Monk Paletti: Taming Ashley Sinatra

by Mallory Monroe

  “It’ll be more for me to love,” Monk said, and Ashley’s heart melted. She leaned all the way over the small table.

  “Ashley!” Monk said, afraid her wild behavior was going to knock over both plates. But she never ceased to amaze him. She just wanted to give him a kiss.

  And he couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes as she leaned all the way over, and kissed him.

  When they stopped kissing, he opened his eyes. “Now sit down and eat,” he ordered her.

  “Yes, sir,” she said with a grin, and sat down. Then she reached out her hand. “Give me your hand,” she said. He did. And she recited a breakfast prayer.

  When she finished, and they began eating, Monk felt a need to say something to her. He kept glancing at her. But when she rubbed her stomach as if she’d never tasted a better meal, he laughed.

  But then he got serious. “Ash,” he said.

  She kept eating, but she looked at him. “Yes?”

  “I want to thank you for staying with me.”

  Ashley stopped her fork mid-mouth, and nodded her head. “You’re welcome, Monk.”

  “Why did you stay?” he asked her.

  She didn’t have to think about that question long. “It was like I felt as if leaving would have been a mistake. And all I’ve ever made in my life were mistake after mistake. I felt I owed it to myself to see if this was yet another mistake, or if it could actually work.”

  Monk took her hand and placed it in his. “Thank you for giving me a shot,” he said. “No pun intended,” he added, with a grin.

  Ashley laughed. “Monk told a joke! Monk told a joke! Wait till I tell Teddy that you told a joke!”

  “Don’t you dare tell Teddy T any such thing!” Monk said. But the truth of the matter was, he was just enjoying himself.

  And then he squeezed her hand, released it, and they settled down to some good eating.

  “What will you be doing today?” Ashley asked as they ate.

  “What won’t I be doing?” Monk asked. “Mainly I’ll be taking care of some Bonaducci family business first, with some contractors, and then I’ve gotta drop by a dinner party at the old man’s house this evening. But I won’t stay long. But as the underboss, I have to show up.”

  “Your father’s giving a dinner party?” Ashley asked, for clarification.

  “Not my father. Old Man Bonaducci. He used to be the head of the family, but retired.”

  “And turned it over to your father?”

  “Who was his underboss at the time, yes,” said Monk.

  “Who’s going to be at this dinner party?” Ashley asked.

  “The usual suspects,” said Monk. “All the senior guys in the organization, and their wives. That’s usually about it.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Ashley in a kind of disappointed tone that caught Monk’s ear.

  He looked at her and immediately realized that Ashley, a party girl, wanted in on the party too. Still holding his fork, he leaned forward. “It’s not that kind of party, Ash,” he explained.

  She looked at him. He could tell she wasn’t buying it. He decided to explain further. “I don’t advertise my private life,” he said.

  “I understand.”

  “I keep my private life private.”

  “Right,” her mouth said, but her wounded eyes said differently.

  And Monk stared at them. And he gave in. That girl defied her own father to be with him, and he was standing on fucking ceremony? Talking about his private life? “Fuck it!” he said out loud. “You’re going with me,” he added.

  Ashley smiled that great smile he adored. “Really?” she said like a kid going to Disney World.

  “That’s right. I’ve got to handle some business first. And don’t worry, I’ve got my guys stationed all around the perimeter of the place. You’ll be okay. I’ll be back to pick you up this evening.”

  Ashley was so happy that she jumped up from the table, ran around to Monk’s side of the table, and sat in his lap hugging him. And she kissed him. “Thank you, Frankie,” she said.

  Monk laughed. It was the first time he recalled her calling him that. “Nothing to thank me for,” he said.

  “Yes, it is. You’re going out of your comfort zone. Like I’m doing. It’s a big damn deal,” she said, and he laughed again.

  But then his look turned serious.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small J-Frame pistol. “My guys will be around the perimeter of the house while I’m gone,” he said, “but in case everything fails, you use this. You know how, right?”

  “How to use a gun?” Ashley asked. “Oh, I know how.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “My daddy. My Uncle Mick. My Uncle Reno. My Uncle Sal. My Uncle Tommy. My brother Bobby. My brother Brent. My brother Tony. My cousin Teddy---”

  “Okay, okay,” Monk said with a smile. “I got it. You know.”

  “And you put that little thing away,” Ashley said. “I keep my own in my purse.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Ashley laughed. “Big Daddy bought me a gun.”

  “What kind?”

  “A .44 Magnum Super Red Hawk,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Monk said, putting the small pistol back in his pocket. “You definitely don’t need this.”

  Ashley laughed, and kissed him again. “Now go finish eating,” he said and she stood up. “I want to see more meat on those bones,” he added, and slapped her on her behind.

  Ashley rubbed her butt, laughing, as she sat back down.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Where are you?”

  “Up here!”

  Monk made his way up the stairs to his master bedroom. He was still amazed at how happy he was to have somebody in his house. Before he met Ashley, it would have been unthinkable to him. Now it just seemed natural.

  But when he got into the bedroom, nothing was natural in there. It seemed as if every scrap of clothing Ashley had in her suit case, was all over the bed.

  “Whatta you doing?” he asked, shocked.

  “I don’t have anything nice to wear, Monk,” she said with pure frustration in her voice.

  “Whatta you talking? You got plenty to wear. Look at all these clothes!”

  “I can’t wear those! I want to wear something nice.”

  “Oh, Ashley, what for? It’s just a dinner party. It’s no big deal.”

  But Ashley wasn’t going along. “Yes, it is a big deal.”

  “Why is it? Because some broken down old mobsters are going to be there with their broken down old wives? Come here!”

  Ashley moved over to Monk. She wasn’t quite sure why he’d be so upset, but he was. He placed his hands on her arms. “Let’s get one thing straight, and let’s get it straight right now,” he said to her, his big eyes blazing with anger. “Don’t you dare worry what people think about you who don’t give a damn about you. They’re just people. Regular people. Why would you care what they think?”

  “I don’t,” said Ashley. “It’s not about me caring what they think about me.”

  Monk was puzzled. “Then what is it?” he asked her.

  “It’s about you. I don’t care what they think about me, but I care what they think about you. I don’t want them laughing at you, because of me.”

  Monk’s heart sank. What did he ever do right to deserve a girl like her? He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t you ever worry about me,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck if they laugh at me. They do that already. But they’ll never laugh at me because of you. And especially not because of how you’ll be dressed.”

  “Sure about that?” Ashley asked him.

  “Oh, I’m sure. You can wear a potato sack and still look better than every broad that’ll be at that party.” Ashley laughed. “It ain’t that serious,” Monk said, laughing too.

  He then pulled back from her, still holding her arms. “Now put
on anything that makes you feel comfortable, and let’s get out of here. The sooner we can get there and eat that meal, the sooner we can come back home and . . . you know,” he added mischievously, and Ashley nodded her head.

  “Thanks, Monk,” she said, and wasted no time getting dressed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The long dinner table was filled with guests when Monk and Ashley entered the Don’s dining hall. Don Bonaducci was there, along with his wife of forty years. Raymond was there and his brand new wife. And Boozer Rome and his wife were also there, along with other members of the hierarchy and their wives.

  “Frankie’s here!” Bonaducci said out loud as soon as he saw their second-in-command. But then he was surprised. “But what’s that?” he said, looking beyond Monk. “With a woman? I must be seeing things!”

  “Hello, Godfather,” Monk said as he walked Ashley toward the head of the table. “This is my lady, Ashley. Ashley, my godfather.”

  “Hello, sir,” Ashley said with a smile. She was surprised at how old he was.

  “Welcome, Ashley,” Bonaducci said. ‘Everybody welcome the Monk’s old lady, Ashley. The new member of the clan.”

  Ashley didn’t expect him to go that far, and neither did Monk, but Monk was used to his godfather’s surface good guy routine. He was no good guy. He was a killer. But he went along with it for Ashley’s sake.

  Everybody spoke to her, including all the wives at the table, and then Monk and Ashley sat down to dinner too.

  Monk and a couple of the men immediately began talking shop while two of the wives Ashley sat near began talking with her.

  “Excuse me for being shocked,” said one, “but in all these years I’ve known Frankie, I’ve never seen him with a woman not once. Now he brings one to dinner? I’m shocked I tell you. Shocked.”

  “What’s it like being Frankie’s old lady?” said another wife. “He don’t have you holed up in that haunted house of his, does he?”

  Ashley only smiled. She wasn’t about to divulge any information about Monk’s private life to those old biddies. They were such big gossips. And every one of them looked beat up, too, as if their old men didn’t exactly treat them with respect. Was that her fate? Would some young girl come to the dinner table one day talking about how she looked old and beat up too?

  But then she thought about her aunts. None of them looked like that. None of them were disrespected by their mob husbands. Stop worrying so much, Ashley, she inwardly told herself.

  But her concern didn’t stop at the dinner table because, after dinner, Monk, Bonaducci, Monk’s father, and the rest of the men made their way to the parlor while Bonaducci’s wife led all of the ladies, including Ashley, downstairs to the basement. Ashley looked back at Monk, to make sure he wanted her go with the ladies, but he was in the midst of a heated conversation with one of the men to even look her way, and then Raymond, glancing at her, closed the parlor door, effectively closing her out.

  But the ladies were nice enough, so she went on downstairs with them.

  They all sat around in what looked like a nightclub in the basement, and were served liquor by the household staff as they gossiped about everything they could think of. Politics. Sports. Religion. Movie stars. And even their own husbands. One woman said hers couldn’t get it up anymore. Another woman, Boozer Rome’s wife, said hers got it up too much. And a third said she was glad for their parlor games or she didn’t know what she would do. She hated having sex with her husband.

  But the term she used interested Ashley. “What parlor games?” she asked the woman.

  “What they do upstairs after dinner or lunch or whatever function it is. We wives come downstairs and do our own thing, and they stay upstairs and get fucked.”

  Ashley knew she didn’t hear that right. She looked at the woman. “Excuse me?” she said. “Did you say what I just thought you said?”

  The women looked at her as if they didn’t understand her confusion. “Yes,” said Boozer’s wife. “You heard it right. The women come over, all young and beautiful, and let them have their way with them. And that takes care of that.”

  Ashley frowned. “What women?” she asked.

  “The women. The tricks. The hookers. The hoes. Or whatever they call’em now. They pleasure the men while we come down here and relax.”

  Ashley was floored. “Are you saying you allow your husbands to have sex with some hookers right beneath your noses, and that’s okay with you?”

  “No, it’s not okay with us,” one of the younger wives said. “But we’re living that life. And that comes with the territory. So you grit your teeth and smile and never ever bring it up to your man or he’ll give you a backslap you won’t soon forget!”

  The women laughed. “He’ll kick your ass,” said another wife.

  But Ashley couldn’t believe it. Monk was up those stairs having sex with another woman? And she was supposed to sit in some musky basement, drink liquor, and pretend it’s not happening? Are they serious?

  She sat her glass on the floor, got up, and began hurrying toward the stairs.

  “What are you doing?” Bonaducci’s wife called after her. “You can’t go up there!”

  But Ashley wasn’t thinking about that woman. All she was thinking about was her man and some other woman! She ran up those stairs.

  “That’s what he gets for having a black girlfriend,” one wife said. “They don’t take shit from nobody!”

  “Neither do Italian girls, so shut up,” said the Don’s wife. Although she knew, and everybody in that basement knew, that they were all Italian wives, and they were taking it.

  But Ashley wasn’t. She couldn’t get up those stairs fast enough. And when she got to the main floor, she hurried through the dining hall and across the hall toward that parlor room. She’d be damned if Monk was going to think she’d be okay with something like that. She’d be damned!

  And that was why she grabbed the knobs of that parlor’s pocket doors and slid them open without hesitation.

  And that was when she saw all of those mobsters making out with young women. Even Monk’s father. Even that old don in his wheelchair was getting a blow job. But she didn’t see Monk. Nowhere in that room. Had he gone to a bedroom? She began to panic. She didn’t see him!

  Until she heard him.

  She turned to the sound of his voice and walked away from the parlor and around a corner. And there was Monk, sitting alone in the living room, talking on his cell phone. And Ashley exhaled. She was so relieved!

  “How many?” Monk was saying on his phone. “That’s it? How is that reassuring? Absolutely more. I’m talking lots more. Resupply the whole damn stockyard. Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. The whole fucking thing.”

  Then Monk realized Ashley was standing there looking at him. And she looked flustered. “I’ll call you back,” he said, and ended the call.

  He got up and went to her. “What’s wrong?” he asked her. “What happened? Did any of those fuckers disrespect you?”

  “No,” Ashley said, but she still looked distressed.

  “Then what is it?” Monk asked her. He was looking distressed himself.

  “They said their men were with other women. That said that’s how it’s done around here. They said their men, their husbands, have sex with prostitutes.”

  “Yeah, they do,” Monk said.

  “I just saw it with my own two eyes.”

  “It’s the way they do things, babe. It’s the way it is in this narrow culture we live in.”

  But Ashley was deeply concerned. “You say we,” she said. “You do it too?”

  “Hell no,” Monk said with a frown. “I don’t play that shit. I got you. Why would I play that shit?”

  Ashley finally let out a big exhale.

  “What? You thought I was up here with a woman?” Then he smiled. “And you came up here to do what? Beat up the girl?”

  “Beat the girl? No. I was gonna beat your ass,” she said.

  Monk smiled. Th
en his look turned serious and he pulled her into his arms. “I don’t know how all those men in your past were, Ashley, but I’m not them. I don’t fuck around. I told you that when we first met, and I mean it. I didn’t play that shit before I met you. I’m definitely not playing it after being with you. You have nothing to worry about in that department. I’m not that guy.”

  Ashley felt such relief that she didn’t know what to say.

  But Monk did. He pulled back and looked at her. “Ready to go home, baby?” he asked her.

  She could easily find the words to answer that. “I been ready,” she said. And they didn’t even say their goodbyes. They just left.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Three days later, on a Thursday night, Sammy “the Ox” DeGarno walked his heavyset frame into Raymond Paletti’s diner like a man who knew his way around every eating place in Jersey. He took a seat at the table in the middle of the room, where Raymond Paletti was already seated, while Monk pulled down the shades of the diner and turned the OPEN sign, on the window, to CLOSED. The diner had already been cleared out. Nobody was still present except for Noodles behind the counter, in case they wanted something to drink but also for backup, and DeGarno’s backup, a capo they all knew as Knuckles. Knuckles stood near the door, watching Noodles, but also his boss’s back. Monk sat at the table with the two old-styled bosses.

  DeGarno got down to business. “I’m a man short on words,” he said to Raymond. “I don’t have a way with the words like you and Frankie. But what I do got, I tend to keep. I want my daughter.”

  “We don’t got your daughter,” Raymond said. “How many times I got to tell you that, Ox? We don’t got her!”

  “Then who got her? You don’t got her, you say. But that’s not what I’m hearing.”

  “Who the fuck cares what you’re hearing?” Raymond fired back. “I don’t give a fuck! Coming into my establishment accusing me of kidnapping somebody’s child. Me. Somebody you’ve known for decades. That’s very disrespectful, Ox. Very disrespectful. Fuck you.”

  DeGarno frowned. “Fuck you, Rain Man!” he shot back, knowing how to push Raymond’s buttons with that derogatory nickname. And Raymond jumped on his feet. Knuckles stood erect, ready to intervene. But Monk stood up and held his old man back. “Sit down, Pop,” he said to him.