The Bossman

by Renee Rose

  And was this what she wanted for her baby? A daddy who did time? A father with a high likelihood of dying a violent death?

  She pasted a smile on her face and suffered through the insipid baby shower games, the opening of presents, the brunch and the cake, all the while imagining this would soon be happening for her--the same guests, the same presents, the same food. What if her husband was in lock-up?

  She helped the other ladies bring the food and dishes into Carmen’s kitchen where she found herself cornered by Doña Teresa.

  “Why do you want to marry Joey?” the woman demanded in her thick accent.

  I don’t. Not that it’s anyone’s business.

  She ground her teeth. No suitable response came to her lips.

  “I know you can make him happy, I’m not worried about that,” the older woman said.

  “I can?”

  “But will you be happy? With Cosa Nostra?” Joey’s mother made a grand gesture of her hand around the room. “Because your mother never was and it caused misery for your father. You want that for Joey? Always having trouble with the other men over his wife?”

  Her face grew hot as different emotions washed through her. Fury with the woman for talking about her parents, and sharp pain. Pain that this very thing ended her father’s life, took him from them forever. And there was grief and then fear. Fear for Joey.

  No.

  She would not curse Joey to the life her father had led. She cared about him too much.

  “No,” she whispered and whirled around, searching for her purse to escape.

  She stumbled out of the house, barely capable of making her goodbyes. Her stomach was in knots and she started crying the moment her car hit the road, tears blurring her vision so much she wished she had wipers for them.

  By the time she got home, her belly was in real pain, cramps doubling her over. It was not until she discovered blood that she realized the cramps were in her uterus, not her stomach.

  #

  Taking out the La Torre Family was going to be child’s play. The boss, underboss, consigliere, boss’s brother, and at least three capos all played poker once a week in the private room of a public strip club. A private room he happened to know didn’t have any security cameras or wires so the men could discuss business freely. Installing C-4 explosives under their poker table would be a simple task--the only trick was getting in the room either without being seen, or without causing suspicion. Fortunately, it was a busy night and the bouncers were too busy making sure no one touched the dancers to notice him slip past the bathroom into the private poker room.

  Sophie’s text came in when he left the club.

  Got my period/miscarrying. Don’t come over. I don’t want company.

  Cold ice flooded his veins. Not his girl. Not his baby. He jumped in the car, his jaw as hard as his belly. She didn’t answer the door at first, but he persisted with knocking and waiting, then knocking again until the door cracked open and she peered out. “I said not to come,” she wailed as he pushed through the door without invitation.

  “I didn’t listen.”

  She wore sweatpants and a thin t-shirt and her face looked pale.

  “You’re miscarrying? Shouldn’t I take you to the hospital or something?”

  “No!” she snapped, then sighed and turned pleading eyes on him. “I hate hospitals. And besides, I’m only six weeks along. It’s just like a bad period--cramps and stuff--you know. Well, you don’t know, but yeah, I’m fine.”

  Fine apparently meant miserable.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s hard.”

  She gave her head a little shake. “No,” she said in a low voice. “It just wasn’t meant to be, Joey. And I’ve been thinking a lot...” She worked the engagement ring off her finger and held it out to him. “I don’t think we’re meant to be either.”

  He tightened his jaw, refusing to take the ring. “Don’t make any decisions today, Soph. Your head’s not in the right place. Just hang onto the ring and we can talk about it later.”

  She bit her lip and looked up at him. “No. I’m sorry, Joey. But I’m sure. I don’t want to raise a baby with someone who could end up in jail or murdered. I just don’t.” Her words were strong, but her eyes begged for understanding. “And the thing is--if I know I’m never going to marry you, then we’re just wasting time together. The sex is amazing, but that’s all we have going. So I think we should break up.”

  Her words struck him like a javelin through the center of his chest so he had to stop from staggering backward. He held his hands out. “Wait, just slow down. Look, it’s too soon in the relationship to decide if you’d marry me or not--we’ve only been dating a month. You were pressured into a decision because you were pregnant, and now that stressor is gone. Let’s just back off any kind of decision-making until we know each other better.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not listening to me, Joey. I’m not marrying into the Family. Nothing is going to change that.”

  He looked at her for a long time, but couldn’t think of any brilliant reply that would change her mind.

  She clutched at her abdomen as if in pain and her expression turned irritated. “I just want to be alone right now, okay?”

  He nodded, defeated. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said as he walked toward the door to show himself out.

  “Well, I’m going to.”

  Nothing felt so final as the click of the door locking behind him.

  Joey called her the next day and the day after, but she refused to answer. He called every day until she texted, “Stopped bleeding. It’s over. Please don’t call again.” He honored her request and instead drove to her office, leaning against his car outside, waiting for her to emerge. He saw the movement of the blinds in the window and the shape of her head as she peered through at him. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. At twenty she walked out, tension radiating from her shoulders, her head held too high. She pretended not to see him. He walked toward her car, arriving at it before she did.

  “Why are you here?” she demanded. Her eyes darted around like she was afraid he might abduct her.

  He spread his hands. “I wanted to see you. Make sure you’re all right.”

  “I texted you I was all right. I told you not to call anymore.”

  “Yeah, so I didn’t call.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I miss you.”

  She must have heard the honesty in his voice because her eyes flew to his, as if in surprise. Emotion flitted over her features and she averted her face. “Well, we just weren’t destined to be.”

  Was there a waver in her voice? He reached to turn her chin, then stopped himself. It felt too presumptuous. “What if we were?” he asked softly. “What if we could figure something out? I don’t know, leave town or something.”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “Would Al let you go? Or would you just start up the same thing somewhere else?”

  He wanted to lie, to say of course Al would let him go, but he knew she had it right. Even if Al let him leave town, it would be with the expectation of taking business with him.

  She took his hesitation for her answer, snapping her face away again.

  “Sophie, this isn’t West Side Story or Romeo and Juliet. We both come from the same side of the tracks, you know.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have feelings for you.” Her voice broke completely, telling him it was a lie.

  He longed to draw her into his arms, to soothe her pain away and make things right, but he feared the gesture wouldn’t be welcomed. “You wouldn’t cry if you didn’t care,” he murmured.

  “I gotta go,” she choked. “Don’t come around again,” she said, walking to the driver’s side and looking up with a narrowed eye. “I mean it.”

  He stared at her, numbness taking root in his soul as a defense against the pain threatening to knock him on his ass. H
e drove to the club for poker night, actually grateful for the distraction instead of burdened by the ritual he no longer enjoyed.

  “I’ll see your c note and raise you by another,” he said, tossing two hundred dollar bills onto the table. His phone buzzed and he glanced at the caller. His mother. Great. He excused himself from the table and entered his office, which adjoined the room.

  “Hi, Ma,” he said.

  “Joey, I just got off the phone with Sophie.”

  “You did?” he said, bewildered.

  “Yes. You have to stop calling her and showing up where she works. She doesn’t want to see you anymore.”

  His body went hot and he couldn’t splutter a reply.

  She went on, “I talked to her at Angela’s shower. I knew she’d never be happy with la famiglia. I told her she’d just make your life miserable, just like her mother did to her father. I told her I don’t want that for my son.”

  “Fuck!” he snarled and threw the phone across the room, satisfied with the smash of parts clattering when it collided with the wall. For good measure, he tossed his desk chair onto its side, just as Al opened the door.

  His brother showed no surprise, just looked coolly at the wreckage, his eyes settling on the phone. “Who was that?”

  “Our mother,” he said through clenched teeth.

  That caused Al’s eyebrows to shoot up. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

  “She pushed Sophie into breaking up with me.”

  “No shit?” Al said, sounding surprised. “Yeah, she always liked Alessia.”

  He looked at his brother, suddenly certain if he didn’t speak his mind he would break in half. “I want out,” he spat. “I don’t aspire to be the future underboss, or consigliere. I don’t want to run this club anymore. I just want to be your investment broker--the guy who makes it all come out clean. Can I just be that guy?”

  Al’s face wore shocked disgust, but before he could speak, a deafening boom came from the lounge and the wall flew out to hit them.

  “Sophie, did you hear?”

  She tensed, heart picking up speed at the sound of emergency she could hear in her Aunt Marie’s voice. “What?” She braced herself.

  “A bomb went off at Boom Booms. You know, poker night. A lot of our guys were there. No one knows who’s alive or dead.”

  “Tony?”

  “No, he wasn’t there, thank God. But Al and Joey both were.”

  No. Please God, no.

  She ran for her shoes and purse, even as her vision momentarily went black and she saw stars. Waiting for them to clear, she barked. “Is anyone alive? Were they taken to a hospital?”

  “The ones who lived were taken to Rush Medical.”

  “Oh God,” she said, feeling light-headed and sick. “Is Joey...?” she croaked, afraid to even ask.

  “I don’t know, honey.”

  She exhaled half a breath. Not knowing was better than dead.

  “I’m heading over. Thanks for calling.”

  She drove without seeing, somehow arriving in the hospital parking lot unscathed. She raced into the emergency room entrance, scanning for familiar faces.

  Oh God. There he was--alive. Standing with a police officer, a large purple bruise on his forehead and some kind of bandage peeking beneath his collar.

  She could not stop herself from running straight at him but she did put the brakes on before flinging herself in his arms, being uncertain of his injuries.

  “Sophie,” he said, sounding surprised as he wrapped her up in his strong embrace.

  “Joey! Thank God. Oh Jesus, I thought you were dead.” Tears of relief spilled down her cheeks.

  “No, just cracked ribs, but Al’s in there, and Vito, Lou and Mario are dead.”

  She pulled away to look at him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  His expression was remote, but the hands cupping her shoulders were warm and gentle. He shot a hard glance at the police officer standing next to him. “We’re finished here, right, Detective?”

  “Yeah, just about. Tell me, if Vito’s dead and your brother and Carlo don’t make it, what does that make you? The new boss?”

  Her heart froze. Was Joey the new boss? Good thing she’d gotten out of the relationship.

  Joey’s face was made of stone, his eyes dark as obsidian. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.” His tone held clear menace.

  The detective smirked. “Yeah, I’ll bet. And I probably won’t find pile of bodies over in Cicero tomorrow, right?”

  “If you do,” Joey said, staring into the detective’s face with direct challenge, “I won’t know anything about it.”

  Cold prickles made the hairs on her arms stand up, though some other part of her triumphed at the formidable way her man took care of business. No, not her man. It was over.

  “Uh huh,” the detective said sarcastically and moved away.

  She looked up into Joey’s face, this time knowing better than to ask about business. Like what had happened. Or whether he was boss. If he was putting a contract out on anyone over it.

  His eyes appeared deadened, strain consuming his face. They lifted to see Carmen from the interior of the emergency room. Joey’s mother jumped up from where she’d been sitting nearby.

  “His skull is fractured and there’s swelling of the brain. He’s in a coma now,” she said, her voice breaking on the word “coma.”

  Joey opened his arms and drew his sister-in-law against his broad chest. Carmen fell apart, choking on a sob. Helpless, Sophie turned to Doña Teresa to offer her an embrace.

  “They’re doing a brain scan. I’m going to stay and wait for the results.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” Joey said immediately.

  The four of them took seats in the waiting room, where the drone of CNN on the television had turned the occupants into zombies. Joey draped an arm around her shoulders, his fingers idly stroking her hair. It felt so natural, as if they were a long-married couple handling a family tragedy together. Even though he was a victim of this tragedy, he radiated strength, power, calm leadership. If this were her emergency to face, rather than his, she’d want Joey La Torre beside her.

  “Thank you for coming, Soph,” Joey murmured, as if he’d been thinking the same thing. “It means a lot to me.”

  She looked up, drawn into his somber gaze. She lowered her head to his shoulder, finding a nook to nestle it in a signal of solidarity.

  She woke to the sound of Joey’s gentle voice. “Sophie. Go home.”

  “No. I’m staying here with you,” she said, glancing at Carmen and his mother, who dozed slumped in her chair. “All of you.”

  “I appreciate that, but you’d be more use getting some sleep and helping Carmen with the kids tomorrow. There’s nothing you can do here tonight, baby.”

  She opened her mouth and he touched her lips with his finger, his face weary.

  “Don’t argue.”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “Will you keep me posted?” When he nodded, she said, “You should come see me this week.”

  His eyes lifted.

  “I could do some energy work on your ribs, to help them heal. I can fit you in any day that works for you.”

  His face closed as if he’d absorbed a wound.

  Nuts.

  He’d thought she meant see her this week. In a different capacity.

  “I’d like that,” he said, his expression sad. “Gimme a few days to see how things shake out here.”

  Seeing him so defeated, so worn and bruised and weary, made her kick herself for hurting him further. She wanted to share his burden.

  Chapter Eight

  “I was wrong,” his mother said when she’d gone. “She does love you.”

  Joey shook his head dully. “No, you were right.” It just wasn’t possible for him to be the man she wanted. At this moment, he had twenty guys waiting for orders to move against the Matrangas and no proof of whether they were responsible. He was a pussy if he didn’t act swiftly, b
ut if he made the wrong choice, he put them all in danger of another massacre.

  And he was a pussy regardless. Because he’d made it through his entire 39 years without putting a contract on anyone and damned if he didn’t still want to keep his conscious clean. In fact, other than the hit he completed to be “made,” he had avoided being directly responsible for any deaths.

  But now it was hopeless. The detective had been right--if his brother died, it would be between him and Carlo, the consigliere for running the Family, which meant he’d either be boss, or underboss, neither of which appealed to him.

  The emptiness he felt at the moment went beyond his worry for Al or his anguish over Vito, Lou, and Mario. It was about his own dead soul--a life he didn’t choose and didn’t want.

  With Sophie he had seen a glimpse of something else. Something special. He could be a different man with her. But no--it was impossible now.

  He sank into the chair next to his mother, aching, bruised and weary. “Go home, Ma,” he said heavily. “I’ll let you know what the brain scan turns up.”

  It was a sign of how old his mother was getting that she agreed, rising heavily from her chair. He walked her out to her Cadillac and helped her in, assuring her he would call as soon as he heard anything. He met Sammy in the lot, driving in. Like Joey, Sammy hadn’t been in the poker room at the time of the explosion, because he’d had some managerial issues to handle in the club. He’d been a real help getting their employees and customers out of the burning building with minimal injuries.

  Sammy waved him over to his car. “I got a new batch of cell phones. Don’t know if you still have yours, but I figure we all better change them up again, anyway.”

  “Yeah, mine was in the club. Thanks.”

  They used cell phones modified to make them “tap proof” and GPS removed for safety. They bought them in large batches--fifty at a time, requiring the entire crew to change phones and numbers on a frequent basis. He took one and immediately texted his new number to Joe Perez, an FBI agent who wasn’t above selling them information when he had it. If he had anything on the bomb, he would send it in exchange for a wire transfer payment to his offshore account.