by Hamel, B. B.
I wondered if my father was right, if she really was just about getting a taste.
There was some truth to that. I wanted her and wasn’t trying to hide it. Every time she came around, I wanted to put my hands on her skin, feel her soft body, make her moan, make her whisper my name.
But it wasn’t just that.
There was something about her. It was there, in the way she approached me that first night. It was in her smile, in her swagger. In her inability to keep her mouth shut back in my father’s study, even though I told her not to speak up no matter what.
It was that little spark that drew me to her.
We made it home and I parked in my usual spot. I got out, opened her door, walked her up the stoop. We got inside and she collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. She took off her shoes and threw them onto the floor then lounged back.
I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a drink. “You want one?” I called out.
“No, thanks,” she answered.
I carried my whiskey back into the living room and looked down at her. She stared up at me, adjusted her dress, tilted her head.
“Well?” she asked.
I sipped my drink then slowly sat in the brown armchair next to the couch. I let out a sigh and stared at my shoes for a few seconds.
“My father doesn’t know why we were given that warning any more than I do,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t. We have some guesses, but we’re not sure.” I took a longer sip, nearly finished off the drink.
“What are your guesses?” she asked.
I reached into my jacket. Inside was a plain manila envelope with several pieces of paper tucked inside. I took out the envelope and tossed it to her.
“If you want to hear them, you need to sign that,” I said.
She stared at the envelope then shook her head. “What the hell is this?” she asked.
“That’s a standard Leone Family NDA,” I said.
“A non-disclosure agreement?” she asked, her mouth hanging open.
“That’s right.”
“How the hell am I supposed to sign this?” he asked.
“With a pen,” I said.
She glared at me. “I can’t write an article if I sign an NDA,” she said.
“There’s a clause in there allowing for a reasonable change of details,” I said. “I had my father put it in.”
“You two were in there making a contract for me?” she asked.
“The NDA is standard, the only change we made was to section four, clause six. Open it up and take a look. It basically says you can’t release any details about our family, but you’ll be allowed to write an article that reasonably hides our identities.”
She stared at me and shook her head in disbelief. “You’re really going to make me sign this?”
“If you want access, you’d better,” I said.
“Fuck that.” She tossed the envelope aside. “And fuck you, Vince. We had a deal.”
I clenched my jaw. That was exactly what I’d said to my father. But he made it clear that if I didn’t get her to sign, he’d send Roberto over to get the job done, and Roberto wouldn’t be kind about it.
My fucking piece of shit father.
He pretended to be a kind, hobbled old man. But there was ice water in his veins, and I knew he loved hurting people more than anything else in the world.
I stood up and finished my whiskey, throwing it back in one gulp. I slammed the glass down on the table then turned to face her.
“Sign the NDA,” I said. “Sign it before my father comes here with a fucking goon and makes you do it.”
“Oh, so now you’re threatening me?” She stood up, rage in her eyes.
“No, Mona, I’m trying to protect you,” I said. “My father wanted me to get rid of you. He wanted me to throw you out of the city and send you packing. Either that or put a bullet in your head and save him the trouble of paying you off.”
She stared at me, eyes wide. “What the fuck?”
“He hates journalists,” I said. “He thinks you know too much now. He thinks you’re a goddamn danger. So sign that NDA, make him happy, and we can move on with our lives.”
“This is bullshit,” she said. “I thought you trusted me. I thought we were trying to trust each other.”
“I do trust you,” I said. “And you’d better learn to trust me by signing that fucking piece of paper. It doesn’t change anything, but it makes my father feel better.”
She stared at me, her body shaking with rage. She turned, walked to the envelope, and grabbed it off the couch. She pulled the documents out and stared at them.
I took a pen from my jacket pocket and held it out.
She walked over, snatched it from me, and slammed the NDA down onto the table. She initialed each page, scrawling the letters big and angry, then signed her name and dated it on the very last page. When she was done, she threw the pen across the room.
“Happy?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “But my father will be and now you won’t end up dead or thrown out of the city.”
She shook her head. “You assholes,” she said. “You act like you care, but we both know you don’t.”
“Mona,” I said.
She turned away. “Whatever. Pretend like you’re better than he is, but we both know you’re not.” She stomped to the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
I watch her head up and let out a breath.
Fuck. Well, that went about as well as I expected.
She had every right to be angry. Signing that document essentially gave my father every legal right over whatever article she ended up writing. Even if she ended up writing something reasonable and well within the bounds of the deal we set up, my father could still fuck her in the ass if he wanted.
I wouldn’t let that happen, but she had no reason to believe that.
My eyes drifted over to her shoes, still lying on the floor.
Goddamn. She was gorgeous. And ever sexier when she was pissed.
I smiled a little, gathered up the pages, and slipped them back into the envelope. I walked into the kitchen, refilled my drink, and leaned against the counter.
I took a long sip and tried to think about our next move.
10
Mona
About fifty times that night, I thought about getting up and leaving.
There was no reason to stay. His father hated me, and if the Don of the crime family wanted me gone, then I’d be gone.
But now that I’d signed away all my rights, his father could tank me at any moment. Even if I wrote a perfect article, he could swoop in, tell me that it wasn’t perfect enough, and screw me over.
I was so angry with Vince. We had a deal, and he’d gone back on his deal and made me sign that bullshit. Now I had no power and no guarantee that anything would work out in my favor. I might put myself through all this, put myself in this danger, and still end up screwed and with nothing to show for it.
But I didn’t leave. I took off my dress, put on comfortable clothes, and stewed in that strange bed. I stared at the ceiling, listening to cars drive past outside, and tried to imagine what I’d gain by leaving versus what I’d lose by staying.
In the end, even if there was a chance of getting a good article from all this, I had to see it through.
I couldn’t help myself. I was too curious about that snake, about Vince’s reaction to it, about the way the Don so clearly despised me with all his being.
I had to stay and find out what happened next.
Or maybe, if I was being honest with myself, maybe it was more.
Maybe it was that look Vince had given me when he’d come up the stairs as I left my room to take a shower earlier that night, when he caught me in nothing but a towel wrapped around my chest.
His eyes took me in and I saw hunger there, pure and simple hunger.
It made me writhe and bite my lip.
S
ometime around midnight, I drifted off. I had some dreams, restless and surreal, and woke up early with sunlight streaming in through my window. I was groggy as I sat up, rubbed my eyes, tried to understand the strange, unfamiliar room around me.
I took a second to remember that I was living with a total stranger.
I got out of bed, went into the bathroom, got myself together. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, then headed downstairs. The house was quiet, and for a second I thought I’d find it empty.
Instead, I found Vince sitting at the table with a newspaper in front of him.
He looked up and tilted his head. “Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” I drifted toward the table. “Coffee?”
“In the pot,” he said, nodding at the kitchen. “There are bagels in a bag and some cream cheese in the refrigerator if you want.”
“Thanks.” I headed into the kitchen, got myself some coffee and a bagel, put a little cream cheese on it, and drifted back into the main room.
He stared at me and folded down the Wall Street Journal. I nodded at it and cocked my head.
“You don’t read online?” I asked.
“I like physical papers still,” he said. “Grabbed this while I was out.”
“How long have you been awake?”
He shrugged. “I don’t sleep much.”
“Oh, right.” I lingered then walked to the table and sat down. The contract from the night before was gone, swept away and filed at his father’s place already, I’d be willing to bet.
Roberto probably drove over special just to grab it, that weird bald bastard.
“You asked me some questions I never got to answer last night,” he said as I drank my coffee and ate some bagel. “You still want answers?”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
He leaned toward me. “You can’t write a good article if you’re going to act like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like none of this matters.” He stared at me, a little smile on his face. “You know you can still make it through this, right? My father isn’t omniscient. He’s not everywhere at once.”
“Doesn’t make a difference,” I said, staring at the table. “He has all the power now.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Vince said. “Just do what you can do and let me handle my father.”
I shrugged and turned my head away.
He let out a breath and stood. For a second, I thought he was going to storm off. But instead, he came around the table and dropped the paper next to me.
“Go ahead and read it if you want,” he said. “I’m getting changed. We’re leaving in ten.”
I looked up at him. “I’m not ready yet.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You look perfect.”
“I’m in ripped jeans and an old shirt.”
“Like I said.” He turned away and walked to the steps. I watched him disappear upstairs then turned back to the paper.
It was turned to a page toward the back. The story at the very top read, CRIME BOSS TAKES PLEA DEAL.
I scanned the article and leaned over it. It was about a mobster from Chicago that plead guilty to six counts of murder, two counts of aggravated assault, and a truckload of other financial crimes. Apparently, he was going away for a very, very long time.
I didn’t know what to make of it. I pushed the paper away, finished the bagel as fast as I could, and manage to burn my tongue on the coffee.
Vince came back down ten minutes later in a fresh suit. His hair was pushed back and I had to admit, he looked really good with his top two buttons undone, showing off just a touch of his muscular chest.
“Come on,” he said.
I got up and followed him outside. We got into his BMW and he pulled out into traffic.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“We’re taking a tour,” he said. “A little tour of the city.”
“Yeah?” I cocked my head. “I know this city pretty well already.”
“Not like I do.” He turned down a side street and slowed a bit. “This block belongs to a little gang called the Mencios. Little guys, no big deal. They pay fealty to my father, and otherwise get to run their shit.” We drove slow past a bunch of guys sitting on a corner stoop with big white t-shirts and white sneakers. They nodded at Vince as he waved to them.
He drove a few more blocks, turned right. “This is more Leone territory,” he said. “That business there, the dry cleaner’s? I own that, and I own the place down here on the left, the pawn shop.”
“How many businesses do you own around here?” I asked.
“Ten right now,” he said. “Used to be more, but I sold off the ones that weren’t profitable.”
“I didn’t know they needed to actually make money.”
He laughed. “They don’t, but it helps.”
We drove through more neighborhoods and he pointed out more mob-owned stores, talked about other little gangs. There were the Two Hats, the Chainz, the 616ers, the Twelve Shots, the Gustin Gang, the Vagos. On and on, gangs of all sizes, all of them working in some way for the Leone Crime Family.
He took me west and up a few more blocks, closer to Center City.
“This is Russian territory,” he said. “Most of the spots around here, they run. Their territory used to extend further south, but we’ve been taking it from them, bit by bit.”
“Weren’t they your biggest competitor for a while?” I asked.
He nodded. “For a long, long time. But shit changed recently, things went haywire for them, and we swooped in.”
“Huh,” I said, then laughed a little. “I like that you’re admitting it now, you know.”
He gave me a look. “Don’t ruin this.”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway.” He drove further up, toward Fairmount and the Art Museum. “More Russian territory,” he said. “Up north, we own some of the blocks, but mostly it’s smaller gangs fighting it out. We tend to stay away from that petty shit.”
“You’re the big boys then,” I said.
“I like to think of us as the adults in the room,” he said with smirk. “We’re the businessmen. We’re in this for money and power, not for pride. This is a long game for us.”
“You’d think it would be a long game for them, too.”
“To some of them it is,” he said, his voice soft. “But so many of these gang boys can’t see a long game, can’t think past the next few days or weeks. They grew up thinking they’d never make it past their twentieth birthday.”
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“Yeah, well, that’s the way shit goes.” He pulled around Fairmount and drove slow toward Eastern State Penitentiary.
“Last night, I asked you why the Jalisco sent you that snake skeleton,” I said. “Are you ready to tell me now?”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “You see how much territory my people own,” he said. “And you see how much the Russians still have.”
“You have more,” I said.
“But they’re still significant. We’re the biggest, but they’re the second biggest.”
“What’s that have to do with the Jalisco?”
He hesitates, tensed his jaw, let it go.
“My father’s in talks with the Russians,” he said. “They want to make an alliance. Bring the families together, bring them closer.”
I blinked and shook my head. “Wait, what?”
“He thinks it makes sense,” he said with a sneer. “The two biggest families owning and ruling the whole damn city. Now that the Russians are on the fence and getting pushed back every day, they’re willing to negotiate. My father thinks it’s smarter to keep his opponent around, at least a little bit, so it’ll take some heat off us, keep the cops looking at the Russians for a while.”
I chewed my cheek and shifted in my seat as he turned down Nineteenth Street and headed south again.
“You don’t agree with that,” I said.
“No,”
he said. “I don’t. If the decision were mine, I’d kill the Russians off and own this place outright. Letting them live is only going to let them regain strength so they can fight us for real one day in the future. And meanwhile, everyone in the city will know we’re the main power, Russians or not.”
I nodded slowly. “Makes sense to me.”
“My father doesn’t see it that way.” He grunted and shook his head. We rolled past a baseball field with kids practicing in the outfield. “He thinks we’re stronger united.”
He didn’t speak again as we kept moving south. I watched him, breathing deep and slow. There was so much going on in the city that I didn’t know about, so much fighting, so many gangs, so many groups. It was a teeming pile of roots, tangled together, a mass of violence and drugs and power.
I could understand why young men would be drawn to it.
And as I watched Vince drive, I thought back to that box, to the snake inside, and the note underneath it.
Join and die.
“The Jalisco don’t want you to go through with this alliance,” I said.
He smiled a little. “I knew you’d get there,” he said.
I glared at him. “Don’t patronize me.”
He laughed and gestured. “It’s simple. The Jalisco don’t want competition. They don’t want to do a deal with the Russians. They want our family to take over, and once we do, we’ll lose some negotiating leverage. But if we work together with the Russians, we’ll be able to squeeze the Jalisco, find sources of drugs elsewhere.”
“So they’re trying to block whatever you’re setting up,” she said.
“That’s my guess, anyway.” He slowed and stopped for a light then turned to me. “So now you know what you’re getting yourself into. One of the most volatile, dangerous times in the whole history of this damn city, and now a major cartel is getting involved.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and felt sweat trickle down my back.
“You’re really making me feel good here.”
He smiled and rolled forward as the light turned green.
“Just want you to understand,” he said. “That’s all.”
We lapsed into silence and I stared out the window. Every block that flashed past, every business, every street corner with young men hanging around on stoops, everything looked like it was connected, another root added to the pile.