Clean Slate (New Mafia Trilogy #2)

by E. J. Fechenda

  “Was that you?” Uncle Al asked my dad.

  “Someone took shots at us - some guys in a black Beemer.” My dad ushered my mom and Eva inside, but let Anthony stay outside with the men. “It was a warning only. If they wanted us dead, they had the opportunity.”

  “The shooter was Asian. They got beef with us?” I asked. Uncle Al groaned and hung his head.

  “Yeah, fucking Marco reneged on a distribution deal in Chinatown with the TRGs.” TRG was short for Tiny Rascal Gangsters and they were one of the two top Asian gangs in the city.

  “What did he do?”

  “He gave the deal to the Red Scorpions instead. They were willing to take less of a cut off the top.” The Red Scorpions were the other major gang and they didn’t play well in the sandbox together.

  “Shit, when did this go down?”

  “When you and Grant did your disappearing act,” Telly said with an accusing tone I didn’t appreciate. I turned and glared at him, taking a step closer until we stood chest to chest.

  “Trying to stir up shit again, Telly? Go ahead and try.”

  “Hey, knock it off. It’s Christmas Eve for Christ’s sake,” Uncle Al said, putting an arm between us. Telly took a step back and I held my ground until he turned away. “We’ll talk about the situation with the TRGs later, right now it’s family time.”

  Grant came to stand next to me as everyone else filed inside. “I don’t trust Telly,” I told him.

  “Me either. When the change happens he’s on board or he’s out.”

  “He can’t hear about our plans. He’ll go right to Marco.”

  “Agreed.” We walked inside together. The warmth of the restaurant felt great against my cold skin. We hung our jackets up on a coat stand that was right by the front door. The stairs leading to the second floor reserved for private parties was roped off.

  To the left was a large arched opening that led into what once was a living room back when this was a house for Franco’s great-grandfather, but it had long ago been converted to a dining area for the restaurant. Uncle Franco had moved all of the tables together to form three long rows. Uncle Marco sat at the head of the middle row and his wife, my Aunt Paulina, sat to his right. He was talking to Miranda, gesticulating with both hands, even though he held a full glass of red wine in one. Every time he moved, wine threatened to spill onto the white tablecloth. My dad had taken a seat at the head of the table closest to the brick fireplace that had a roaring fire and Uncle Al sat at the head of the table by the archway. I went to sit next to my dad, on his left and across from my mom. Grant took a seat next to Miranda.

  A giant Christmas tree, the gold star on top almost touching the nine foot ceiling, took up most of the front window area. Its white lights added to the soft glow already provided by multiple tea light candles on the tables and from the fireplace. Poinsettias were placed randomly throughout the dining room. I looked across the table at my mom and smiled at her. Eva was off in the corner playing with a few cousins; her earlier scare seemed to be momentarily forgotten. I was glad the shooting tonight was just a warning, but it also served as a reminder of how tenuous business negotiations in our world could end. It’s not like the suits in corporate America settled their disputes with bullets.

  Aunt Gloria, Uncle Franco and their daughter, Bianca, came out of the kitchen each carrying a giant platter of their signature fried calamari. Steam wafted up from the heaping piles of crispy deliciousness and my stomach growled when the scent drifted over. They set the calamari down at the head of each table, but I knew they weren’t done. Less than five minutes later each table had three platters.

  Uncle Marco led grace and we all stood, joining hands for a show of thanks.

  “We have a lot to be thankful for this year. I know it was a rough summer and we lost some friends. We almost lost our boy, Dom. But we didn’t. As we gather today, we need to thank our Lord for keeping watch over us and may He continue to do so. Amen.”

  We murmured amen and Marco ended with a loud, “Mangia!” Wine was poured and the first course devoured. I remembered the blissed out expression on Natalie’s face when she first tried Aunt Gloria’s calamari. I had fed her a piece and she had closed her eyes, licked a tiny spot of marinara sauce off of her bottom lip then let out a moan. It had taken every ounce of willpower to stay in my chair and not take her right there in the kitchen.

  As if she read my mind, Aunt Gloria came to a stop behind my chair and leaning over, she whispered in my ear, “Have you heard from Natalie?” I shook my head no. “I’m sorry, hon. I liked her.” She patted my shoulder before picking up the empty platter.

  “Thanks Aunt G., I miss her.”

  “I bet you do.” She left to go grab the next course which was broiled flounder and baskets of risotto balls. More wine was poured, this time a pinot grigio, and we dug in. I caught my mom looking at me. “What?” I asked.

  She dabbed the corner of her mouth with the red cloth napkin before responding. “Do you think Natalie will come back? Maybe it’s time to move on.”

  I put my fork down and felt my lips form a narrow line. I wasn’t having that conversation here in front of everyone. Removing my napkin from my lap, I set it on the table and excused myself. When I stood up, I noticed Uncle Marco watching me and I knew he had heard my mom’s question. Looking away, I walked outside to get some air. I had just sat down on the freezing cold marble steps when I heard the door open, a chorus of voices spilling out briefly before the door clicked shut. I glanced over my shoulder to see Grant. He took a seat next to me at the top of the stoop.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “This would have been my first Christmas with your sister. I don’t even know what traditions your family has?”

  “Uncomfortable silence is one,” he said with a caustic laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked off into the distance, deep in thought. “Nat and I would bake cookies together. My mom doesn’t get into the holiday spirit, so Nat would get rolls of cookie dough from the grocery store and we’d spend an afternoon baking. I’d roll the dough out and we used all the Christmas themed cookie cutters. Of course we’d annoy each other. Nat hated it when I flung flour at her.”

  I laughed at the visual, picturing Nat trying to look indignant, her hands on her hips giving Grant an earful, all while covered in flour.

  “This was something I always looked forward to. We didn’t do it last year because we were both too busy.” Grant paused. “What’s really on your mind?”

  It was hard to believe that a year ago Grant and I barely tolerated other, especially when I started dating Natalie, but now he was able to read me so well. I guess killing people together really was a bonding experience.

  “My mom asked me if I thought Natalie was coming back. Seeing her with Jason makes me wonder. What do you think?”

  Grant sighed and looked at me. “Honestly, I don’t know, but I do know Natalie loves you. She never did relationships and for her to let you in, that’s something. If you give her time and we provide her security then I think she’ll come back because her family is here and you’re here.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Come on, let’s go in. It’s fucking freezing.” Grant stood and opened the door. I followed him inside. Marco eyed us curiously when we entered the dining room so I stopped at his table.

  “Something I should know about?” Marco asked.

  “Nah, we were just getting some air and making room.” I tapped my stomach, which was already full, but I noticed that big bowls of clam linguine had been brought out and couldn’t resist. Before it had been too warm sitting so close to the fireplace, but now I welcomed the blast of heat as I sat down and scooped some linguine on my plate. The pasta glistened with olive oil and chunks of garlic as big as the clams.

  By the time the fried shrimp and crab cakes were brought out, I was extremely full and feeling sleepy from all of the wine. Uncle Marco sat like a king at the head of his table regaling his subjects with tal
es. I got up to help in the kitchen. I filled a newly polished stainless steel coffee urn with coffee and wheeled the cart out to the smaller dining area right outside the kitchen. Bianca followed me with a separate cart loaded with cannoli, Baci Di Dama, small hazelnut cookies with a milk chocolate filling, an assortment of Italian Christmas cookies dusted with bright colored sugar and Strazzate, chocolate almond cookies that were so hard it helped to soften them up by dipping them in coffee.

  All the younger cousins and Eva swarmed the moment the desserts were out. I grabbed a cup of coffee and found an empty seat next to Dante at his table where he was sitting next to his dad, Uncle Al.

  “Hey, I heard Eva was pretty shaken up earlier,” Dante said.

  “Yeah, we got fucking lucky.” I ran a hand through my hair and leaned back in the chair, filling Dante and Uncle Al in on how the car passed us on the street before turning the corner. “They could have easily opened up then, but they didn’t.”

  “Definitely a warning. Sounds like we need to return the threat,” Uncle Al said.

  “What if we offer the same deal to the TRGs as we did the Scorpions and expand our distribution since they each have exclusive territory?” I asked.

  “Because they’re fucking greedy bastards, that’s why,” Marco butted in, slamming his fist down on the table, drawing the attention of everyone and silencing the room. Miranda’s shoulders stiffened at his outburst. Aunt Paulina placed her hand on top of his and whispered something. He pulled his hand free. “End of discussion,” he said while refilling his glass with wine.

  Dante gave me a sideways glance and I quickly looked away. Questioning Uncle Marco’s business dealings in front of the entire family wasn’t the smartest move. He was indeed paranoid and had been watching me closely since I got back from California. I began to wonder if he already knew of our plans.

  Chapter 25

  LOS ANGELES

  NATALIE

  Chelsea went back to York for the holidays and I stayed behind. Jason had invited me to his dad’s third or fourth home in Sonoma for the holidays, but it felt too much like something a girlfriend would do and I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s girlfriend. Victor invited me to Gio’s estate. He tried applying the argument that it would be the safest place in town. While I agreed with him, I turned down the invitation. Instead I accepted the least complicated offer, my boss’. Callie was spending Christmas Eve at her house with her two daughters and her parents.

  I spent the afternoon baking cookies and for the first time made dough from scratch. I felt a twinge of homesickness that Grant wasn’t with me helping to roll out the dough. He’d be impressed with the outcome because even though the gingerbread came out a little hard, the sugar cookies, peanut blossoms and oatmeal coconut chocolate chip bars were perfect. I wrapped presents and then packaged up the cookies in decorative holiday tins.

  Right before I left for Callie’s, I grabbed a half gallon of egg nog from the refrigerator. With my radio set to the local station that played nothing but holiday songs, I hit the road. Callie lived in the Mount Washington neighborhood, which was about a half hour south. Traffic on the freeway and surface streets was light. By the time I reached Callie’s house, dusk had settled over her neighborhood making the street numbers difficult to read. Fortunately, she’d told me to look out for the terraced landscaping with red gravel and a large palm tree that marked the corner of her property. Callie’s house was a split level with beige siding, and a dark forest green garage door, which I parked in front of, next to a blue Toyota Camry.

  Despite the holiday baking and music, I was not in the Christmas spirit, mainly because I wasn’t freezing my ass off. It was more like a warm spring night out and it felt odd. Juggling the bags full of holiday cheer, I managed to ring the doorbell. A little girl in an adorable red satin dress that had white and green stripes, opened the door and stared up at me with her big brown eyes.

  “You must be Addison,” I said, recognizing her as the youngest daughter from the pictures Callie had in her office at Dirty. Addison nodded, her curly auburn hair bouncing with the motion. “I’m Natalie, I work for your mom.”

  Addison stepped to the side and let me in, eyeing up the bag full of presents in my hand. I walked into the small tile entryway. A short flight of wooden stairs were directly in front of me and to the left was a hallway, to the right was a spacious living room. In the center of the main wall, a gas fireplace was on and the Christmas tree sparkled in the corner.

  “Nat, so glad you made it,” Callie called from the top of the stairs. “Come on up.”

  I followed Addison up the stairs which led to an open floor plan. The kitchen overlooked both the family and dining room. A gas fireplace flickered in the family room, reflecting off of the hardwood floors. Callie was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. The countertops were beige granite and the stove was set in front of a small breakfast bar. An elderly couple sat in the two bar stools. I handed the one bag that contained all of the presents to Addison. “Can you put these under the tree?” She snatched the canvas bag and took off down the stairs.

  “Mom, Dad this is Natalie. She works at Dirty. Natalie, meet my parents, Jim and Becky Stone.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I shook their hands before asking Callie where I should put the cookies and egg nog. After that was taken care of, Callie handed me a glass of white wine.

  “Can I help with anything?” I asked.

  “Stir this until it comes to a boil and then turn the burner to medium.”

  I peered into the large copper pot and inhaled the spices. “Is this curry?”

  “Yes, it’s a coconut base. I need to grab some shrimp from the freezer in the garage. Be right back.” My stomach rumbled as I stirred the curry. Callie’s parent’s chatted with me and asked the usual questions, but nothing too intrusive. Callie appeared with a bag of frozen shrimp and dumped it into the creamy base. I kept stirring while Callie pulled a tray of spring rolls from the refrigerator. She set these out on the dining room table which was already set. Red and green taper candles in brass reindeer candleholders made up the centerpiece.

  ‘Ally, Addison, dinner!” Callie called, her voice echoing off the pale gray walls. She carried a tureen full of curry and a smaller one with rice over to the table. A small stampede indicated the girls were coming up the stairs. We sat around the table. Callie reached for her daughter’s hands, who were sitting next to her. We all clasped hands as Ally led grace. “God is good, God is great and we thank him for our food. Amen.” She giggled and I couldn’t help but laugh with her. This was like the get out of jail free card in Monopoly. Whenever I was in a situation to say grace as a kid, this was my favorite. It was silly, but technically it counted, I guess.

  “It’s not a typical Christmas Eve feast, but Frank and I had a tradition where we made ethnic food from a different country each year. It’s something I continued after he died and it feels like he’s still here with us,” Callie explained as she passed a spring roll to me with chopsticks.

  “I think that’s a great tradition. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Don’t you have a family?” Ally asked.

  Callie shushed her, but I said, “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Setting my spoon down, I looked across the table at Ally. She had the same deep brown eyes as her sister, but her hair was straight and dirty blond. She wore a solid black satin dress with a red cardigan over top; an older pre-teen look I had seen on mannequins in the mall. “I moved here from Philadelphia and wasn’t able to go home to see my mom and brother this year.”

  “You don’t have a dad either?” Addison asked. She was quick to pick up that I hadn’t mentioned my father.

  “No, I don’t.” I didn’t go into details. These girls didn’t need to know that my dad chose to leave when I was five and never looked back. Their father died in a horrible shooting, he didn’t have a choice.

  “Like us!” She chirped and gave me a gap-toothed smile.

  “That’s right,” I
said and glanced over at Callie. She was smiling, but her eyes shone with emotion.

  After dinner, I helped clear the table and poured egg nog for everyone. Grabbing the containers of cookies, I followed Callie’s family downstairs. We sat around the Christmas tree; the girls on the floor and the adults on a plush gray suede sectional. With the fire roaring in the fireplace, it was easy to forget I wasn’t in a warm climate. The girls were allowed to open the presents from me and they passed a gift bag to Callie, who looked at me with narrowed eyes. She reached in, rustling through the tissue paper and pulled out an envelope. She opened it and gasped. I had given her a two hundred dollar gift card to her favorite day spa.

  “Nat, you shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”

  “Callie, you’ve helped me out a lot, it’s the least I can do.”

  Ally squealed at that moment and we turned to look. She was holding up a sketchbook, a set of coloring pencils and a box of crayons. “Thank you!” She proceeded to open the sketchbook and pencils and lying flat on her stomach on the hardwood floor, she started to draw.

  Addison came over and hugged my legs. “I love my princess doll and pony!” The doll had long, flowing blond hair that could be styled so I scooted onto the floor and sat next to Addison, our backs against the front of the sofa, and helped her braid. Soon she was off on her own playing in front of the fireplace. I wandered over to see what Ally was drawing. She had sketched their cat Sphinx, who was sleeping on the tree skirt underneath the tree, oblivious to anything going on around him. Ally had the proportions down right except for Sphinx’s ears. I pointed it out and instructed her on how to correct, giving her a tip about using a grid as a guideline. The gridlines could be erased after the object was drawn. She was a quick study and made her corrections.

  “You’re talented,” I said and she beamed at me. Tearing the sheet out from the sketchbook, she handed me her drawing.