CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ONE MONTH LATER
Nikki was on her stomach and Teddy was laying on top of her pumping so much of himself into her that she thought she couldn’t take it.
Her entire body was pulsating from the feeling she always felt when Teddy was inside of her.
He was so big and made her feel so full that by the time their orgasms began to wane, she didn’t have the strength to move a muscle.
Teddy didn’t either. That was why he remained collapsed on top of her.
They could have stayed there all morning. But they had a job to do: It was Mick’s first day back on the pitch. And they were going to be his personal bodyguards.
Teddy rolled off of Nikki, but still laid there. “It was fun while it lasted.”
But Nikki had something more than fun on her mind. “Your father is in the news.”
“So what else is new?”
“Did you see the article?” As she asked him, she was grabbing her iPad from the nightstand and turning it on.
Teddy looked at Nikki. “Can I at least have my breakfast first, Nikki?”
Although Nikki was a full-figured girl in every sense of the word, she was never a breakfast eater. The very idea of food that time of morning turned her stomach. It was too damn early. “Just look at it,” she said as she tossed it onto his stomach.
“What is it?”
“An article written by Cooper Carmichael. Read it.”
“Why I wanna read something that fucker writes? He’s always got something negative to say.”
“Just read it, Teddy. Especially before we go to pick up Dad.”
Teddy shook his head. “I still say it’s too early for him to get back on the battlefield.”
“So do I. So do Roz I’m sure. So does his doctors. But who’s gonna stop him?”
“Big Daddy could,” Teddy said. “But he won’t.”
“Why won’t he?”
“I don’t blame him,” Teddy said. “What happened to Pop is an existential threat to the whole family. All the kids in the family have been on lockdown for four weeks now. Our own children have to stay at Pop’s compound until he gives the all-clear.
Which could be another month. And Pop won’t even let me and you go anywhere without eight capos, two SUVs full, accompanying us. Our enemies are laughing at us.”
“That’s what Dad wants,” Nikki reminded him. “He wants them to think we’re crippled.”
“But damn, Nikki. I’m Teddy T. I’m supposed to be this strong tower. I’m no fucking punk. Just because Pop went down won’t cripple us. Now we’ve got all kinds of top of the mountain wannabes plotting and scheming to shoot their shot. They just need more information.”
“They may already have it,” said Nikki. “Read that article.”
Teddy frowned. “What’s with you and this article?” he asked as he reluctantly looked at the iPad.
It was a column in the Philadelphia Inquirer about his father. He read it:
The secretive mob life of Fortune 500 business mogul and reputed boss of all bosses Mick “The Tick” Sinatra may have taken a dramatic hit this past month.
After what my sources insists was an assassination attempt that nobody outside of the Sinatra and Gabrini crime families even knew about, the Sinatra crime syndicate is in total disarray.
Sinatra is allegedly still recovering from ten gunshot wounds.
His son Teddy Sinatra, who runs the day to day of his father’s organization although he’s quick to deny the existence of an organization, has lost two-thirds of his made men to other syndicates while he and his wife and underboss Nikki Sinatra fight to hold onto the rest of their group and to keep the family safe.
But everybody’s deserted them. The only syndicates still in their corner are the Sal Gabrini and Frankie “The Monk” Paletti’s organizations, and both of them are reeling in the aftermath too.
But could this all be true? Has the big man truly gone down, with some believing he is near-death if not already dead? Are other syndicates jockeying for position to take over the top of the heap? What would Philadelphia look like post-Mick the Tick? Would it be safer?
Some would argue, and I might agree, that it would be less safe.
Sinatra didn’t bother anybody unless they bothered him.
And he always looked out for the little guy.
He was never a threat to law-abiding citizens.
But he was always a definite threat to hoodlums. I, for one, am pulling for a Mick Sinatra comeback. What are your thoughts?
Teddy didn’t bother to read the comments. He knew they would be all over the place. He tossed the iPad aside. “Damn,” he said. “Who told Cooper Carmichael that lie?”
“Which one? About Pop near death or already dead? Or the one about Pop being shot ten times when he was only shot six? I don’t mean only, as if it was nothing, but you know what I mean. Or was it the lie about Sal Gabrini and Frankie Paletti’s syndicates reeling?”
“I’m talking the lie about us losing two-thirds of our capos,” Teddy responded. “We haven’t lost any of our made men. Somebody’s trying to create a very negative narrative around us.”
“But isn’t that what your father wants?” Nikki asked.
“Doesn’t he want them to think we’re as weak as we can be so that they would let their guards down and start turning on each other and maybe, just maybe, he would find out who was behind what happened in Fangen with him, Roz, and Duke, and what almost happened to me in New Orleans? ”
“That’s what he wants, yes. But this can go all kinds of bad. If our enemies believe Pop has fallen and we’re in all kinds of disarray, we could be putting out fires left and right before we get anywhere near where we need to be.”
“Or.”
Teddy looked at his wife. “Or what?”
“Or it might be a friendly plant.”
Teddy stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t Cooper Carmichael and your father acquaintances?”
“Pop helped him out when he had a serious death threat because of some investigative reporting he was doing, yeah. But that was years ago.”
“That doesn’t matter to your father. Maybe he called in the favor.”
Teddy thought about it, and then was floored. “Are you saying Pop was the person who fed this shit to Coop?”
“He’s the one who wants to create that we’re in disarray and Mick the Tick has fallen narrative,” said Nikki. “Why wouldn’t he control it with the most well-read columnist in town?”
Teddy sat the iPad down and leaned back. “I’ll be damn. There’s always method to Pop’s madness.”
“But I’m with you, Teddy: why would we give our enemies the match to light us up with? Why would we give them an opening that wide?”
“Because we aren’t giving them shit.” Teddy sat up.
He was thinking this through. “Now I think I get what Pop’s doing.
It’s like what Uncle Reno said about people who gamble in his casino.
They’re feeding the beast every time they put their dollars on a bet that more than likely they will lose.
But if the house gives them glimmers of hope and let them win a few times, they start to think that they’re in control.
They bet more. They spend more money thinking they got it figured out and are going to get more back.
They think they’re beating the beast and aren’t feeding the beast any longer.
But Uncle Reno said is what they don’t realize is that because they don’t think they’re feeding the beast, that’s when the beast is eating them.
And eating them alive. But they’re too focused on positioning themselves for the big payout.
They’re too focused on winning. That’s how those casinos get you every time, Uncle Reno said. ”
Then Teddy smiled. “Pop’s playing the Reno game.”
Nikki understood it, too, but she still didn’t like it. “Sometimes,” she said, “those lowly gamblers do beat the house and win. And they win big. The house may let them win. I’m not denying that. But they still win.”
Teddy’s smile slowly dissipated and he let out a harsh exhale. Then he nodded. “And therein lies the rub.”