Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Tommy
It’s been three weeks of taking Stella, her mother, and her sisters on tours of the city.
We’ve hit the museums, the parks, the shopping, the theatre, the everything.
They may now know the city better than I did before they arrived.
During the day, I’m their escort along with the guards they brought.
I arrange our excursions and control our schedules.
It reminds them that the Vizzinis run Boston, and they’re now in our territory.
I’m certain at least Elena reports this back to Gio.
Edoardo joins us some days, but he works from his hotel suite most of the time.
On days I can’t take them out, they go out for lunch and explore on their own within reason.
I have three Vizzini men trail them. I know Elena and Edoardo have noticed, but I don’t know about the sisters.
I get a detailed report of everything they do on the three or four days each week I haven’t been with them.
I don’t need it, but Uncle Mano insists I tell him everything.
At least, everything I’m willing to tell him.
It’s the nights I live for. I’ve spent most of them with Stella. I’ve sneaked into her hotel room, getting around her family’s men stationed on the floor. I sneak her in and out, so we can go to the club or to my house. I always ensure she’s alone in her suite by dawn.
We still haven’t had sex, and it’s testing both of our fortitude.
But we’ve done everything in between—repeatedly.
I’ve discovered her pain threshold from experimenting with impact play.
She has a high tolerance, loving the paddle and birch rods the most. I enjoy seeing my marks on her.
The birching left bruises for a week. I refused to strike her as hard as she claimed she wanted.
I denied her that to make her beg and edge her.
At least, that’s what I said. I couldn’t bring myself to do it as hard as I have with women in my past. The bruises were subtle, not as livid as they could be.
But she admitted she couldn’t get her mind off me because her ass reminded her every time she sat or rolled onto her back in bed.
Unfortunately, today isn’t going as well as most days since she arrived.
My mother invited herself along today. She’s friendly with all of them, and she’s kind to Stella.
I believe she genuinely likes her, but she’s pissed at me.
She’s here to watch me, and I’m certain it’s to run interference since she insists something’s going on between us.
She can’t have any proof, and I don’t think I’ve acted differently.
I suspect she sees two attractive people close in age and assumes there’s something between us.
She thinks she can wear me down until I confess.
How easily she forgets I inherited her stubbornness.
“Mama?”
I slide my phone back into my pocket, annoyed at the call I had with Frank.
He’s pulling me away, and I may be gone for the next few days.
Who knows what Mama will say while I’m gone since Gio arrived today?
We’re scheduled to have dinner together, but I doubt I’ll make it.
I don’t think Frank will either. Mama never would have flirted with Gio in front of my dad, but she does in front of Elena.
“Yes, cuccuzzo.” My mother spares me a glance from the conversation she’s having with Gio and Edoardo.
Gio doesn’t return my mother’s flirtatiousness, but he’s forced to engage in conversation to avoid being rude.
Capturing and keeping his attention, Mama forces Elena to watch her husband talk to another woman.
It’s Mama’s version of a flex. A reminder that the Vizzinis control every situation.
Elena could flirt with Santi or Frank, but she’s not that kind of woman.
Hell, she could even flirt with me. She pretends to ignore Mama, but I know it gets to her.
The men might shoot each other, but the women are far more insidious.
It makes me wonder what kind of woman Stella might become if she becomes Godmother.
Will it change her?
How could it not?
Would she become more like her mother or mine? I don’t know.
“That was my trade attorney.”
That gets my mother’s attention. She excuses herself and walks over to me, where we can speak without being the center of attention.
“He just received an injunction letter for the raw materials my pharmaceutical company ordered. It’s stopped the import and will slow things down.”
Mama understands the code. My attorney means Santi, who really is a lawyer and our family’s consigliere—Uncle Mano’s top advisor. The injunction letter means a shipment’s delayed and possibly caught up in customs. Pharmaceuticals speaks for itself; they’re just not the legal kind.
To the Rizzos, it disguises little, but the code works when we must discuss things around non-syndicate people.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Hopefully, we’ll fix it tonight, but it could take longer.”
She nods. “Be careful, cuccuzzo. You’re my favorite underboss.”
“I’m your only underboss.”
“Edoardo is someone’s underboss, and that faccia de cazzo isn’t anyone’s favorite anything.”
Mama almost never swears in English, but she has some colorful ones in Italian. I agree Edoardo can be a testicle face, but one day, he and I will lead our families. That means I have to make nice with him most of the time.
“Let me excuse myself, then I have to take off.” I kiss my mother’s cheek and engulf her in a hug. “I love you.”
We never know when it might be someone’s last hug or last chance to tell their family how they feel. We never travel or go on missions without saying some sort of goodbye. It might be a text or it might be a hug, but it’s always something.
Many people believe mafia comes from ma famiglia. It doesn’t. It roughly means to brag or have swagger in Sicilian. But it’s easy for people to assume it means my family because family is everything. Nothing comes before it. It’s how we survive. It’s how we serve the community that relies on us.
I shift my attention to the Rizzos, and I gaze at Stella a moment longer than the rest of them.
She’ll become family if she marries Uncle Mano.
I’d rather she become family by marrying me.
That’s not a new thought. It’s one that’s rumbled around in my head for weeks.
Despite our time spent together, how I can make that happen isn’t any clearer today than it was when we met.
Mama and I return to the table where everyone else continues to enjoy lunch. I pull her chair out for her, but I don’t return to mine.
“Duty calls. Something came up, and I have to go.”
Gio’s expression hardens, and his eyes narrow as he looks up at me. I know he hates doing that. He’s like an alpha canine. He doesn’t like anyone’s head higher than his. He can get the fuck over that.
“Will you join us for dinner instead?” He’s fishing.
“Possibly. I may wind up in meetings for the better part of today and tomorrow. I don’t have all the details yet.”
Stella and I studiously avoid our gazes meeting until I say my goodbyes.
Our expressions are neutral, a skill honed from years of practice.
But I know she’s not pleased. Her father and brother disappear sometimes.
It’s not unusual to her. She’ll have to accept it whether she marries my uncle or is with me.
* * *
“What the hell?”
I shake a shipment manifest in the air as I stare at my brother-in-law. He’s not to blame, and he’s as pissed as I am. His reaction when we arrived at the warehouse wasn’t as tame as mine. We’re standing next to each other and glaring at a customs agent, who looks like he’s ready to shit himself.
“There’s nothing I can do about this. The shipment got flagged, so it has to go through another screening.”
“That’s ridiculous. We distribute our cocoa to bakeries around the country. It’s perfectly legal to import it.”
By bakeries, I mean people mixing ingredients and cooking up batches of cocaine.
Lord, here we go. I can’t stand the woman walking toward us.
Gwendolyn Ferrante.
She might have a Sicilian last name—she’s not married, so it’s been her name since birth—but she’s in the mob’s pocket.
Motherfucking O’Malleys. She’s been a complete scassocoglioni—pain in the ass—since she started working here.
This shipment came in by air, and this is a major international airport. Doesn’t she have anything better to do?
“Mr. Carosi—” She looks at Santi, not me. “—we just need to look in the crates. Then we can sign off on your shipment, and you can be on your way.”
Bullshit. They want to look inside because they believe they’re going to bust us with more than just a plant that’s supposedly going to be made into chocolate.
I’m holding the invoice, the bill of landing, the proof of insurance, and a precertification that the shipment was inspected before it left Ecuador.
Santi turns to me and raises an eyebrow. I offer Gwendolyn the most charming smile I can muster. He’s deferring to me as the owner of the shipping company, but it’s also because I’m the underboss.
“Go ahead. But I’ll file a claim for any product contamination or damage done during the inspection.”
“I’m sure you will.” She’s snarky as fuck.