Her arms spread as I hurry towards her and embrace her gently. “How did you know I would be here?”
“I called Georgia,” she mumbles against my chest. “But told her not to say anything.”
“Who the fuck did this to you?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Did they…” I halt, unable to say the r-word.
She shakes her head. “No, but I think I need Jack to look at me. I’m not so sure I don’t have a broken rib or two. But I’m seriously hungry.”
“Okay, hold on.”
I leave her briefly to find Ashley and order a few things off the menu for Jaid. I ask her to bring it to the storage room, and minutes later, she is setting up a table for us. “Would you like some ice for that?”
I can’t tell if she is asking Jaid or myself, so when we both answer – yes – at the same time, she giggles, “I’ll be right back.”
“Do you have any juice?”
Stopping in her tracks, Ashley replies, “Orange, apple, cranberry?”
“Apple, please,” she whispers from the chair. I can tell by her movements that she aches. “Warm if you can.”
“Sure thing!” Ashley gives a concerned gaze over Jaid and I. “Cinnamon, whipped cream?”
Jaid passes it off with a wave as Ashley lays her hand on my arm. “You want one, too?”
“Nah. Just the coffee please.”
The door closes. We are trapped in the silence between us. A calmness washes over me as I’m thankful she wasn’t intimately violated—assaulted and raped. Still, there is no way to console one of our own who came under fire. She got burned. It isn’t nice, and it isn’t pretty, but it happens. I know; it occurred to me, too.
“You want to tell me what went on?”
“Wait,” she whispers, holding up a finger when the door opens.
Ashley brings our drinks and an ice pack. “I’ll give you two a few minutes. Your order will be ready in a bit.”
“Thank you.” Pouring the coffee, I nod as she leaves.
“I left Sugargrove and went to Austin. I dropped my car off at the airport and took a flight to New York. It was all planned. I didn’t want you worrying.”
“Apparently, I need to be,” I reply, gripping the mug. “What was in New York?”
“A meeting had been arranged between Jonathan Finkle, Marcello Campanelli, and Vinny Veramonte…”
My muscles tense at their names, they are the handlers of the shit of Gods. They clean up messes and make crap vanish. “What the fuck is Uncle Vinny doing meeting with the right-handers of Cristos and Campanelli?”
“That’s exactly what Jack wanted to know, so we sent me in completely covert—a high-class call girl at an expensive bar and restaurant. My only job was to watch, but what ended up happening was…” The tremor in her voice and the tears on her face assure nothing is right. Her training is tight—far more extensive and longer than mine. She knows how to work a room and sift the gold from the grime. “Nick Veramonte showed up.”
The anger in my veins seeps into my expression. My eyes focus on her without blinking as the news of my cousin’s presence sends off immediate red flags in my mind. “Why the fuck was he there?”
“He was with them; I don’t know why. He was the odd duck present. The others made sense, but Nick Veramonte—he is going to make a play for the Raniero business I fear. Without you by your father’s side, guarding that gate, intruders are going to trespass for no other reason than they can.”
With a wave of my fingers, I ask, “So, who did this?”
“I’m sitting at the end of the bar, quietly listening to their meeting. About an hour in, Nick unexpectedly hit on me. I ended up in his room, trying to fish for intel, and he attempted to force himself on me. I got away, but the second I left the building, I got jumped by his goons. They tried to get me into the vehicle, but I fought back long enough for Fink – of all people – to come out into the alleyway at just the right time. Without him, I would be dead.”
“Fucking Fink saved your ass!?!?”
“Yes, fucking Fink saved my ass,” she says, taking a sip of the apple juice and licking her lips. “But Sal, more than all of that—something else happened.”
“What?”
“They want Saint Cruz out of the picture,” she says, holding the ice pack to her face. “They think he is still working with The Preacher and that scares the fuck out of them.”
Immediately, my thoughts shift to Amber and the danger she is in. “They won’t be trying to take out Cruz first.”
“No,” she whispers, blinking at me. “They’re going to go after The Preacher.”
“Inside job?”
“Maybe, hard to say. Boys from Cinco and Gennaro run that unit, but if war breaks out between them, I think Zachariah Evans is toast.”
“He’s gonna need more than a preacher for sure,” I say, taking my work phone out of my jacket. “He’s gonna need a Priest.”
A slight smile upturns at the corner of her mouth. It is promising and hopeful. This isn’t the first time Jaid has had the shit beat out of her, and if she stays in the society, it won’t be the last. I punch in the number which can change the fate for one preacher as I ease a grin to Jaid. We will be okay.
“Father Quinn… Sal Raniero, we need to talk.”
Taking Jaid back to The Dollhouse, we manage to sneak into the pool house and adjacent small apartment without any fanfare. Dom knows we are here because I called ahead of time, but I don’t want Kaci seeing Jaid right now. It will hinder her mental state and mine. Simply, nothing good can come from this truth. Some things are better left in the dark. Distinguishing between those two is a full-time job.
A few minutes after our arrival, Dom appears with fresh clothes. With one look at Jaid, he says, “Oh fuck…”
“Ya,” I say, rushing about and turning on the tub. “Come on. Clothes off.”
“Are we sending them to the lab?”
“No, I wasn’t raped,” she loudly declares, pulling off her sweatshirt and revealing her bare breasts. “Trash them.” She shoves the garments into Dom’s hand as the tension between their stare is thick. “And stop staring at the ground meat of my face.”
Dom snarls. “Would you prefer I stare at your fine ass?”
“Yes,” she sasses, stepping into the tub without any hint of modesty. At this moment, we aren’t divided by gender but united by our oath to Sibyl—despite their unruly banter. “And I’ll stare at that thing you consider a dick…”
Ouch.
I stay with her in the bathroom long enough to wash her hair and bring her a glass of wine. I offer a battery of candy fun—pain pill, muscle relaxer, weed—but her stock answer is no. I cannot decide if it’s admirable or stupid, but in this regard, she reminds me of myself. She doesn’t want ever to forget the pain.
After my attack, I was given an intravenous “cocktail” by Jack, and I spent the next two weeks hating him for it. I won’t do that to Jaid. If she doesn’t want it, I won’t push it.
“I’ll be out here if you need me,” I say as she nods.
Closing the door, I’m swarmed with a thousand thoughts all compounded by Dom. “Are we issuing a hit out on Nick Veramonte?”
“Not yet.”
“You aren’t going tonight.”
I blink. “The fuck…”
“No way. And neither am I. We will send our other agents to intercept the guns, I cannot risk either of us. If Nick Veramonte is out prowling about, anything is possible. So, go ahead and grumble, but headquarters have issued the orders.”
“And the Cristos and Cruz summit at Gina’s,” I say, grabbing the whiskey bottle off the bar. “Is that still going down?”
“It is, but we have relocated it to here.”
“… What?”
“Kaci wants it here.” Dom is many things, but weak is not in his vocabulary. The fact that my wife can play to his heartstrings so easily is weak, says the man who is in the middle of an affair.
&nbs
p; I think he expects me to fire off with a passionate argument, but sitting on the sofa, I ask, “You ever wonder why we all bend to her so easily?”
“Because she is dying…” he proposes, taking the bottle from my hands as I light two cigarettes—one for my Master, one for me. “We bend when we cannot predict the outcome.”
“But should we?”
“Probably not but it is human nature to show compassion when someone is hurt or ill,” he says as we philosophically churn with ideas. “At least, I want to believe we do.”
“She’s going to leave us,” I say, knowing the time is ticking. “And the worst part, she won’t live to see what she did.”
“You going to take this to the end?”
“Yes, Sir,” I reply, swigging back another swallow. “After I have a meltdown, I will resume this fight for her.”
“Then I’m going to the end with you.”
“We may not make it,” I venture, knowing any of us could be shot or stabbed or abducted and tortured to death. “Are you sure you want to sign on the dotted line of an insane man with a death wish?”
His hand lays on my knee. “I’ve never wanted anything quite so much.”
“You realize we take rebellious son to a whole new level, right?”
“I do,” he smiles as we share in the moment of our uprising. “And I know there is no other brother I would want to do this with.”
“We have Amber,” I admit.
“I think we have a black eye in there, too.”
“It’s going to take more than four,” I fret, realizing the odds are so against me right now.
“We build it—one at a time. Shake hands and kiss the babies. We make connections and play politico. We do have this. Have you seen us?” His blatant bravado shines in his grin. “We are fucking hot. If nothing else, we get the real power behind our team.”
“You mean pussy…”
“I mean wealthy, fucking socialite bitches… We can be their new philanthropic endeavor. And one tells her friends, and so forth, and before you know it, we’ve got enough money to change not just the players, but the whole game.”
“Come donate to the two Italian bastards trying to take out their familial reign of terror?”
“Pretty much,” he assuages with a smirk. “Why don’t you go to my room and catch some shut-eye before this party happens. And Raniero, I know you don’t have your whole wardrobe here, so feel free to raid my closet again.”
“You found the tux.” My hand conceals the embarrassment on my face.
“Correction, I found the pieces of my tux scattered in the library along with this…” He pulls the thong from his pocket. “Where did you stash her?”
“Zachariah Evans prison cell.”
His brow crunches into a hard line as he nods. “Good choice. Why don’t you go give her a call and make yourself feel better, take a shower, and get some rest?”
“Did you just tell me to go call Amber and jerk my chain?”
“I did,” he gently says, “because Jack has been in Kaci’s room since late last night.”
I close my eyes.
I don’t have to ask.
Because I already know.
Jack wouldn’t marry her, so I was second fiddle. And that bites. But hearing Amber’s voice will surely relieve the sting.
“Hello?” Amber heavily breathes into the phone a half-hour later. “Salvatore?”
“Hi, beautiful!” I say, opening a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. Dom’s master bedroom is a luxurious retreat done up all in white. The plush vanilla rugs pop against the dark stain of the wooden floorboards, and the linens are opulent and rich, but yet cozy. “What are you doing?”
A pause begs my curiosity as she says, “I’m in the hotel room.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah, I’m waiting for the contact to come and pick me up in an hour and…”
Fresh out of the shower, I plop on the bed in a towel. “And?”
“I was on the other line with a friend,” she passively states. “What are you up to?”
I grab the remote and turn on the sports channel. “Please tell me it’s not Iris…”
“God, no!” Her voice booms across the line. “Why would I talk to the oink oink?”
I shake my head as I grab my bottle of water. “I’m not arguing this with you. Who are you talking to?”
“Hold on.”
The brief time provokes hundreds of questions as I fear the worst. Maybe we judged her wrong, and she is going to rat us out. Or even worse, perhaps she went to kill The Preacher.
Suddenly, I hear the whispers I readily recognize. “Was it Sal?” Jaid asks, giggling. “Did you tell him I was about to make you come?”
“Umm, no,” Amber says, “but you just did.”
I sit up on the bed, spilling the water. “Fuck!”
“Sal!” Jaid chimes in as I hear Amber laughing.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
Amber seductively hints, “What do you think we were doing?”
“Oh, fuck me!” I ramble off, dropping the water again. “… You two?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner,” Amber elaborates as I drop the towel to soak up the mess. “Jaid spent a lot of time at the loft.”
“Does Kaci know?”
“I don’t know,” Jaid mutters, splashing in the tub. “Frankly, I don’t care. We were bored.”
Running my hand through my wet locks, I contemplate the fact that Amber has probably had Jaid more than I have, which seems utterly absurd to me. “Is Dom still there?”
“Yeah, he is watching sports,” she says, “I can hear the television.”
I snicker. “While you are getting off talking to Amber?”
“He’s the one who brought me the phone!” Jaid defensively snaps. “I am making myself feel better, you gotta problem with that, Raniero?”
“Nup,” I claim, not at all feeling a tinge of jealousy. Falling onto the other side of the bed, I flirt, “Just want to know if I can join the party.”
“Absolutely,” Amber agrees as I wait for a response from Jaid.
“If you didn’t Sal, I would be seriously worried.”
So would I.
19. Regifted
Sunday, December 26
6 days before…
After a good round of fun with the girls, I ended up passing the fuck out with their duo of orgasms still fresh in my mind. I was exhausted and slept through the beginning of Dom’s get together.
Good thing parties here never end until dawn, and when I finally open my eyes at 11:34, I panic.
“Why the fuck didn’t you wake me up, man?” I text Dom.
His response comes quickly. “You were sleeping pretty.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. There are moments when his grand gestures infuriate me.
“Get dressed and come down by the pool. We have cigars and cognac.”
“Is Kaci there?” I peck out as I rummage through his closet. I grab a dark gray pinstripe suit, but I opt to go shirtless. Mostly because I’m pissed off at the world, and I really don’t give two shits what anyone thinks as I drag on the pants and head to the bathroom.
I will not see my wife on what is likely her last Christmas. These are the sacrifices we have made. This is the penance she has forced me to endure.
“Was—she went out with Jack to Bourbon Street.”
Of course, she did. Bitch.
I opt to go shoeless because I'm a brat. Besides, we are poolside. It’s not like we are in a ballroom of some ritzy hotel.
I wet my hair, smooth some gel through it and borrow some cologne. I don’t bother to shave because I’m going smug. Or well-dressed thug. Either way, I’m doing this thing my way. If I have to sit down with Cruz and Cristos and play nice nice, I’m going to be comfortable.
After I say a brief, quiet prayer, I grab the jacket and head downstairs. Few people remain at the house. The caterers are cleaning up in D
om’s professional kitchen, and a few waiters are serving up drinks and other hors-d'oeuvres. Stepping out the French doors, I spot Dale, standing guard in a suit. I nod, and he does the same.
I would typically say a party of less than two dozen is dead. However, it seems only the important ones remain. In a pristine white suit, Cristos is laughing with Dom at the table. I try to not think of the fact Cristos’ daughter is beat to a pulp by the hands of my family. Let this not become an eye for an eye or I may end up not being able to walk away from this.
In slacks and a casual shirt, Cruz dangles his feet in the pool. Fink is sitting beside him which strikes me as odd. All the men are well spoken, wealthy, and remarkably handsome.
I’m not sure I belong as Dom waves me over. “Raniero! Bout time, Boston!”
I exchange handshakes with these Kings of the underground. Cruz is more reserved than Cristos, who stands up and embraces me. “You and I, we will talk,” he mutters and kisses my cheeks. “So, you are the next one up. Good looking young man!”
“You should have a drink,” Cruz suggests with a snicker. “Something stiff.”
“… Am I going to need it?”
“Depends on your answers,” he replies with his back to me. “I had nothing to do with the shipment.”
“Hey hey, neither did I,” Cristos adds. “But I know who did. And why she did it. She’s lucky.”
“She’s lucky she is dying, or I’d kill her ass for getting me involved in this shit.” Cruz’s gravelly words skid across my skin. “It is only by luck Cinco isn’t coming after us.”
“But we are all friends here,” Cristos appeases, lighting a smoke. “Tonight is Christmas and we all celebratin’.”
Fink shoots a gaze over me with a slight smirk. His divine blue eyes are nothing more than a magical illusion to trust his slithering soul. With a pat to Cruz’ shoulder, he removes himself from the equation and disappears inside.
Cruz barks off, “Kace will not be held accountable.”
“And neither will you.” Cristos moves a chair beside him and pats the seat. “Come.”
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 109