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Senator Brolin continued to pick at his bagel, his eyes downcast as he quietly sat deep in thought. “Why this casino?” he asked finally. “You have men down in Vegas already. Why not focus there?”
“Too much attention in Vegas,” Corrado replied. “The gaming commission is all over us. Half of us can’t legally step foot inside a casino there, myself included. We have to look elsewhere.”
“Fine.” He shoved his plate aside, glancing at his watch before meeting Corrado’s eyes. “I’ll talk to some friends and see what I can do.”
“Good.”
“You’ll owe me,” Senator Brolin said, tossing some cash on the table before standing. “You know how it goes.”
“Absolutely,” Corrado said. He would expect no less. “A favor for a favor.”
“Precisely.” Senator Brolin put on his coat, shaking his head. “Although, to be honest, keeping the peace is a favor to all of us . . . and it seems to be getting harder and harder as the years go by. I don’t know what’s gotten into that boss of yours.”
“Yeah,” Corrado said to himself as the man walked away. “Me neither.”
* * *
Corrado was back home by dusk that night. He walked into his house to find his wife fast asleep in their bed, her cell phone clutched tightly in her hand. He pried it out, setting it on the small wooden stand beside the bed, and kissed her warm forehead before leaving for his club to do some work. It was a Thursday—the busiest night of the week for his business. The weekends were usually reserved for family dealings for Mafiosi, celebrations and obligatory dates with wives, whereas Thursday night was when the men let loose.
He stepped into Luna Rossa, waving off the security guard when he jumped to attention, and strolled toward his office in the back. His footsteps faltered about halfway there when the Boss’s high-pitched voice called his name.
“Corrado!” Sal gestured for him to join them at the booth. “Come, have a drink. Celebrate with us!”
“What are we celebrating?” Corrado asked, pulling a chair up as he motioned for his favorite waitress. “Bring me my usual.”
“We’re celebrating the casino deal,” Sal said. “It’s finally gone through.”
Corrado raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
The waitress walked over, holding out a small glass full of clear liquid to Corrado. “Here you go, sir. Top shelf. Chilled, just as you like it.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Corrado reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash, holding it out to her as a tip. She took it and scampered away as Corrado took a sip from his glass. The cold liquid soothed his throat, going down smooth.
FIJI Natural Artesian Water. No one ever asked him what he drank. They all preferred dark liquor—scotch, brandy, sometimes even bourbon—so they didn’t bother inquiring about what was in his glass.
“Carlo didn’t even have to do, uh . . . whatever it is he does.” Sal motioned toward Carlo sitting off to the side, his arm around a young blonde woman. “Seems they came to their senses on their own. Called about an hour ago and said the deal was on.”
“That’s great,” Corrado said, taking another drink. “It’s good to know who we can count on these days.”
12
The black dress shoes, half a size too small, made it difficult for Carmine to wiggle his toes. The suit, crisp and brand new, was stifling, the material scratching his skin as he rode in the passenger seat of Corrado’s Mercedes.
Uncomfortable, he tugged at his blue silk tie. It suffocated him, like a noose tied around his neck. He wanted nothing more than to loosen his collar and take off the coat, maybe even kick off the damn shoes, but he was pretty sure that would only irritate his uncle.
“What’s wrong with you?” Corrado asked as if on cue, cutting his eyes to him from the driver’s seat. “Stop fidgeting.”
“I’m trying.” Carmine shifted in the seat and pushed the small switch to lower the automatic window, but nothing happened. Corrado had them locked. “It’s a furnace in this car. I’m sweating like I’m in a fucking sweat box here.”
“Such a way with words,” Corrado deadpanned. “I advise you to keep your day job.”
Carmine rolled his eyes. Like he had a choice. “Do you have the heat on or something?”
Corrado shrugged him off. “It’s just your nerves.”
He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. They were heading to a party at Sal’s house and Carmine was on edge. He hadn’t wanted to go, making excuses to get out of it, but even the social gatherings were mandatory.
“Stay away from the alcohol tonight,” Corrado warned him.
