love you. And for a man like Mick Sinatra to marry a woman? Please. He has to love your black ass something fierce.”

  Roz laughed again. Tamron had issues, but she was always good for a laugh.