Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I ’m nervous about the meting with Don Pucci and unsure of myself. that made me decide to put on as much armor as I could. My usual ten minutes in front of the mirror was at least doubled while I buffed, preened and primped. I made myself up to a high gloss, then decided it was totally over the top and took it all off again.
Wearing the simplest no-makeup look I could manage, in a loose black tailored blazer and cream shirt with a high collar, I put on only a liquid gold chain that flows over my collarbone and gold and lapis cufflinks and some of my favorite rings.
I nestle deep in soft black leather in the far back of the limo. The long, sleek beast slices through traffic like a long sword with, Mikey at the helm.
I think of how everyone else drives around in big vans, SUV’s and MPV’s, and I start to wonder if it’s time for us to be updating our fleet, riding something more in keeping with the times.
One fast sweep, one ride through the center of town with Mikey at the helm and I’m reminded, whatever else, that I’m in good, safe hands. The limos haven’t outlived their usefulness. Not yet. A limo says stability. Tradition. We’ve been here a long time. More to the point, I am here to stay.
This is me. This is the F-Word. Our family is getting recognition now. At long last, I’m getting seen, and I’m getting recognition as the power in this family. The fact that Don Pucci called me direct is proof of that.
Time was, not so long ago, anybody had business with the family, they would try to deal with one of the men. It took a while before word got round, if there was something you wanted done, something that needed an agreement or a decision, it was going to go through me. Sooner or later.
It took time to get here, and there are still hold-outs, but most people learned.
I was born into the Life. Nothing I can do about that. I can either live the Life and walk the walk, come what may, or I can show weakness. Then my own life would be numbered in days at best.
So I’m making the most I can of what it is to be a mafia princess. I’m going to live my life the way that I want. All three of my men are more than happy with me. I don’t want to choose between them, and I don’t have to.
Other people can do whatever they want and they can think what they like about me.
Nobody would care if I went through all that I do, just as long as I kept in my lane, colored between the lines. If I’d done as I was told, I’d be married to a third level guy in a third-level family. I would still be surrounded by women who wanted to take my man, and by people who wanted to kill me for whatever damned reasons of their own.
Cushioned in the plush black leather upholstery, far in the back of the limo, I’m touched by the concern in Mikey’s eyes as he watches me in the rearview from the driver’s seat. “You’ve been through it, princess, and that’s the truth.”
“I’ve seen what you had to put up with. I hear the talk and I know. Not that anyone would dare say a word when they know that I can hear them, obviously. But I know what you’ve had to endure.”
Nobody says a word to my face, either, but I feel it in the air. Men resent me taking a position of power at all. And they keep a special rage for me having three men at my side. There’s jealousy and anger, and I know there are remarks.
People mutter about one man not being enough. They don’t understand, and why would they? Each one of my three men would be more than enough or any woman, but they each have their own unique strengths and power.
I need them all.
And I don’t have to choose.
And the third level family I was sold into? I took the youngest son like I was supposed to. But I took the other two as well. I took over the family and I stepped it up a gear. Now we’re one of the three top families in Seattle, and in our world, that means the whole of the Pacific Northwest.
People want to wag their tongues about it? They haven’t got what I’ve got.
And everybody knows that if I hear them, I’ll cut their tongues right out.
While I stay in the back of the limo, Mikey circles the park. A number of large men mill about in dark suits, lining the edges of the park. It looks as if the president is in town, only undercover.
I expected Don Pucci to have a large party of men encircling us. Watching and ready. A man with as many enemies as he has needs to be cautious.
For my own protection, I told Mikey to put three men out to cover and shadow us. I’m not expecting any trouble. My instinct says I can trust Don Pucci today. I know that this is not how he would set it up if he wanted to have me killed.
We meet by the fountain, as we arranged. Tall and elegant with a smile like a big cat, Don Pucci holds out his massive and beautifully manicured hands. His head tips to one side and he smiles to greet me. His cologne is heavenly. To call him a silver fox would not do him justice.
I feel outclassed, like I’ve stepped into the Met Ball by mistake and unprepared. My chest is tight. Appearing relaxed and acting at ease is going to be a challenge. Slow breaths, Lucia .
We do the air-kissing thing. As he touches my shoulder, I feel a comforting warmth in his hand. We stroll and chat. Relaxed and easy, he teases me gently as we wander between the flowerbeds and by the big lake.
His manners are polished. He speaks softly with beautiful diction, turning words elegantly in his mouth, rolling them like dice. His stride and his gestures are at the same time perfectly choreographed, but easy. Relaxed.
He makes everything he says sound confidential and highly valuable. Whenever I speak, he listens, fastening his eyes on me like nothing else in the world could matter.
There’s precipitation in the air, but it’s pleasantly cool.
Don Pucci offers to buy us ice-creams. He steers us toward a cart and I accept a delicious vanilla and pistachio cone.
“I hear you’re making better progress than anyone else ever did with the Twelve Tribes.” Then with a twinkle, he adds, “You’ve worked hard to build on the Sun-a-do partnership. Please, don’t think that I’m making an overture. I would love a share of that business, of course I would. It’s looking fantastic, but it’s yours. I promise I’m not here to steal from you.” Then with a mischievous gleam in his eye, he lowers his head to say, “It would be terrible manners if I invited you out to a neutral space, only to rob you.”
In his words as well as his manner, I feel that Don Pucci is paying me respect. His gentle encouragement feels like that of a kindly professor. Like he’s sensitive to the fact that I’ve achieved a lot of power, and I’m still finding my feet with how to hold it and wield it.
“What I need to talk to you about is altogether more pleasant, and far less contentious of an issue,” that sparkle again, “At least, it is for you and I.”
By the lake, children are feeding geese. The long necks dip and stretch in ’S’-curves. As we pass, they raise their beaks and start up a honking chorus.
Don Pucci says, “You have a maternal look in your eye.”
He’s sensitive to have picked up on it. It was just a fleeting rise inside me, from seeing the faces of the children.
“Do you intend to be a mother?”
I look in his eyes. I believe he is being sincere. He’s a very attractive man, but I don’t think there’s anything behind his question. We’re just making conversation until he feels we’re easy enough together to say or ask whatever it is that this is about.
This could be a walk in the park with a revered uncle or a former college professor. I feel comfortable with Don Pucci. Like we could talk. All the same, we are out in the open, the heads of two lethal crime families. I’m not about to stress test our cozy chat. As I start to wonder what it is that he wants, he says,
“There’s something I need to discuss with you, Donna Fortuna.”
He puts out his arm and covers my hand as I take it.
“The endowments that we’re making through the Dancing Lion Park Foundation to the Puget University.”
There’s an endowment fund for scholarships, a science block, and a new sports field. I proposed the fund for our families, as well as the Romanos and the Famiglia Pucci to contribute to. There are a million great reasons to do it. When I started it and suggests the other two top families participate, they both signed up without a second thought.
“I’m so keen,” I say, watching the Don, “the scholarships alone are bringing opportunities to so many kids, giving them a path out of poverty.”
He squeezes my hand. “I know. I feel your passion for the project. It does you great credit.”
“Giving back, paying it forward,” I tell him. “All that. Nothing more.”
He smiles.
“I’ve had Don Romano calling me. He loves the vision and your ambition but he feels–” without thinking I stop. I’m wondering where this is going. I’m bracing myself for some kind of a hostile takeover bid.
He smiles as he stops to face me and he says, “Don Romano is concerned about the amounts of our contributions. He doesn’t want to feel left behind.”
Oh. I get it. I say, “But he doesn’t want to spend so much?”
With a sparkle, Don Pucci says, “Maybe he doesn’t feel the way that you do about children.” He sounds playful.
“And you, Don Pucci? how do you feel?”
“I’m very happy with your proposals.” when he looks in my eye, I feel drawn in. “It’s an investment in the future, after all.”
“It’s all for the kids. Yes.”
“So, I wondered. If Don Romano doesn’t feel like he wants to match the level of generosity that you suggest, then maybe you and I should cover the difference.”
“Raising our contributions even higher.”
The cost wouldn’t be a problem for me, so I know that Don Pucci wouldn’t feel a pinch.
I say, “So we would leave Don Romano even farther behind.”
When Don Pucci lifts his eyebrows, it makes him look like a Cheshire cat.
.
I say, “Don Romano will feel like he’s being squeezed.”
His eyebrows arch expressively as he shrugs. “As you say, it’s for the kids.”
“You’re suggesting that we tease the Don.” Prodding a tiger. This could be very dangerous mischief.
He gives me an innocent look.
I say, “Don Romano is known for the very great affection he has for his money.”
Again, the playful shrug.
“You’re a bad man, Don Pucci.”