Chapter 1
Six Months Later/Five Days Before Christmas
NICK
“I want our first Christmas in the new house to be special. The best ever.” Cheryl arranges, then rearranges the display of ferns and holly on the dining room table.
“I told the florist I wanted pine sprigs that smell like pine.” She leans into the arrangement and sniffs. “These smell like nothing.”
“So, buy some of those pine-scented candles, or get one of those aerosol sprays.”
“Right, so you want me to spray volatile compounds around the room.”
I contain my eye roll, but lately Cheryl’s been getting a little crazy with the healthy environmental shit.
“I know what you’re thinking, but those compounds cause asthma, lung cancer and premature death.”
“Merry fuckin’ Christmas.” I huff out a laugh, but it doesn’t lighten the mood.
“Laugh all you want, but I want Portia to have a healthy environment.” She cups her non-existent belly. “And who knows, maybe soon we’ll have another baby, and I want him or her to only be surrounded by healthy choices too.”
“I get it, but did you forget that you and I basically raised ourselves?” I puff out my chest. “And we turned out okay.”
“But wouldn’t it have been nice if someone had been concerned with our welfare? You were raised by an abusive father, and my mother left me with anybody so she could go out get high and party.”
“Yeah, it sucked, but maybe it made us the tough, resilient people we are today.”
“You’re gonna tell me you don’t have scars, both literally and figuratively?”
“Look, babe, all I’m saying is you gotta relax a little.”
“Relax? Are you kidding me?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I gladly retrieve it. Once Cheryl gets on this topic, there’s no turning back.
“Yeah?”
“Your friend Graham just left.” Samson’s irritation rasps through the phone. “Supposedly you had a meeting with him this morning.”
“Shit!” I cup the back of my neck. “Is he still in the building?”
“Nah, just left.”
“Can’t you catch him before he leaves?”
“He left ten minutes ago.” Samson’s casual attitude is pissing me off.
“You should’ve told him to wait.”
“No big deal.” A heartbeat later: “Probably better off without him. The guy’s got a big fuckin’ attitude.”
“I know you don’t like him, but he’s the one person who can bring Wicked to the next level.”
“Geez, fuck, relax.” I imagine Samson rolling his eyes on the other end of the phone.
I realize I just said the same words to Cheryl, but Samson doesn’t get it. We need a high-priced promoter, and making a deal with Graham Pierce would be sweet.
The doorbell rings, and Cheryl rushes to answer it. “Oh my god.” She flits around the room. “I can’t believe I forgot the other tree was coming in this morning.”
I cup my hand over the phone. “What other tree?”
“The real tree I ordered.” She waves her hand toward the foyer. “The big tree in the family room is fake, but I wanted Portia to have at least one real tree for our first Christmas in the new house.”
“It’s the holidays. Chill,” Samson says into my ear. “We’ll deal with him after the New Year.”
Typical Samson. Even back in the day, he was the laid-back one. If you could call a former mob enforcer laid-back, but he was always the one who kept me level.
“After the New Year will be too fuckin’ late. Graham Pierce makes a deal one time, and that’s it.”
“And what kind of a fuckin name is Graham Pierce.” Samson huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “Sounds like his parents already knew he was gonna be an arrogant asshole.”
“We’ve dealt with way worse.”
“Agreed, but seriously, a few days before Christmas, and the guy wants to have a sit-down.”
“Look, I don’t make the rules. I’m just telling you, this is the guy who’s gonna make the club big.”
“We’re already big. Every night we got a line around the block, and the bouncers are turning people away.”
“I’m talking mega-big. International. Up there with Tao and Hakkasan.”
“Bigger place, bigger problems.”
Two men lug an enormous tree into our foyer. Cheryl inspects the stand they’re wrestling the tree into, then nods her approval.
I don’t envy them ‘cause my woman can be tough. She’s got just enough of her mob boss father in her to make her scary.
“How many trees are you putting up?” I stage-whisper as Samson continues to talk in my ear.
“There’s one in the family room, one on the back patio with all-natural decorations, one in the living room that matches the color scheme, a small one in Portia’s room.” She spreads her arms wide. “And this one in the foyer.”
My eyes widen at Cheryl’s descriptions. How had I missed all these trees sprouting up throughout the house? Probably ‘cause, after working twelve-hour shifts at the club, I stumble up to bed and fall dead asleep.
“I think the monster tree you have in the family room is more than enough.”
“No, no, no, this real tree right here in the foyer makes it all perfect.”
“No wonder you’re late getting in today.” Samson laughs in my ear. “Didn’t know you had to decorate the North Pole.”
“I’ll call Graham from the car. Maybe he can reschedule for this afternoon.”
“Or maybe we just forget about him and deal with all the shit we got goin’ on before New Year’s.”
I turn my back on Cheryl so I can concentrate on Samson. “I don’t know why you’re so against him.”
“‘Cause the week between Christmas and New Year’s, we’re gonna be slammed with holiday parties and the big New Year’s Eve bash with two thousand invited guests.”
“And we’ve got the staff and manpower to pull it off.”
Samson blows out a breath. “I can see you’re all gas, no brakes on this, but I’m telling you, I don’t like the guy.”
“Jax said he’s solid.”
“How does Jax even know him?” Samson asks.
Jax, our long-time friend from Brooklyn, handles our security. The guy is built like an ox and is in charge of the bouncers, the surveillance equipment and the overall safety of the club.
“Said he came with good recommendations from the head of security at Tao.” I placate. “Let’s at least talk to him and see what he has to say.”
“Don’t have to. I know exactly what he’s gonna be like, and so do you.”
Sure, from the research I uncovered, Graham was a preppy asshole with a rich daddy and a trust fund, but he was also smart, and anything he touched turned to gold. So why not let some of that good fortune rub off on Club Wicked?
“This isn’t the old days back in Brooklyn. You gotta branch out every once in a while.”
“People are people, Nick—don’t matter where they come from. Assholes come in all shapes and sizes.”
Cheryl gives me the eye to get off the phone.
“I’ll be there in a few.” I disconnect the call and shove the phone into my pants pocket with more force than necessary.
I contemplate escaping out the front door, but Cheryl and I made a pact when we got back together to always say goodbye in the morning and to never go to bed mad.
I draw in a deep breath and find her examining the enormous tree in the family room that almost reaches the skylight of the vaulted ceiling.
“Everything looks perfect, babe.” I wrap my arm around her waist. “But I gotta get going. Gotta make a few calls on my way in to Wicked.”
“The club doesn’t open until eight tonight. I don’t understand why you have to run off. I thought maybe we could have breakfast together.”
“Forget it. I got way too much to do with all the holiday parties coming up next week.”
“Fine, but don’t forget about tonight.”
Shit, what the hell is tonight? I swear, between my schedule, Cheryl’s and Portia’s, there was always something.
Portia has as many commitments as I do, between dance, cheerleading, ceramics classes, and who the fuck knows what else.
The kids today have every day planned six months in advance.
Add to that Cheryl’s demanding schedule and monthly trips to her office in L.A.
and my crazy hours, we are stretched thin.
We share a family calendar, and I still fuck it up sometimes.
Thank god for Izzy, Cheryl’s personal assistant, who is more like family and picks up the slack.
I slip my phone out of my pocket to check the calendar without Cheryl noticing.
“It’s at seven o’clock,” Cheryl adds.
“Right.” I still have no fuckin’ clue what’s up. I scroll to my calendar, but the only thing there is the meeting with Graham Pierce that I already missed.
“I gotta go.” I pull her to me and nuzzle her neck, inhaling the scent of her exotic perfume. Maybe I’ll just call Izzy later. She’s sure to know what’s going on tonight at seven.
“I know you think I’m going overboard, but I just want everything to be right.
” She stills in my arms. “I need to do this, maybe for me.” She lowers he head.
“As a kid, there was no real tree or fake tree. Most times, my mother wasn’t even home.
Then all the years you and I were apart.
I gave Portia what little I could afford, but it was never enough. ”
“I get it.” I cup her cheek. “I just hate to see you driving yourself crazy.”
Aside from the abuse and addiction both Cheryl and I endured, I sometimes envied the last generation’s uninvolved parenting. Cheryl calls this new approach being a helicopter parent, but shit, I think it’s more like a stealth fighter pilot.
“We’re finally all together, and I want this to be the best Christmas ever for all of us.” The doorbell rings, and she jumps out of my arms. “That must be the poinsettias delivery.” She races to the front door and ushers in two delivery men with poinsettias in numerous colors.
Portia enters the foyer from upstairs, and her eyes widen. “Wow, that tree is even bigger than the other one.”
I screw up my lips and nod to my wife. “I told you so.”
“Isn’t it beautiful, honey?” Then she turns to me. “And don’t tell me you’re any different. I heard your side of the conversation with Samson, and you’re just as driven as I am.”
“Yeah, about business.” I wave my arm around the room. “Not all this decoration bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit, and maybe if you were more involved, it would take some of the pressure off me.”
“Babe, you know I don’t have time for this stuff. I got a—”
“Yes, I know, you’ve got a mega-club to run.” She ends her sentence with a pointed glare.
“And good thing for that mega-club with what you must’ve spent on all this shit.”
Cheryl’s fists fly to her hips, and I know I went too far. “Did you forget my business brings in almost as much as yours?”
“Forget I said anything.”
“I wish I could. I also wish you’d get in a little more of the holiday spirit. You sound like Scrooge.”
Portia’s eyes light up as she comes into the foyer. “Can we decorate this tree tonight?”
At ten years old, our beautiful, talented, sweet girl fills my heart with pride. Of course, every parent says the same things, but being out of her life for so many years gave me a lot of catching up to do in the bragging department.
Being pregnant and alone had to be tough on Cheryl, then raising Portia on her own, but somehow she’s taught Portia to be kind to others and grateful for the little things in life.
“No, tonight is your holiday concert.” Cheryl glances at me.
Bingo! Holiday concert at Portia’s school.
Cheryl cuts me a look. “You didn’t forget, did you?”
“Of course not.” Almost true.
“Seven o’clock in the school auditorium.”
“Right.”
She flips me a look, and I call her out. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“‘Cause until about two seconds ago, you forgot all about it.”
Very hard to fool the daughter of a mob boss.
She shakes her head. “That’s why we have a family calendar—but that means you have to look at it once a week.”
“I said I’ll be there.”
After a quick kiss, I jet out the kitchen door and into our four-car garage.
It’s no secret I have a thing for cars. Any kind of cars.
Antique, classic, it doesn’t matter. Back in the day, Samson and I made most of our money boosting cars and living hand-to-mouth, doing anything to make a buck.
A life I never want Portia to experience.
Making it better for her and Cheryl is the main reason I work the way I do, and I make no apologies.
Even back then, I loved cars, and with the success of Club Wicked, what started out as a hobby has turned into a reality.
Every year, I drag Samson to the Barrett-Jackson auction and usually end up leaving with a new addition to my growing collection—main reason I rent a garage to house my other prize possessions.
Having a choice of cars to drive every day is a dream come true for a kid who had nothing in the bad old days.
My mother had to work way too hard just to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads.
My breathing catches—like it always does when I think of my sweet mother and the heartbreaking way she died. She deserved much better than she got.
I shift my shoulders and clear my head. Depressing thoughts don’t usually invade the good, but every once in a while—could be the downside of our childhoods Cheryl referred to before.
That’s why having her and Portia in my life now makes me determined to keep the good things going, even if it means working extra hours and missing out on the little stuff that goes on at home.
The solid sound of the door slamming on my Maserati Gran Cabrio fills me with satisfaction. It’s confirmation that Samson and I have finally made it big. We not only broke away from the mob, but we have enough power in this town to call our own shots.
And that’s the number one reason I couldn’t understand why Samson is so against making this deal with Graham Pierce. In my experience, power and money are linked, and you can never have enough of either one.
Although I have to agree with him—Graham Pierce is a dumb fuckin’ name.
I pull out of the garage, put down the top, and suck in the dry, crisp December air. I eye my beautiful home, knowing Cheryl and Portia are finally safe, and according to my wife, this will be the best Christmas ever.
Life is fuckin’ good.