Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
Vince
“Gentlemen.” I join my crew in the private dining room of Fabio’s restaurant.
“Vince,” the guys greet me.
“Aww, poor Vince having to attend roll call like a lowly soldier,” Sal pops off. “How the mighty have fallen.”
“Sal,” I say in a bored tone, refusing to be goaded by his dumb ass.
When Sal realizes he’s not going to get the rise out of me he was hoping for, he turns his attention to his buddy Mike. “The Bug Man’s kid is taking over this joint,” Sal announces loudly so everyone in the room can hear his disapproval.
“Funny how everyone in Romeo’s old crew gets promoted,” Mike grumbles his assent.
“Is that so?” Fabio appears in the doorway, and I suppress a smile. “Good to know my crew has beef with the way the boss is handling business. Let’s get Romeo on the phone so everyone can air his grievances. ”
He pulls out his phone, and Mike and Sal shout “No” the loudest.
After we get Fabio’s introductory spiel, it’s my turn to introduce myself. “I run several small bookkeeping operations, but my biggest moneymaker is my chess racket with my associate and ward, Luna,” I say.
“Come clean, Vince. Did you tap that jailbait pussy yet?” Sal turns to me. “No? Well, I just might the next time I see the sweet little thing.”
His lips curl into a smile, and something inside me fucking snaps .
I jump over the table and tackle Sal to the ground, pinning him underneath me with my knees as I pummel his face. He lands a blow to my ribs, but I’m so amped up, I don’t feel a thing as I land a solid jab to his nose—blood spraying like a geyser.
Fabio yanks me up with a horse collar. “Sit the fuck down!”
I stare Sal down before storming back to my seat. Grabbing a napkin from the table, I wipe the blood off my knuckles.
There’s an exchange between the two, and our new capo sucker punches Sal in the kidneys; he doubles over with a groan. “Shit stirrers in my crew will be flushed down the drain. You wanna float with the excrement, keep running your mouth,” Fabio warns.
Please, Sal, keep running your mouth.
Sadly, Sal holds up his hands in surrender, tucking tail as he returns to his seat.
“Now, where were we?” Fabio asks.
After the introductions, the boss says, “Gentlemen, our gambling halls will continue business as usual. I’d like to get the restaurant opened back up ASAP; if you know anyone who’d be a good fit, have them apply. Does anyone have any questions?” Fabio asks .
“I do,” Sal pipes up. “Can somebody tell Vince to fix his fucking eyeball?”
“Man, your eye has gone sideways,” Mike tells me.
Mentally cursing, I reach in my pocket and pull out an eyepatch, placing it over my glass eye. “There. Better for your delicate sensibilities, Mike and Sal?”
Sal snorts, still holding a napkin to his bleeding nose. “The only thing delicate is your hands. Soft as a baby’s butt.”
“Is that why your nose is gushing like a stuck pig? My delicate hands?” I taunt.
Fabio slams his fist down on the table, and Sal and I pipe down. “Gentlemen, that will be all. Vince, give me a tour before you leave.”
“Right this way, skipper,” I say, leading our new capo down the hall and to the private operations.
After getting Fabio set up, I take my leave. Sal’s in the parking lot smoking a cigarette. “How’s it feel being up the new boss’s asshole?” he taunts.
“Funny you say that, because you were so far up Sergio’s, I’m amazed you found your way out of that dead man’s rigor-mortis-stiff-sphincter. Might want to ice your nose, by the way. It’s looking a little delicate .”
“Tell jailbait I said hi,” he calls after me, and it takes all my willpower not to turn around and pop his ass right here, right now.
Needing to calm the fuck down, I drive to my brother’s bar, and the first stop is the men’s room. Washing my hands, I take off the eye patch and adjust my downturned eye. Doc Caruso was the one who fixed me up with my glass eye, and while the technology’s improved with permanent implants, I’m not too keen on enduring another eye surgery.
Pocketing my eye patch, I walk to the bar and take a seat on the stool.
“What’s with you?” Aldo asks.
“Nothing,” I’m quick to answer. “Gimmie two orders of burgers and fries to go.” Rubbing my temples, I check my phone to make sure the tutor hasn’t tried to call me. I probably shouldn’t have left them alone together on the first day. Me, I can handle Luna’s claws, but the tutor? If the woman’s shredded like a piece of meat that’s been run through a grinder, I only have myself to blame.
“Two orders, huh? You’ve never ordered food for Sophie. Wonder who you’re feeding?” Aldo muses.
Finding no messages or missed calls, I pocket my phone. “Have you always been this nosy?” I ask my brother.
He smirks. “You know I have.”
“My ward’s staying with me for the time being,” I admit.
“And the plot thickens,” he says dramatically. “When do I get to meet Luna?”
“Never.”
“Oh, come on! Bring her to the bar; I’d be more than happy to keep her entertained.” Aldo wags his eyebrows.
I jerk my brother by his shirt inches from my face. “Keep your fucking hands off her unless you want to lose them.”
He laughs, holding up his hands. “Alright, alright. I am rather fond of these babies.” I release him with a little shove, and he smiles.
My clients trickle in, and one by one, they settle up. “Hey, did you learn more about that fight you were talking about?” I ask my bettor.
His eyes go wide, and he stammers, “Uh, no. I was mistaken.”
“Alright,” I say smoothly, making a notation of his upcoming bet. “See you next week.” I pocket my little book and pencil.
Aldo appears from the back of the bar with a to-go bag, and I ask him quietly, “Have you heard anything about a boxing matchup here in town?”
“Nope. ”
“A client mentioned it last week, and now he’s being cagey as hell about it.”
“I’ll keep my ears open.” He jerks the bag out of my reach. “But only if I get to meet Luna.”
“Don’t make me fire you.” I lean over the bar and snatch the bag.
He flashes a smug smile. “From my own bar?”
“I should’ve never deeded it to you,” I grumble. Back when I was raking in money hand over fist, I needed legit businesses to launder the industrial-sized buckets of cash. These days, it’s more of a sink-wash operation.
“Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve, big brother. But hey, I’m nice enough to comp your meals,” he calls after me.