Long Live the King (An Italian Mafia Romance Duet #2) (9 page)

“Dominic,” Tommy chimes in, “we had everybody look everywhere before we even called you. We tried to find it. We scoured the whole fucking city and couldn’t find it. Whoever took it may have ran with it outside the city.”

“Oh wonderful!” I yell, faking excitement. “That makes me feel much better, Tommy, thank you for your fucking input!”

The room goes silent, because they all know this is about to get bad. They all have looks of worry on their faces, but worry isn’t what I feel. It just looks to me like the war between us and the Chicago Outfit is unavoidable now. I’m not afraid of it. In fact, if Alannah had never come back to St. Louis, I’d welcome it. But she is here, and I never forget that it’s her I have to protect. I have to live for her.

“Frankie,” I snip. “Call Giovanni.”

“Okay. Now?” Frankie asks, looking unsure, which bothers me more than it probably should.

“Yes,
now
! We have to buy more time, and the longer we wait, the more it looks like we’re just making this shit up. Right now, it’s early in the day, so tell them something important came up and we can’t spare the bodies to make the delivery today. Tell them we have the extra money, and we’ll bring it as soon as we resolve our problem.”

“Okay, but what if he asks what the problem is?”

“Don’t fucking tell him. This is Giordano family business.”

Everyone in the room looks anxious, but it’s our only option right now. We have to make Victor believe that we’re ready to bring the truck and money, but we can’t because we have important family business going on. If he calls our bluff and drives up here himself, then so be it, we’ll go to war. If he shows up in my city, I’ll put a bullet in his brain through his ear.

Frankie goes over to the bar where our landline is and dials Giovanni’s number. The rest of us sit at the table in anticipation listening to the conversation, and it doesn’t sound like it’s going well. Frankie tries to explain that we have an emergency that requires all of our attention, and I can tell Giovanni asked what it is, because Frankie is stumbling over his words like he has a stuttering problem. He apologizes one too many times, and the next thing I know, he’s looking back at me, holding the phone in my direction.

“Victor wants to talk to you.”

Everyone in the room looks at me like I’m being sent to the principal’s office as I stand up, set my cigar in my marble ash tray, and saunter to the phone.

“Victor,” I say as I place the phone to my ear. I don’t sit on the stool at the bar next to me, because I don’t expect this conversation to last long.

“Where’s my money, Dominic?” Victor inquires in his low, raspy voice.

As soon as I hear his tone, I’m immediately reminded of how I felt when Frankie and I were at his warehouse. I hear the same condescending tone I heard yesterday, and it still pisses me the fuck off.

“I’ve got a problem that requires my attention, Victor,” I reply, feeling my defensive walls going up. “It requires
our
attention, so the delivery will have to wait.”

“I’ll have to wait,” I hear him repeat as if he’s telling someone who’s not on the line. I can just see the smug look on his face as he repeats my words to Giovanni. “Tell me, what is this big issue that requires the attention of everyone in your family, including the people who stole my truck and money?”

“Oh you know, it’s just that one issue that isn’t any of your fucking business, because it’s mine,” I fire back. My patience levels are at an all-time low with Victor and his arrogance. “We have your money, including the interest you put on it, but since you’re so far away, bringing it to you isn’t at the top of my priority list right now.”

The looks on the guy’s faces at the table tell me they’re on pins and needles, waiting to see how this conversation is going to end. Even Frankie looks nervous.

“Dominic,” Victor continues. “I know you’re a new boss, and you’re standing up in front of your family right now, trying to show them how in charge you are. But, this is the kind of issue that starts wars in Our Thing. We’ve already been down this road, so let’s not forget how it went last time when you were at my warehouse. Your family has stolen a lot of money from me, and if it isn’t returned with interest, it’ll be considered a breach of peace, and an act of war.”

“As much as I can appreciate the political analogy, I already told you we have the money. And I already told you I didn’t have a problem going to war. The money is here, but the time isn’t. I don’t have time to argue with you about it. We’re not bringing it tonight, and if you think that justifies a war, then you’ll fire the first shot. Once that happens, it is what it is, and we’ll see who’s left standing. Do what you gotta do, Victor.”

“Well let me just say this,” Victor snaps. “Today is Tuesday, and for every day you don’t bring me my money and my truck, you’ll add five hundred grand to the payment. And if the money and truck isn’t brought to me without a single cent missing by the time I wake up on Friday morning, you won’t have to bring me anything, because what you’ll owe me will be worth more than money, and I’ll be there to take it.”

Before I can drop some witty, aggressive comeback, the line goes dead.

It was a terrible idea for me to talk to Victor, because I can’t fucking stand him. My hatred for him might start a war all by itself.

This isn’t about the money. It’s about principle. As a boss, Victor
cannot
let us get away with taking what’s his, and as much as I don’t like the old geezer, I know I’d do the same thing if I was in his shoes. I’d be ready to cut someone’s fucking head off to prove my point. I’d love to flex my muscle on this, and I will if he keeps pushing me to it, but the truth is that Jimmy was the one who started all this. Thanks to him, our family owes Victor, and that’s how the Commission will see it too. It doesn’t matter how much I want to break Victor’s neck, the Commission will see us as the ones who started this shit, and that’s no good. I want to kill Victor for pushing this so hard, but the rules of La Cosa Nostra have me handcuffed.

I put the phone down and turn to face my family. They’re all on the edges of their seats, dying to know what Victor said about the money, but I’m not sure how to put it. So, I decide on the blunt approach.

“Every day we don’t bring the truck, he wants us to add half-a-mil,” I say. Everyone at the table looks worried and uncomfortable. I turn to Jimmy. “This is the kind of shit that gets people clipped. Find the fucking truck. Now.” There’s nothing left to say, so I get up and walk out of the room.

When I reach the elevator, I think about how shitty everything just became in no time at all. The robbing of the wrong truck, Victor’s daily half a million dollar interest, the truck vanishing into air, and now Victor making threats to my family. My stress level went from zero to a hundred in a matter of hours. I’m feeling a new sense of annoyance that can only come with being the boss, so I pull out my cell and call the only person whose voice can make me feel better. She answers on the first ring.

“Hey, babe. How’d it go?” Alannah greets in her soothing voice.

“I think I got a fucking problem that’s gonna require something drastic,” I reply.

“Why? What’s going on?” she asks, hearing the worry in my voice.

“I think I gotta fucking kill Jimmy.”

Dominic

I
remember how my father used to talk about wanting to be a captain before it finally happened. I remember it like it was just yesterday. He used to nickel and dime his way through life, taking ten percent off of mom and pop stores and delis, until I had a little idea about taxing the hotels. Dad knew it’d be a huge challenge and that he’d need a big crew, but he pulled it off. He took over River City with nothing but muscle and an “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. The next thing we knew, my father, Donnie Collazo, was a captain in La Cosa Nostra. It didn’t last long, unfortunately, thanks to the fucking Cestone brothers, but my father still got what he wanted, and I was proud of him.
And the Cestone brothers got what they had coming to them
.

I know if he were still alive, he’d be beyond proud of me now. Not only did I become something in La Cosa Nostra, I surpassed him and became the boss of our family. My dream has been realized, and I’m proud to do what I do, even if the older guys hate me for it. I don’t give two shits about how they feel. This was passed down to me, and I’m not gonna fold up like some little bitch just because I’m only twenty-seven. I’m the baddest twenty-seven-year-old on the fucking planet, and I’d never let myself be somebody’s
piccola cagna
. My father would be proud of me. He’d be proud of what I’m about to do, because he never got to do it. He was always beneath this level.

I’m not. This is what I do as the boss.

It’s 2017, and everyone knows the Commission doesn’t meet up like they used to, because the fucking cops were always all over them. If the cops or rats could get all of the bosses of the Five Families together in one room and make an arrest, they’d jizz themselves. So the Commission smartened up and significantly reduced the number of in-person meetings for the Commission back in the eighties. However, the Commission still has a job to do, and they still do it.

These days, they hold conference calls on burner phones. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you know shit just got real. The Commission swaps out the phones and numbers after each call, and they set up the conferences the old fashioned way—a made guy from New York actually drives to your house and delivers the phone and a letter written by one of the bosses, telling you when the burner will ring—and if you don’t answer it, it’ll be the last thing you ever do. The calls are always short and to the point, because those old bastards hate risking it, so the fact that they’re conference calling me about my situation with Victor means it’s a big deal. Yeah, shit is real now.

Just like we knew he would, Victor fucking Fronzo put in a call to his buddies in the Commission and cried about how I haven’t paid him yet.
Fucking pussy
. Now the Commission wants to talk to me to give me direction on how to proceed. That’s the thing about La Cosa Nostra, there are rules that have to be followed. Let’s be honest, it doesn’t take much for a guy to get clipped in Our Thing, and I got a feeling we might be losing another member real soon.

Alright, get your pen and paper out, because this is about to be a lesson on This Thing of Ours. The Five Families of New York are the Bonanno, Colombo, Gambino, Genovese, and Lucchese families. Each of these families has a boss, obviously, and these bosses—along with the boss of the Chicago Outfit—make up our governing body, the Commission. The Commission decides all kinds of shit in Our Thing, but one of the biggest is who lives and who dies. Once they push the button on your life, there’s no un-pushing it. It’s lights out for you.

On this conference call, every one of the five bosses of New York will weigh in on my situation with Victor fucking Fronzo. I won’t have to wait to see what’s next with Victor, because they’re going to decide it for us. There’s only two ways this plays out, as far as I see it: either we’re gonna have to pay Victor sooner, rather than later, or Jimmy’s going to die, probably by Victor’s hands.

Just like my letter said it would, at exactly midnight, the burner in my hand starts ringing. I sit down on my couch and light up an Oliva Melanio cigar.

“
Ciao
,” I answer in Italian.

“I understand we have a problem between your family and the Chicago Outfit,” a husky voice says on the other end, and without asking, I already know the voice belongs to Benny Lucchese. He’s an actual living descendent of Gaetano “Tommy Brown” Lucchese, who made the notorious family what it is today. There’s no chairman of the Commission, but if there was one, it’d be Benny Lucchese. “This was brought to us by Victor Fronzo, and now you have our full attention, Dominic. What’s your say on this matter?” Benny asks, followed by silence.

I know all five of them are listening, and maybe even Victor since he usually sits on the Commission. Nonetheless, I don’t hold back.

“With all due respect to the bosses of the Original Five Families,” I begin, giving the Commission its due. “My take on the situation is that it shouldn’t be at this level. As far as I’m concerned, this should’ve been handled easily and kept between Victor and me. Regardless, I already spoke with Victor and told him we have the money he asked for to settle the matter. It just needs to be delivered.”

“We’re aware of that,” another voice says, who I’m pretty certain is Piero Bianchi, the current boss of the Genovese family. His voice sounds airy like he started smoking as a toddler and it ruined his vocal chords. “But Victor has a complaint. You had an opportunity to deliver the money on time, but refused to tell him why you couldn’t when the time came. What kept you from holding up your end?”

Fuck.

The thing about these conference calls and the Commission is that you better not lie. If they ever find out that you lied to them, you’re a fucking dead man—boss or associate, it doesn’t matter.

I let out an exasperated sigh and speak up.

“The truck’s missing,” I admit, feeling hot all over from having to confess something so ridiculous.