“It’s been quiet in the trenches. I’m enjoying the lull, not that it will last long. Catching up on a few personal issues,” I said as the waitress came over to take our order.
“I don’t suppose those personal issues include a certain fox with clingy issues, do they?” Vinny grinned as the frustration showed on my face.
“Hi, I’m Lola. What can I get you today?” The waitress was new. I knew this because not only had I not seen her at the deli before, but she was smiling sweetly at Vinny’s overtures. The other waitresses who knew the horny Matrix fan knew better than to fall for his charm more than once. He was a loyal friend, but he was a dog when it came to scratching that itch. He screwed anything with a pulse. With his good looks, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.
“Well, hello. I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. Where you from, peaches?” Vinny went in for the kill.
“I just moved to Chicago. This is my first job in the city.” Lola had an open and trusting face, clearly from a small town where everyone kept their doors unlocked. She was a sweet kid—not that Vinny gave a shit.
“Welcome, peaches. Hope to show you around our beautiful city, soon.”
“I’ll have a double espresso and a Felino bagel, thanks.” I was hungry and in no mood to watch Vinny spin his web.
“I’ll have whatever you recommend, peaches.” He practically undressed the poor girl with his eyes. She seemed to like it. Who knew, maybe this one would tame the Vin. I wasn’t holding my breath.
Lola smiled and sauntered off to the kitchen. Vinny and I picked up our conversation.
“You were telling me about Tina. What’s the girl done, now? She boil your pet bunny yet?”
“Funny. Not yet, but if I don’t get rid of this broad soon, she’s gonna drive me nuts. She isn’t getting my subtle hints.”
“Oh, you mean the ones where you ignore her completely and tell her to piss off? Don’t you hate it when that happens?”
“We can’t all love them and leave them like you can, Vin.”
“Serves you right. You’re way too picky. My motto is: flirtsy, squirtsy, arrivederci. The winning formula for a life of uncomplicated sex. Never bone the same woman twice, unless she’s shit hot and her father owns a distillery.”
“I’m not picky, just not keen on dying of venereal disease. I prefer to go out with a bang.”
He ignored my comment.“If it will help, I’ll take her off your hands. Show her what a real man can do. No extra charge.”
“Fuck off.” I laughed as he grabbed his groin. “Now, tell me what’s happening in your playpen.”
“Same old shit. The clients are getting younger and cockier by the day, but as long as they pay up, I shut my pie hole and try my best not to get the little pricks killed.”
Vinny was in his mid-thirties. He was a confirmed bachelor, exercise freak, and loyal friend. I trusted him with my life—not a common occurrence in the mob world. Most mobsters would slit their best friend’s throat to better their standing in the organization. I suspected Vinny was driven by money rather than prestige. He kept his head down and did his job. No buddy-buddy—purely protection.
“How are the Coli’s? Still, ruling their empire with an iron fist? If I had to do hits for any family in this town, I’d do it for them. They’re a decent bunch.”
“The Coli’s are good. They’ve got a couple of big things in the pipeline, so I have to be on my toes. Shit gets real around about business expansion time. Lots of itchy trigger fingers.”
Lola brought us an espresso each, batting her eyelashes as she did. Then, she left the table.
“Looks like you’ve got a live one there, Vin.” He looked pleased with himself.
Breakfast was a hoot. Watching Vin doing his thing was a scream. It was a little corny, but he wasn’t exactly trolling for rocket scientists. Afterward, I made a turn at my usual weapons and ammunition shop—no one ever asked me questions when they found out who my employer was. Proper gun maintenance was the difference between a successful hit and a shitshow where a misfire got you killed. My firearm was my lifeline. I treated her like a princess.
I spent the afternoon treating myself to a massage and some shopping. A man should look good, no matter what he did for a living. My father may have been the turd in the punch bowl at family get-togethers, but the man was a snappy dresser. Quality was important to him, and I had the same philosophy.
I stocked up on a few black dress shirts, black chinos, a leather jacket, and a pair of leather boots. Black was my favorite color; it suited my olive skin and cobalt blue eyes. I wore my wavy dark brown hair short on the sides and long on top. It was club night, an occasion to dress to kill—the ladies, not a mark. I needed some downtime. Being a hitman for the mob was thirsty business.
***
CELINA
I was back in my apartment after the long flight from Milan to Chicago. I loved coming home to my desert-inspired refuge. My housekeeper took care of my plants while I was away and kept my home clean as a whistle. I hated messy; everything had a place, and there was a place for everything. I had no problem with being called anal or OCD when it came to neatness. Others could live like wild animals if they preferred, but that was not for me, thank you.
I hit the on-switch of my coffee machine as soon as I dropped my bags, happy to be home. It was late in the evening, so I was pretty tired. I lit enough candles to start a brush fire in my bathroom and filled the tub to the brim. With a coffee in one hand and a magazine in the other, I lay there until my skin was wrinkly. My queen-sized bed was calling my name. I dressed in my favorite winter PJs and hit the hay. I had the whole Sunday to relax, and then, Monday it was back to work. I couldn’t wait to wear my new boots. A shoe fetish? Me? Never!
I spent Sunday morning slothing about; then, in the afternoon, I had lunch with my folks. Papa was his usual busy self, making calls and ordering his minions around. I was thrilled to eat someone else’s food for a change. Mama was an excellent cook. She cooked in the same way as she painted—colorfully, every plate a work of art. I was glad when it was just the three of us for lunch. That was a rarity in our house; Italian families didn’t go it alone too often, and my father had hangers-on that weren’t my cup of tea. I was surprised he could walk with so many heads up his ass.
“How’s work, Celina?” My father took a sip of his Prosecco and another bite of Beef Brasato and Pappardelle, a firm favorite of his.
“I enjoyed my week in Milan with Mama, but my desk is probably stacked high with files; so, don’t expect to hear from me for a few days.”
“You’re smart, my little brainbox. You’ll get it done in no time,” Mama said as she grated more Parmigiano-Reggiano over her pasta.
“Si, Mama. Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I smiled warmly at her and poured myself another glass of Prosecco.
“She’s right. You have your father’s brain for business. Did my girls spend all my money in Milan?”
“Of course, Papa!” His comment about me taking after him irritated me slightly. As if Mama wasn’t as smart as he was.
“Always.” Mama giggled. “That’s why you work so hard, isn’t it?”
“Ovviamente, my expensive ladies!”
“I hear Salvatore is back in Chicago. He asked about you.” My mother’s hints were never subtle.
“Yes, I heard, Mama.” I wasn’t prepared to discuss my ex with my parents or with anyone else for that matter. Viola was the one who told me he was back in town. If he valued his balls, he’d stay away from me. I never did tell my folks why I broke up with Salvatore. Had I done so, he’d be swimming with the fishes.
“Perhaps, I’ll invite him over for tea. You two can catch up.”
“No thanks, Mama. I’m good.”
I was done with the subject, and my mother knew it. When I was done with something or someone, there was no way I engaged in it again. That was the only trait of my father’s that I had. I did not forgive easily, and I never forgot.
&nb
sp; Chapter Two
GIANI
The blonde I took home after clubbing was still fast asleep in my bed. She looked like a model—fabulous tits. She was nice enough, but she’d bore me after a few shags. The girl was no brainiac. Probably for the best. I was in no mood to work hard on maintaining a relationship. I never had a shortage of female company; why buy the cow when you can sample the milk, right?
The blonde stirred as I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen. I made a cup of coffee and put on the TV. Sundays were usually a quiet day on the news front. I imagined it was a day when politicians and moguls took the day off to regroup for a new week of mayhem and corruption. Even the newscaster looked like she’d rather be at home than in the newsroom.
I went back to the room when I heard the toilet flush. Sam, or Sandra, or whatever her name was, was in the shower.
“Hi,” I called into the bathroom. “You sleep okay?” How soon can you leave?
“Hi, yeah. Like a baby.”
Not a word I was particularly fond of. A baby was usually the most effective way for a desperate chick to hold onto the object of her obsession. I was very careful not to step into that steaming pile of horse crap. True, I was no altar boy, but I didn’t think I could abandon my kid. Not after the shit I went through as a child. In the old days, before DNA, I imagined many suckers were caught in that trap. Hoorah for science.
“You want a cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, great!” she yelled from the shower.
I poured her a cup, and then, called a cab. After “whatshername” left, perfectly clear on the idea that the sex was a one-time thing, I went out for breakfast. Honestly, I had no idea why bachelors cooked, unless it got them laid. My phone rang as I climbed into my car. It was Dominick Coli.
“Morning, Capo.”
“Hi, Giani. I’d like to have a chat with you this afternoon. Come over to the house at three.”
“Sure thing, Boss.”
Short and sweet. I preferred it that way. I wasn’t a talker for the sake of it kinda guy. The Coli’s were at their Chicago mansion for a few weeks. Dominick had his finger on the pulse of his operations, and his wife Gina usually traveled with him to Chicago. I admired their relationship. They were inseparable, and Dominick treated Gina with love and respect. It was foreign to me: not something you saw too much of on the streets. That kind of love wasn’t part of my world. Keep ‘em at a distance, and they can’t fuck you over.
The Coli lakefront mansion was impressive. Not as grand as their home in Florida, but spectacular by anyone’s standards. The home faced the lake so that every room looked over the water. The Coli’s were in good shape for their age. A large indoor Grecian swimming pool on the estate was heated so that the couple could swim all year round. They also loved their sailing.
I met with Dominick in his office.
“Good to see you, Giani. You’re looking well.”
“Thank you, Capo. I’ve come a long way from my days living on the streets. I’m eternally in your debt, Capo.”
“We love you like a son, Giani. You don’t need to prove yourself to me, my boy.”
“Who’s giving you uphill, Capo?” I was ready to defend my benefactor at the drop of a hat.
“As you know, I’m concluding a very important deal in Chicago this week, so I’m counting on you to keep me covered. I’ll give you the details of my movements before you leave.”
“Is Mrs. Coli joining you, Capo?”
“No, she’ll stay here. A few of my men will stay with her.”
“I’ll make sure everything is secure and ready, Capo.”
“Good, I’m counting on you.”
***
CELINA
Finance and business management was my passion. Despite the fact that I loved clothes, my passion was business. Even as a small child, I saved my pocket money and started my “own businesses,” selling whatever a young girl could get her hands on. While others were spending money like it was water, I amassed a pretty packet of cash. My father thought it was cute until he realized that I wasn’t taking any prisoners. He enrolled me at Chicago University, where I sailed through without breaking a sweat.
After I graduated, I was offered a position at a large finance and business management company, but I wasn’t much of a team player. I preferred working for myself. That way, I was in charge of my own destiny; if I slacked off, I had no one to blame but myself. No excuses, no bullshit. I took on a partner—a fellow student at university—and between the two of us, we had a good thing going. We had a small team of interns working for us, but the buck stopped with Stella and me. Our office in Fulton East was very modern. My father insisted on paying for the best interior decorator to showcase the status of the Pisano name. I didn’t argue.
“Hey, jet-setter, how was Milan? You spend all daddy’s money?”
Stella was typing away on her laptop, stopping every so often to take a huge bite of a doughnut. Honestly, I had no idea where the girl got her brainfood from; maybe her body thrived on junk food. I never saw anything but brown food going into her mouth. The only time she ate colorful food was when the donuts had colored glaze on them. Stella was a scream. She had no filter, which was why I kept her as far away from our clients as a rule. I did the delicate negotiations; Stella did the behind the scenes number crunching. The woman was a business savant with the social skills of an outhouse rat.
“Well, good morning to you too, bright eyes. Of course, I did. Milan isn’t worth all that time on a plane without blowing the budget.” I did a little twirl so she could see my new boots.
“Fuck me! How much those puppies set you back?”
“A lady never tells.”
“You’re so full of shit!” Stella laughed and took another bite of her doughnut.
“Did I miss anything exciting? You didn’t piss anyone off with your honest talk, did you? Do I have to phone and apologize to anyone?”
“Haha. Nope, Jennifer took care of the calls, and I handled the important stuff. There’s a shitload of stuff on your desk. Better you set your skinny ass down and get started.”
After my PA brought me a double cappuccino and a cheese bagel, I dove into work and looked up again when the clock struck five. I went into my own little universe when it came to working. I loved everything about it. I was embarrassed to say, but I even dreamed about work, and not in a nightmarish way either. A mafia nerd I was—a nerd in expensive Italian couture and a passion for cocktails.
“Right, I’m off before the clock strikes twelve and my car turns back into a pumpkin. You coming skinny?” Stella hoisted herself out of her chair and slammed her laptop shut. “How about a quick cocktail before we head home?”
I was more than halfway through the stack of files on my desk. A cocktail sounded like a damn fine idea. “I thought you’d never ask, Stella. Let’s blow this pop stand.”
There was a cocktail bar around the corner from our office. Stella and I had our own honorary plaque behind the bar—we were there that often. The owner of the bar was a friend of mine from high school. He was a woman magnet, not that I could blame them. He was way too sexy for one man—unfortunately for the ladies, Storm batted for the other side. But still, the women came, sure that one of them would flip him back to their side. Stella and I cackled every time we saw a newbie having at it.
“Ah, my favorite drinking team! Where the hell have you been, girl?”
“Hey, Storm. You know I’d never walk out on you my love. I was on a shopping spree in Milan.”
“Oh, you lucky bitch. Come on, show me the boots.” Storm knew all about my shoe fetish. We were always comparing labels. To his chagrin, I usually won.
“Check these out.” I twirled so he could see my new babies.
“Oh, my God—they're fabulous! You know I hate you, right?”
“Okay, you two nattering Sheilas! Are we gonna drink or what?” Stella was bored with our shoe talk. She wore whatever was on top in her shoe closet. She couldn’t care less
about fashion. If it fit her, she wore it. The two of us were polar opposite, but when it came to business, we whistled the same tune.
I asked her once why she’d left Australia behind in her rearview mirror. She mumbled something about a bad breakup with a beef farmer in Queensland. They were engaged for a year or two, but when it came to committing, Stella admitted to him, and to herself, that farm life just wasn’t her bag. She had far too much gray matter to stare out at the cattle field all day long. Not that there weren’t any financial and business gurus in Queensland, mind you, but her fiancé was old school. A ranger’s wife’s place was in the home, churning out three meals a day and rearing the little ankle biters.
I laughed as she described her lot to me. Stella was a big girl, not fat, just big. She looked like she could wrangle a bull all by herself. It was comforting hitting the clubs with her in tow—no charmer with even half a brain cell would ever think of fucking with a six-foot Amazon chick with an Aussie accent. Life was just too short to waste on lying in an ICU.
“Wait till you taste what I’ve come up with, girls. It’s gonna blow your mind.” Storm looked rather pleased with himself as he threw together a concoction of spirits and cranberry juice and presented it to us, as proud as a mother of a newborn baby.
“Well, color me impressed, Storm. This one’s a beauty!” Stella’s Australian accent got progressively broader as the empty cocktail glasses piled up. Storm and I winked at each other as she threw back another one. I had no idea where she put it, but the woman could drink anyone under the table and still win an arm wrestling contest.
A “quick drink” was something that existed on other planets, but not in Stella’s and mine. I did drink at half the speed of my Aussie partner, but still.
Ruthless Captor: A Mafia Romance (Corrupt Minds Book 3) Page 2