Becoming the Street Boss: A Zanetti Famiglia Novel

by Faiman, Hayley

  “A diamond necklace from you, a new camera from me.”

  “Good.”

  He told me to buy her the necklace. Said every woman should start out womanhood with a diamond. I don’t know where he got that idea from, but it was sweet that he wanted to do that for her. I didn’t go overboard, I bought her a one-carat solitaire on a dainty rose gold chain.

  “You’re over halfway finished,” I point out.

  He flicks his gaze down to me, looking down his nose at me. There are no more tender gazes when we see one another, no more handholding and when he kisses me goodbye, he gives me nothing but a lifeless peck.

  I have a feeling that my marriage is over before it truly has begun.

  “Need you to visit Arlo for me. I haven’t talked to him in a while. I need an update on how everything is going on his end. Luca and I talk regularly, so do me and Vino. Arlo has been distant.”

  “Do you have many dealings with him?” I ask, thinking about all of the call girls at his casino.

  I know that Luca helps with that, but Arlo is the main one in charge, which was the reason I went to him several years ago when I had nowhere else to go. The woman at the front desk, Mia, truly runs the place but Arlo is in and out no doubt, with his fingers in dozens of pies.

  “I have in the past,” he grunts.

  “What do you need me to tell him?”

  I really don’t want to say shit. Not to Arlo, not to anyone. I feel like I’m in some kind of limbo. Nothing happens, I’m just existing as I wait for Massimo to get out. When he does, I have a feeling my existence will not be anywhere near what I hoped.

  “Tell him the cop here wants in. Gavino knows, says it’s up to Arlo, but I haven’t been able to set a meet with him.”

  Nodding, I lift my eyes to meet his. “He just had another baby. I don’t think he’s been working much,” I explain to him.

  Massimo’s eyes narrow. “I know he did,” he hisses. “Work still needs to be handled. If it needs to be while I’m in here, then it needs to be when his wife shoots a kid from her pussy.”

  “Massimo,” I gasp.

  “What?”

  “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say,” I murmur.

  He tilts his head to the side, his eyes finding mine as his lips curl into a cruel-looking smile. “Not a nice man, dolcezza,” he snarls.

  I want to stand, turn around and run from him, but I don’t. He would be angry if I did, and right now he’s angry enough, I don’t need to add to his ire.

  “Yes, you are, Massimo. You’re just in a bad place right now. When you get home, things will be better. You’ll see,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head with a snort as he pushes his chair back and stands to his feet. I watch as he leans over the table, placing his fists on the top as he looks down at me.

  “I was never a nice man. I wanted to own you from the time you were seventeen and I did. I do. You’re my property, Pippa. The only thing that will change when I get home is I’ll be able to get my dick wet inside my property.”

  Without saying another word, he turns from me and walks away. I stare at him slack-jawed. Before tears fall from my eyes, I clear my throat and rise to my feet. Turning my back to him, I decide that Massimo Ferrucci can go and fuck himself—forever.

  * * *

  Arlo’s brows rise as he looks across the table at me. “You want to what?”

  “I want to work for you,” I say.

  It’s been six months since I’ve seen Massimo. He hasn’t called, hasn’t asked me to come and see him… nothing. At first, I didn’t go because he pissed me off, the way he called me his property. He’s right, of course, but it still made me mad.

  Then, I stopped going to see him because he hadn’t called me and I was stubborn, along with angry. Now, it’s because I’m fairly certain he doesn’t want me there. Why be around someone who doesn’t want you there?

  If he wants me to be his whore, whatever, that’s fine, but I’m going to put money away for me, for my own security and the only way I know how to do that is by getting a job.

  When Massimo comes back, if he doesn’t want a wife, he doesn’t have to have one. He can have the divorce he was so insistent on having four years ago.

  “Rosana is off to college. I need to earn an income.”

  “You do?”

  Pressing my lips together, I look down at my lap, then lift my gaze back up to meet his. “Yeah, Arlo. I do.”

  “Best I can do is waitress, but Massimo won’t allow it.”

  “And you have to tell him?”

  Arlo arches a brow, the look on his face saying everything. Frowning, I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. I shake my head a couple of times, my gaze focused on his, never wavering. It doesn’t matter, he is not budging.

  “What can I do, then?”

  “Fuck,” he grunts. “Women, all of you are being brought into business and it’s fucking dangerous,” he snaps.

  “Are we?” I ask.

  He stands as he shakes his head a couple of times. “First it was Mia, then Nicola, now you. Don’t even get me started on how many hours my wife works down at the shop,” he grumbles.

  “Arlo?”

  “Fine,” he snaps. “You can help me here in the office. Mia hates paperwork and I fucking refuse to touch the shit. You’ll have to sign an NDA though.”

  Jerking my chin up, I look down my nose at him. “I’ll sign it.”

  “You won’t like everything you see,” he warns.

  “I think I know exactly what my sister did for you, so I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

  He chuckles as he shakes his head a couple of times. “Okay, cara. The position is yours.”

  “Without talking to Massimo?” I ask.

  Arlo lets out a deep sigh. “I’ll handle him, yeah?”

  “Okay.”

  MASSIMO

  “You did what?” I growl.

  Arlo grins over at me. I asked him to get his ass here six months ago when my wife refused to pass along my message, but he didn’t and she hasn’t come back. I didn’t ask her to visit me, knowing my last words were pretty harsh.

  She doesn’t need to keep coming to see me, spending an hour every two weeks with me is not a marriage. It would be easier if she just hated me, filed for divorce and moved far away. That would make all of this a hell of a lot easier.

  “Gave Pippa a job.” He grins.

  “Doing what exactly?” I ask, the warning tone clear in my voice.

  He tilts his head to the side, his tongue peeking out along his bottom lip as he fucking taunts me. “Would it matter?”

  Leaning forward, my eyes find his. He holds my gaze, never moving or shifting. He’s fucking serious with this shit. I grind my teeth together, waiting for his answer, wondering how much more time I’d get added to my sentence if I killed him right here and now.

  “She’s my secretary, kind of. More like my file clerk,” he says with a chuckle.

  “What the fuck?”

  “She wanted a job. She thinks she needs a separate savings account in case you want a divorce when you get out.”

  I snort. “Not fucking likely.”

  Arlo nods his head, his eyes finding mine. “You’ve changed, she’s probably a bit unnerved by the murderous look in your eyes, no?”

  “Probably,” I grunt.

  I decide not to tell him about the way I spoke to her the last time that I saw her. I regret it. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I shouldn’t have been so cold to her, but I’m at my rope’s goddamn end.

  The world is moving, it keeps going and I’m at a standstill—she’s at a standstill because of me. I feel fucking worthless, helpless, and like the biggest piece of shit on earth. I can’t tell her any of that, I can’t look weak in front of her or anyone else in this place.

  “Our contact here has proved to be very useful,” Arlo murmurs, keeping his voice low.

  I don’t look behind me where I know the man stands, his position never wavering insi
de this place. He’s been extremely helpful, showing his loyalty by fucking up the guard who kept leering at my wife and making comments. He has also passed several messages to and from me on to Gavino.

  “Does he want to be Made?” I ask.

  Arlo shakes his head. “Gavino wants him kept exactly where he is. He’s useful, keeps us updated on all the happenings around here,” he says, shrugging his shoulder.

  “How are things? Why don’t you keep me updated?” I ask.

  Arlo shakes his head once. “Things are good. Calm. Nothing has ruffled anyone’s feathers. Shit with the Savage Beast MC is going well. Deliveries are made on time, without issue. Benicio and his famiglia are working out great.”

  “Shit’s going to hit the fan again soon,” I murmur.

  Arlo snorts. “Without a doubt.”

  “You’ll make sure Pippa is protected?”

  “Do you care if she is?” Growling, I bare my teeth and he smirks. “You don’t act like you do.”

  Jerking my chin, I lift my hand and run my fingers through my hair. “She’s my wife. It’s my duty to protect her.”

  “In all ways, Massimo,” he says as he stands to his feet. “Don’t forget that. It’s your duty to protect her in all ways, her heart, mind, body, and emotions. Stop being a fucking dick.”

  Without another word, he turns from me. I watch him walk away and only stand when he’s completely out of the room. Turning to make my way back inside, toward my small empty cell, I stop next to my friendly guard.

  “Do me a favor?” He doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “Keep an eye on my wife if you get a chance?”

  “Consider it done.”

  “I want to know if anyone comes in or out of her place.”

  I don’t know why I want to know. No, that’s a lie. I do know why. I want to make sure she’s still mine—all mine. I’m a fucking asshole, never said that I wasn’t. But Pippa is still my wife and the animal inside of me wants to ensure that she is still very much—mine.

  “I got you. I’ll have a full update next time I see you,” he promises.

  Without another word, I walk away from him and toward the guard that hates me with a passion. He doesn’t give me shit anymore, hasn’t for about two years, but I have a feeling he’s chomping at the bit to do just that.

  “Ferrucci,” he grunts.

  Sliding my eyes to the side, I wait for him to continue, knowing that I don’t have to say shit for him to give me his two fucking cents.

  “Miss seeing your pretty little wife around here. Don’t worry though, I still get my fill any chance I get.”

  Turning my head, I curl my lips up in a snarl. If I thought that there was any validity to his words, I’d take him out right here, but I know that there isn’t. He’s trying to piss me off, trying to rile me up so that I’ll pop off and spend more fucking time here. Not fucking likely.

  Glancing back over my shoulder, I give my friend a jerk of my chin. He dips his and just like that, this asshole is no longer an issue for me. He’s done and I’m done dealing with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  PIPPA

  Arlo lifts his face, his eyes finding mine as soon as I enter the room. My entire body freezes at the look on his face. Guilt. I see it swimming behind his eyes. He knows something, he’s said something, he’s done something.

  “Tell me,” I say through gritted teeth.

  He shakes his head once before he lets out a heavy exhale. “That officer that was bothering you at the prison? He was found dead.”

  My spine straightens, my eyes narrow and let out a snort. “Oh yeah? Did he dare to anger my husband?”

  “He dared to watch you, stalk you, and jack off to videos he’d taken of you if you must know.”

  My knees buckle. I fall on my ass, thankfully into the cushion of a chair. My lungs squeeze in my chest as I attempt to catch my breath. My body feels hot, my face the hottest and I know that my cheeks are bright red, they must be.

  “He’s been taken care of, Pippa.”

  “How long had he been watching me?”

  Arlo’s eyes shift to the side, then move back to me. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Did he watch Rosana?” I ask.

  He watches me, not speaking and my heart slams against my chest so hard that I expect it to fly out of my chest and land on his desk.

  “No, just you, Pippa.”

  Lifting my hand to my chest, I feel it move up and down as I attempt to catch my breath. “Thank God,” I rasp. “Thank God.”

  “You’re okay?” Arlo asks, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  Nodding, I continue to breathe evenly to calm myself, then I close my eyes for a moment before reopening them. “I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Got a guard on your house for a couple weeks. He’s gone, so there shouldn’t be any issues. But I want you to feel safe anyway. Massimo would want it too.”

  “Would he?” I ask.

  Arlo smirks, his gaze focused on me and nowhere else. “He’s the one who called the hit, cara. Knew he was a problem, thought having him roughed up a little would solve it, obviously it didn’t.”

  “I want to talk to him,” I demand.

  Arlo shakes his head. “He’ll be out in just a few months, talk to him then, when you’re both able to actually fucking talk. Not in that place.”

  Nodding my head, I stand. “I need the day off. I need to process.”

  Arlo lifts his hand, giving me a wave. “Go and meet with Lenora, take her to lunch? She works too hard. Put it on my card, yeah?”

  I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and nod my head. I reach into my purse and check to make sure that I have Arlo’s company credit card, not the one for the casino, but the one for his legitimate businesses with Gavino.

  When Arlo agreed to have me work for him, I thought that I would be in the casino just filing the paperwork here, but apparently his legitimate business office with Gavino was a train wreck too.

  So, my assumption that this would be a little part-time thing for extra money to dump into savings has actually turned into a full-time position and one that I have fallen in love with.

  I can’t imagine myself not working for him, not only do I get to see a little of the inner workings of the famiglia’s businesses, but I also get to spend time with the men and women that I’ve felt extremely distanced from since Massimo went away.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  “Take the week off if you want, Pippa. It would be okay with me.”

  “And do what? Sit around in my house wondering who else watches me and jacks their dick? No fucking thank you. I need to be here first thing in the morning, Arlo,” I snap.

  Arlo’s brows lift before he lets out a snort. “Just go. I’ll see you in the morning,” he grumbles. “I’ll have a car come and get you.”

  Turning away from him, I lift my hand and wave before I turn and walk out of the room. My phone rings in my hand and I notice that it’s a blocked number. My initial reaction is to let it go to voicemail. I don’t. Instead, I answer it just as I step outside of the building.

  The recorded voice that I’ve become familiar with asks me if I would like to accept the collect call. I think about telling it to go to hell. Almost a year. I haven’t heard or seen my husband in almost a year and now he calls me?

  Agreeing to the call, I inhale a deep breath while it connects us. “What?” I shout.

  “Dolcezza,” he hums.

  “Fuck your dolcezza. What the fuck do you want?”

  “You’re angry.”

  “No goddamn shit,” I snap.

  There’s a moment of silence and I think that he’s going to hang up on me, but he doesn’t. I hear him clear his throat, then I hear him hum softly before he speaks.

  “I’ll be home soon. I know you’re angry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Arlo probably told you what happened.”

  I snort. “Yeah, Arlo told me what happened. I’m o
kay, grossed out, but okay.”

  “Pippa, I just…”

  “You’re sorry?” I ask when he doesn’t finish his thoughts, his words. “Sorry that you were a giant fucking asshole and ignored me for years. Not days, Massimo, years,” I hiss.

  I hear him sigh, then he inhales before he lets it out in a long exhale. “I deserve that, Pippa. I deserve a hell of a lot, and I have a fuckload to atone for when I get out.”

  Tears stream down my face at his words. He does have a fuckload to atone for, but neither of us is perfect, never have been. I open my mouth to tell him just that, to ask him if he will let me come and see him so that we can talk in person.

  I open my mouth but no words come out. Instead, I scream. I feel something hot slam into my shoulder, then my waist, then my thigh. My entire body crumples to the ground, I try to pull my legs up into the fetal position, but I can’t.

  I can hear Massimo’s voice in the distance. I hear car tires screech and squeal. I lift my eyes and watch the back of a red sedan speed away. A man shouts, then another. A woman screams. Then Enrico’s face appears in front of me.

  “Oh, fuck,” he growls. “Fucking shit,” he snaps. I watch as he picks up my phone, holding it to his ear. “She’s right here. Someone got her, don’t know who. Bystanders already called 911. I can’t tell, two, maybe three times…” His voice begins to fade away.

  I open my mouth to call out, to say something, but no sound escapes my lips.

  Then.

  Everything.

  Goes.

  Black.

  MASSIMO

  Shot.

  No, gunned the fuck down.

  I could do nothing but listen to her screams. I want to know who the fuck did this and when I find him, I’m going to torture him—slowly. Flashbacks of my mother’s death play in my mind on a loop. I’m as helpless right now as I was at five years old.

  Making my way back to my cell, I clench my fists tightly as I stare at the wall in front of me. All I can do is think about my wife. Think about my treatment of her over the past four and a half years. I’ve been downright cruel when she has been nothing but kind and patient.