Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
S prawled on the wide couches with my men, loosely draped in towels, sipping wine and picking at the cheeses and olives and chips and peppery crackers, all I can think of is how much I love them.
Bruno moves closer and takes a kiss. “Damn, I love you, Lucia. That was just fucking amazing.”
Carlo pulls me closer. “You seriously acted like you didn’t know either of us.”
I look back into Carlo’s eyes. “The ski masks helped. I wasn’t ready for that. Seriously. Those were scary.”
He laughs. “Made you swallow Bruno’s cock hard and deep.”
I nudge him. “I would have done that anyway. But it added to the thrill.”
He plants a line of kisses along my shoulder. “And your pussy was so tight. Oh, baby. I love you so fucking much.”
Bruno says, “It’s only been a day, but your tits are so divine, Lucia. I can’t ever get over how beautiful you are.”
Carlo rasps, “Especially when your pussy is trembling on my cock.”
“Oh,” Bruno bounces, “And when you squirt and shout.”
Carlo is laughing. “We might need soundproofed areas for that. I swear.”
He and Bruno high five. Then I kiss them both. First, sharp, sly Carlo. Then Bruno, my athlete warrior.
He holds me by my shoulders and shakes his head as he looks at me. “You just get better and better. You’re more fantastic and more beautiful every day, Lucia.”
Carlo reaches over to muss Bruno’s hair and laughs as he tells me, “There’s nothing I want more than to just stay here, wrapped up with you.”
Bruno keeps his eyes on mine as he bats Carlo’s arm away, but I see a flick of tension cross his mouth. “Seriously,” he tells me, “We could just eat and fuck an fuck and eat. Forever.”
I laugh with them. “Maybe stop to pop out a baby now and then.”
Bruno’s voice takes a dip, like this could be serious. “You’re thinking about that?”
I look in his eyes. Of all of them, I would expect Bruno to be the least likely to bolt at the first sign of that commitment. I know that he wants to be a father. They all do. Bruno has that sturdy look about him, like he can handle anything. Like, whatever comes, he’s ready.
Carlo says, “We’ve talked about it.”
“I know,” Bruno says, “I’ve always said that I want babies.”
I say, “But?”
He makes a smile. “No. No but.”
I sense that there’s a conversation we should have. He and I.
Carlo’s voice is mischievous. “Who’s going to look after the babies?”
There’s a hard note in Bruno’s voice, a flash of irritation. “Oh, now you’ve spoiled it all.”
Carlo’s chin tips back. “Really.”
Bruno’s eyes flash. “Really” He reaches over to clip the top of Carlo’s head. Carlo ducks and evades him easily, sneaking his other arm quickly up to flick his finger at Bruno’s ear.
The playful look on Bruno’s face shifts quickly to a sharper edge. He swings his arm a second time to slap the side of Carlo’s head. Again, Carlo is too quick. Laughing almost bursting into a giggle as he catches Bruno’s wrist. Seizes it, plucks it in the air.
Quickly twisting Brunos arm, Carlo has an evil flash in his grin as he twists and spins Bruno down to the rug.
“ OW! ” splayed on his back, with the thick towel slipping, I think Bruno feels the sting in his pride.
Carlo is still laughing and he still has hold of Brunos arm. “Serves you right. Asshole.”
“What?”
“Ah, you got the better deal of the two in one bargain.”
Bruno’s eyebrow wrinkles. “What?”
I’m looking at Carlo, too.
He says, “You were in front. Lucia has two super sensitive spots, right up in her folds, high at the front. You had the bottom one at least. You should have been able to get to the top spot.”
“I would have, if your knees hadn’t been in the way all the time.”
Carlo makes a big, theatrical laugh. “Right. It was my fault, micia .”
“I’m breaking your balls. It was great.”
I say, “Next time, you can both try for the top spot.”
Bruno’s voice lowers, “Top spot is starting to take on a whole new meaning.”
We entangle again and I’m buried in soft hugs and kisses. There’s nothing better than being overwhelmed by two or all three of my men. One-on-one is special, too. With all of them.
As we surface from the tumble, reaching for more savories, to accompany the nibbles of each other, Carlo asks,
“Did you go to Wood Street on a rat hunt?”
“Yes,” I tell him,“And I found some vermin, but not the rat.”
“So,” Bruno says, “The hunt goes on.” Then he asks, “Did you hear from Alessio? I though he would be here tonight.”
My mouth twists. “Funny you should say that.”
Carlo nods before I even say anything. “His uncle.” Reaching for a chunk of cheese to pop into my mouth, he says, “He always gets weird when his Uncle Jerry’s around.”
“What do you mean?”
Carlo says, “When Uncle Jerry comes here, he’s always bringing some stupid idea. Alessio falls for it every time.”
I ask him, “Like what?”
“Jerry plays up the big bad Chicago gangster act. Being a ‘made guy,’ and how awesome that is.”
The Commission doesn’t recognize any outfits in the Pacific northwest. It”s a historical thing. I can’t see that it makes much difference o anyone here. It rankles with a lot of people, though. Especially those with family in Vegas, New York, or Miami. Or Chicago, of course.
Carlo goes on, “He tries to be tries to be the guy Alessio looks up to. Like a kind of a daddy surrogate. He likes to play about with Alessio like a little puppy. Getting him to fetch and jump and to play dead. You know?”
I’m surprised.
Bruno agrees. “Alessio laps it up. Rolls on his back for it.”
Carlo says, “He never was the freshest cookie in the jar.”
I ask, “Was Jerry like that with you and Bruno when you were younger?”
Carlo laughs.
“Hell, no. He always treated me like I was shit on the sole of his shoes. We’re not a part of his family, and we never saw him as a part of ours. He gave Bruno the big swerve. I always thought he was probably afraid of Bruno. Even back when Bruno was a boy. Even then.” … “Personally, I think Jerry is a fake. There’s something about him sets me on edge. Always has. If he were anywhere near our business, I would think he was the rat.”
I lean forward. “You don’t think he could be?”
Bruno says, “Near our business? Or near enough to be the rat? I seriously doubt it. Alessio can be dumb, and his uncle has some big tractor beam over him, but I don’t think he would ever leave Jerry anywhere near one of our cookie jars. Aside from anything else, there’s still the whole Chicago thing. All of us feel the same about that. The Don did, too, even when it came to his brother.”
I say, “Meaning?”
Carlo is dismissive. “If they don’t want to recognize us then fine, fuck them. But if we can’t play with their toys then they can’t play with ours.”
I ask Bruno, “Do you buy into all that about Chicago’s seniority?”
“Like Carlo says, we don’t play in their tournament. How can they be senior to us if we’re not playing on the same pitches?”
There’s still no sign of Alessio. I can’t persuade Bruno and Carlo to stay around or spend the night.
Carlo tells me, “We need to check out the Sky Table Resort. You’ve got meetings with the Council of Elders in the next couple of days and we’ve been saying we’ll go and get familiar with how the Twelve Tribes group do things.”
I ask, “Will you go dressed as ninja bandits?”
Bruno laughs. “No. We’ve got clothes in the car.”
Carlo grins, “Ninjas at the craps table. It would be a blast.”
“If you showed up at a casino with those masks on,“I say, “the blast would be out of a shotgun
Bruno stands and hauls on his ninja pants and tee shirt. “I’ll go get the clothes.”
Carlo tells me, “We’re going as tech bros. See what you think.”
Most of Carlo’s friends are real tech bros. I don’t think the boys are going to have any trouble passing.
While they dress, Bruno asks me, “So, you got a thing going on with Don Pucci?”
“You were here in Blackridge, all that time?” I look at both men. They raise their eyebrows, looking around in expressions of angelic innocence. “I’ll need to act like I’m on show, twenty four seven.”
Bruno says, “Only when the show is for us, zuccherina .” It’s sweet they’re so possessive. I can still hear a little edge in his voice, though. I need to get myself a little one-to-one time with Bruno.
I tell them, “I hardly even know the man. We’ve met face to face maybe three times.”
“Oh,” Carlo pantomimes, “You say, ‘Maybe’? Really? You can’t be sure how many times you’ve met the top Don? The top man, the guy at the very pinnacle of the whole region?”
I smile with a sigh. It’s cute the way that he will make something out of anything that I say. I know that Carlo likes me best when we’re a little on edge with each other. He loves the sparring, and the spark. I can’t say that I object to it, either.
“I’m saying ‘maybe’ because the first time I met him, I was eight years old, and I’m sure the occasion made no impression on him whatsoever.”
“Do you remember what was said?” Carlo twinkles as his eyes narrow behind the look of a school principal interrogating.
“Sure.” I tell him, “We discussed the metaphysical poets and recent advances in molecular chemistry.”
Bruno spins, “What?”
Carlo is smiling.
I hold up my hands. “What the fuck. I was eight. My interest in conversation around then was all centered on whether or not it was going to lead to ice-cream.” Bruno still looks skeptical. “Honestly, Bruno. I might have said a big word, and he might have said, ‘Oh, well that’s nice, little girl.’ No, I don’t remember.”
I tell them, “Give my love to the Indians. And try not to lose all our money.”
The Indian casino deal is a huge part of my plans for the future. Before we get into bed with the other side, I want as much hard information as I can get.
“Okay, I got every dime of it safe.” Bruno calls back from the door, “It’s all in a bag in the trunk.”
Through the wide wall of armor-plated window glass in the lounge, silver moonlight brushes the bottoms of heavy clouds hanging over a deep dark blue velvet sky. Across the pine tops, the Olympic mountains are silhouetted, like a cut-out from a Bob Ross painting.
Silvery highlights trace my joyful lattices of flower beds on one side of the grounds, planted in swirling, flowing patterns, balanced against the vigorous sprouting herbs and shrubs on the other side. The plantings frame the ornamental lake with the fountain in the center, and walkways meander down to the woods.
I peck at the nibbles left on the coffee table, looking out at the view as I call Alessio.
He picks up after four rings. That’s slow for him. Another beat and I would have gone to voicemail.
He waits for me to speak.
“Alessio, are you coming tonight?”
“Way to start a conversation. Lets go, girl.” Raucous sounds of a bar rumble and spill in the background. That wouldn’t worry me, but Alessio’s voice sounds slurred. Like he’s chewing on the ends of his words. Not a lot, but a lot more than I’ve heard him before.
We’ve been together often enough and consumed heroic quantities of tequila and champagne. I never heard him sound like he was not totally in control.
“I guess I’m not expecting you for dinner, then, Alessio.”
“What? You sound like my mom.” A low-pitched burst of laughter cracks out from Alessio’s end. “Not like Mom, but like somebody trying to be…” he trails off, chuckling. “You know what I’m saying.”
“I really don’t, Alessio. Are you sure that you’re okay?”
“There you go again. Seriously.” Indistinct voices are swirling in around him. Or maybe it’s just one voice, mingled with the background noise. “What do you need?”
I’m not liking the sounds of any of this. It really feels like there’s something wrong with this picture.
What? “I just called to see where you were. If you were going to be here. I hadn’t heard from you.”
“Hey,” he says, “You should see my beautiful phone.”
What?
“My uncle got me a fantastic deal on an upgrade for my phone. It came today.”
There’s a long pause with more noise and more laughter. I hear his voice, away from the phone, but I can’t make out the words.
He comes back and says, “Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
Straight after I hang up, I call Mikey..