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If I’m being honest, I can’t even remember the last time I actually had sex. There have been a few blow jobs here and there—to take the edge off—but even those were over a month ago. I’ve been too preoccupied with Nicolosi requesting more port access than usual, then the fucking accountant screwing with me, and let’s not forget the queen of not being able to stay the fuck away herself. And keeping her alive seems to be a full-time job in itself.
She’s a magnet for trouble. First, she comes back to a town where everyone thinks she’s dead, then almost gets killed by one of Nicolosi’s groupies. Needless to say, I have not had time for extracurricular activities. Even if, with everything going on, you’d think a release would do me some good.
I spot Nico instantly. It’s hard not to notice an aging gangster flanked by two of his soldiers. The trio makes quite the sight, in pin-striped suits, with two-tone spectator shoes and slicked back hair. I can just imagine the overbearing smell of their cologne from here. They look like they walked off the set of an Al Capone movie.
I should be used to this by now. Nicolosi has always been fond of making sure everyone in the room knows he’s a made man. I’ve often wondered if it was a way of making up for his five-foot-five height. After all, no one makes fun of a capo, even if he’s short and fat and resembles Oswald Cobblepot–the Batman Returns version. Not to his face atleast. And those that do—don’t live to tell the tale. I like to think of it as his little Napoleon complex.
“Dante, my dear boy!” he booms when he spots Angelo and I, droplets of saliva flying out of his mouth and hitting the black felt of the poker table nearby. I swear every time Nicolosi calls me ‘boy’, I have the biggest urge to shoot him between the eyes. I’ve put up with him for far too long now, letting his blatant disrespect fly, only because he used to be close with my father back in the day and because of that fucking contract they signed.
“Nico, always a pleasure.” I nod and guide him into one of the secluded meeting rooms.
“How is your father? I haven’t seen Massimo in far too long,” he probes for information, groaning as his heavy frame fills the chair he collapses on.
“He’s good.” Angelo closes the door behind us. “Busy, of course, with important business. He sends his regards.”
I want to laugh, because everyone in this room knows full well my father wouldn’t wipe the shit off his shoe on Nico’s face these days, let alone send his regards.
Nicolosi’s face sours, probably annoyed at the reminder of his past indiscretions. He should kiss the floor with gratitude that he’s still alive, thanks only to the bond he and my father once had. At one time, they were like brothers. They grew up together, played together, killed together. They have probably done many despicable things together. But Nico always had a chip on his shoulder. I’ve seen the way he used to look at my father. Like he thought he’d be better placed heading up the Family as the Don, not just the little arm he got when Father named him the capo of Blackriver. Nico does not consider himself a fool, but in my life, I’ve learned only fools forget that things are given easily and can just as easily be taken away.
I’m surprised my father didn’t take care of the ‘situation’when Nico decided the best way to replace his dead son was siring another. Maybe my father still felt bad for him, like terminating the entire family line wasn’t retribution enough, or maybe it was the sickness already taking over his mind. But he agreed to hand over my second cousin’s hand in marriage so that a forty-six-year-old, widowed Nicolosi could have a family once more. Giana was only nineteen. By the time she got pregnant, we all saw the signs of physical abuse. I even tried to talk her into leaving him, despite everyone around me saying, ‘Tra moglie e marito non mettere il dito3’. Don’t intervene in someone else’s marriage.
When Giana gave birth to a girl, somehow Nicolosi convinced my father to sign a marriage contract, promising a Nicolosi daughter to a Santoro, once she came of age. Natalia’s future was determined the moment she drew her first breath—ensuring the Santoro-Nicolosi ties would never be broken. And when four years later Giana, failing to get pregnant again, died in a ‘car accident’, he didn’t expect for us to find out that the vehicle had been tampered with. By that time my father had isolated himself from everyone, leaving me to run his empire, Nicolosi’s hold on Blackriver and its residents was too strong to tamper with and the ironclad marriage contract was the only thing that kept him alive.
“What brings you to my casino today?” I ask. “Poker? Fine whiskey?”
He squints his eyes at me, a plump drop of sweat rolling down his temple to his cheek, where he catches it with a monogrammed handkerchief. “As fine as your whiskey is, I prefer your entertainment. Word on the street is you let them go. What a shame that is. Those girls were nice to look at indeed.”
He studies my face, looking for a reaction he clearly doesn’t get since he continues. “You know, if any of themwant a job, they’re always welcome in one of my clubs.” The smile he gives me, as he taps his gold rings on the table, makes the eyes on his round little face look porcine.
I stifle the urge to grab the hand tapping onmytable and squeeze his fat fingers until the bones inside start to crack for even thinking I’d let any ofmyfemale employees go anywhere near his strip clubs.
“I’ll let them know,” I say cooly, letting the rage percolate underneath my skin.
“The new girl in particular,” he continues, unaware that his life is hanging by a thread, his only saving grace being the rule I have about no blood shed in the casino. The glint in his eyes lets me know Nico might have more information than he’s letting on. “What’s her name again?”
“I don’t have the time to learn the names of all my employees,” I say, crossing my arms impatiently.
“Ah. What a shame. But you’re a busy man, so I understand.”
“Good.”
“Well, I’ll get to it quickly then.” He lets out a little cough. “We have a shipment scheduled to come in on Thursday. There’s been a bit of a problem.”
“Oh?”
“Well.” A new bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face and makes it to his collar this time. “It won’t get here until Friday now.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“Indeed.” He nods. “It would be so much easier if you just let me take over the port, Dante. You barely use it anyway.”
I don’t miss the fact he doesn’t ask me to ask my father, but rather appeals to me directly. I guess the ruse about Massimo still being in charge is truly up.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, it was worth a try.” His chuckle turns into a fit of coughing. “Thank you for your time, Dante. I’ll let you get back to work. Casinos don’t run themselves after all.” He knows as well as I do that the casinos I run in Blackwood take a fraction of my time and attention.
One of his men opens the door, the sound of sultry music from the main hall, almost drowning his parting words. “Give my regards to Massimo,boy. Oh, and Natalia’s eighteenth birthday is coming up. You should come over for dinner soon. Your bride should get to know you before the wedding night.”
