Rocco (Bianchi Mafia Daddies #2)

Chapter 1

It was my job to know everything and everyone. It was also my job to keep an eye on the entire Bianchi family operation. The last thing I wanted was for some FBI agent to rock up in the position of a bartender, fishing for information.

Big yikes to that guy.

Not only because they wouldn’t find anything, but they’d probably end up fired for trying.

It really didn’t matter how I knew, all that mattered was that I did. Sometimes, it was like catching mice. All you needed to do was lay out a little bit of cheese and just a hint of blood in the water—i.e. my dad dying—to make the entire family appear weak.

Santo, my older brother was in charge now, but really, all three of us were in charge, just differently in the pecking order.

I’d been watching him. The guy. The one I’d let Lorna hire. The one I smelled from a mile away. It was kinda funny, though, to think anyone or anything could get through me.

The new hire at Palazzo. He’d introduced himself as Kal with a K, and a smile that I feared might work on most people. But I knew this guy, he wasn’t Kal the bartender who thought a Long Island iced tea was an imported drink.

We were getting busier as Boston’s cold spring turned warm.

It was perfect timing for them really, to try to take us down while we were otherwise occupied.

My brain didn’t shut off, though, ever. It was a beast of my own making sometimes, and the only way to quiet it was with a shot of the good stuff, and my hand stretched out along the soft back of a submissive.

“Kal,” I said, calling out to him as he held two bottles in his hand, completely clueless. I gestured with two fingers for him to follow me into my office.

He was a foot shorter than me, bright eyes, a pep in his step like he was about to walk into a room where I was going to confess to every single crime I’d ever committed. “Yes, sir.” He walked inside the room, glancing around at the clutter of files and mess. “Anything I can get for you?”

“Close the door,” I said.

He closed it and continued to keep that thousand-watt smile. “Thank you for hiring me.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t hire you,” I told him. “But I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re in this room. And hopefully you’ll tell me the truth when I ask it of you.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

I stepped closer to him. He was dripping sweat from his forehead, and the smell of his cologne was stronger now. “You know, usually, when someone comes sniffing around, they—”

“Sniffing around?” he asked through a shallow breath. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

I lay my hand on the shoulder of the black shirt he wore.

It was a good job it was black too, otherwise the sweat marks would’ve been visible.

“You’re secretly so submissive,” I whispered.

“You like being told what to do. Mhm.” I was teasing him, testing the depths of control that had been hammered into him by the Feds.

“Well, sir, I—”

“Relax,” I said. “You’re not going to find anything here. If anything, I’ll have Lorna work you harder than—what do you guys call it . . . the Farm, ever did.”

He knew he’d been made. And it had only been a handful of days.

I knew it more or less when he came in. It was confirmed by a check of the ID he’d given me, mostly because I’d thought it was fake.

Kalen O’Ryan, what type of name was that?

I was a bloodhound trying to get information—I likened myself to a lot of things—since I was good at sniffing out moles, or people before they could become moles.

And anyone who lived within our small operation in Boston knew we gave back, we rewarded good behavior.

“Please,” he whispered. “I don’t know what you’re—”

My finger sat against his lips. “I don’t care too much about any of that. I just wanted you to know that I know, and I would like you to stay.” The heat radiating off him was strong, and I chuckled a little. “Nobody’s going to hurt you here, we’re not that type of establishment.”

Once my finger came away, he licked his lips. “Should I get down on my knees now, then?” he asked, his big eyes full of pleading.

I frisked him for a wire or his phone. “You’re not getting me on solicitation.”

A slow drag of his tongue swept across his upper lip. “I’ve heard all about it. I just wanna know if the rumors are true.”

Maybe he’d got me mixed up with Santo. I’d heard those alarming rumors too. “Wrong brother.”

“You are Rocco Bianchi, and I really wanna know if it curves.”

“The only curve you’re getting is a learning curve,” I said. “Now, get your ass back out in the bar and work. We’re not paying you to mess up drinks. And anything you break comes out of your paycheck.”

He nodded. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said, trying to keep up the ruse. “I’m just Kal, and I need this job, but I can do other things. I really need the money.”

He had that soft plea in his eyes, like he did this often enough. And if he hadn’t been a Fed, I would’ve entertained him, shown him exactly the type of man Rocco Bianchi was. He needed to count himself lucky I wasn’t Tomaso.

From my spot in the office, I could reach out for the door, and as I did, he cupped a hand on my cock. It was soft—a little chub, but he wasn’t going to see it, let alone make any use of it. I knew better. I could have any guy, even the former straights and currently sexually confused.

“Take your hand away,” I said. “This might constitute harassment.” The flood of sound from the bar and restaurant came through.

“I guess the rumors aren’t true, then,” he said with a shrug, removing his hand.

“Rumors might get you into trouble,” I said as he turned to leave.

“And remember, I know who you are, and if you’re wearing a wire or a body camera somewhere, you’ve been made.

Get your handler to take you out of this place before someone in the community smells a rat and takes matters into their own hands. ”

He nodded. “I’m not a rat, sir.”

I winked at him and he almost tripped over, as I closed my door behind him.

The smell of his body lingered behind and he was right, my chubbed cock was now a little harder.

But I wasn’t going to play with him, he was a fucking Fed, a rat, and he should run out that door the first chance he got, unless he had a death wish.

* * *

Santo was on the phone, sighing about our brother Tomaso getting help for his drinking problem. He was at a facility voluntarily, which meant he could leave whenever he wanted, and he liked to leave, go on a bender, and come back with a new tattoo or dermal implant somewhere on his body.

“He’s gonna get arrested, he’s gonna get locked up, and then we’re all fucked,” he said, the sound of his teeth grinding down the phone.

I didn’t want to tell him about Kal, he didn’t need to know we were being investigated.

Although I probably needed to tell him, I wasn’t going to put it on his plate when he was dealing with our brother.

“If he comes by Palazzo, please keep him there. Don’t let him take anything from the bar.

Tell Lorna she can use that baseball bat she keeps as well. ”

I laughed, staring at the back of my office door.

The smell of Kal still lingered, and my mind recreated him in full form as if he was standing there, begging to go down on his knees, just so I didn’t force him to break and confess to being a Fed.

“Yeah,” I grumbled back. “Still has that tube sock over it as well.”

“He’s probably going to be heading your way since you’ve got the big game happening this week,” he said. “I’ll be a call away if you need help.”

The big game was underground, and there was a few million dollars in play, and then some.

People used the Palazzo to make deals, wash their money, then gamble it all away.

You needed a hundred grand in your pocket just to get through the door.

We didn’t do Bitcoin, we dealt in cold hard cash.

People came into the games with deeds to houses, boats, and whatever else they wanted, and while it was legal in this state, we were set up for the high rollers not some S Corp trying to game you out of your cash.

Of course, we also offered credit—with interest on that credit—for people to play with, and we always got our money back.

“I’ll have people over to collect him,” Santo said. “The last time he got loose at a game, we almost lost territory.”

That was another thing. We didn’t care who you were affiliated with, as long as you were good for the money and you could give what you said you would.

Poker games had been a staple growing up in the Bianchi family.

We were all taught to bluff from a young age, all taught what a good poker face looked like, and how to get what we wanted from it.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in,” I said. “Anything else you need from me?”

“No, just let me know if there’s any sightings of Tomaso,” he said.

“Last thing we need is Ma thinking he’s off the deep end over Dad’s death.

” In truth, we all were, ever since our father died from ass cancer—an ironic way of dying considering he was a homophobic piece of shit who would try beat the gay out of us, all three of us.

“And make sure you’re taking regular time away from the Palazzo. I don’t need you breaking as well.”

I nodded to the phone, even though he couldn’t see. He was right. I spent a lot of time here, and it was a mess. I had a trash bag filled with takeout and empty bottles—or near empty bottles of scotch from where I’d celebrated a little too hard with a guy or two.

The evening rush was coming in—people getting out of work, filling up the bar, and people coming for early dinner reservations.

It was nice to see the place getting busy, because it meant more money was coming in through us, and that meant more money could be washed.

I didn’t ever deal with the logistics of it; math and spreadsheets weren’t my place.

Santo dealt with all that shit, and Tomaso was the threatening one.

I just looked like I could guard a vault, and with the chest of someone you’d think bullets would bounce off—fingers crossed I never had to try that.

Since that talk with the undercover operative—who was doing a poor job, probably fresh out of recruitment—I hadn’t seen him.

And then, out of nowhere, he walked by me with a big smile on his face.

He was serving people now, a Jack of all trades it seemed, and I wondered if he was fooling anyone else—even Lorna must’ve had suspicions.

“Hey,” I called over to him, propping an arm up on the bar and resting there. I stared at him and that smile of his.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and all that was missing was a salute.

“At ease,” I snickered. “I’m not going to confirm any of the rumors you’ve heard about me or my family. But I do want to warn you again, Kal, or Kalen, whichever you prefer.”

His lips turned thin and stern, as if he was trying to refuse my clear charm offensive. “Either,” he said. “And I’m just here to work. We’ve all got to make money, and if I’m not on the bar or waiting, I’m not making money, I’m not getting tips.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “You’re clearly very talented,” I told him.

“You’ve clearly worked bar jobs before, and sure, you’d probably get away with this if you were trying to fool the Morrells or the Cordellos.

Maybe you’d actually get somewhere if you went over there.

Locke’s still in prison, so you could easily integrate his surrogate son. ”

He licked at the edge of his lip, as if he was about to say something about me—since sure, I wasn’t a Bianchi by blood, but I was raised as one, and for all of society, I was one. I watched him for a moment, wondering if he was going to tease me like he had done earlier in the office.

Lorna saved him by calling him over. We were getting busy, but I still had my eye on him.

Before he left, I leaned in close. “Don’t forget to give your notice,” I said.

“And tell your handler to pull you from this op, you’re just wasting government money.

” And I ended it with a wink. He audibly gulped, and I really hoped he would rethink his decision to be here, in my line of sight, especially when we were running some of the largest underground illegal gambling books.