3. Prime
PRIME
“Hey, Prime, how come you look like you broke your favorite toy?” Johnny Camarda places a fresh bourbon on a napkin at my elbow. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here without a smile and at least one gorgeous woman on your arm.”
“New shit happens every day.” I give the bartender my best smile and take a long drink. “Keep them coming.”
He walks off to fill another order. The grin fades into nothing and I hunch over my glass, turning it, watching the condensation roll along the side. Just like the sweat down Deanna’s legs, heading toward her perfect pussy, that slice of heaven, the taste immaculate, her moans?—
Fucking stop it.
I grunt and take a long pull to drown the hunger growing in my belly.
It’s Sunday evening and I’ve done nothing since she left my house but think about my personal assistant.
Which isn’t ideal, considering I had planned on fixing a lot of problems this weekend.
That redhead was going to be a brief distraction, a way of getting my rocks off and clearing my head.
What was her name? Lacey? Linda? Doesn’t even matter anymore.
The second I saw Deanna with her legs spread on my pool table, I lost my appetite for anything but her.
That’s a real god damn problem, because I use sex to keep my mind working right. The longer I go without that lovely taste of pleasure, the fuzzier my brain becomes, and right now I need to be sharp. This isn’t the time to get all fucking soft.
I grip my glass tightly and check my phone. A dozen different messages, half of them from girls looking for a date. I ignore them all. I could have a woman here in ten minutes if that’s what I really want, but the idea is like ash on my tongue.
Not since I sucked my stuck-up assistant’s fingers.
God, who would’ve thought? Stiff, prickly, stuffy Deanna, stroking her pussy on my pool table, and I’m pretty sure I heard her moaning my name. That’s what really broke me. That shattered my resolve.
Not that self-control is usually my thing, but still, I’ve been good when it comes to her.
It’s supposed to be business with that girl and nothing else. Doesn’t matter if her serious-office-lady routine gets my dick harder than iron and her constant scorn makes me want to fill her pretty mouth with cock. I don’t fuck where I work. Most of the time, anyway.
And technically, technically, I still followed that rule.
Tasting her and getting her off wasn’t technically fucking.
Too bad a technicality can’t get the memory of her shuddering breasts and the heavenly scent of her orgasm from my head.
“Ah, Mr. Spadaro, there you are.” A heavy gentleman with a bushy mustache appears at my shoulder. He’s got on a gaudy pinstripe suit like a TV gangster and his thinning hair is shoved across his skull in the worst comb-over I’ve ever seen.
“I appreciate you coming, Mr. Salerno.”
“Call me Ricardo if I can call you Prime.”
“Take a seat then, Ricardo. What can I get you to drink?”
The big man settles into the chair beside me and asks for a wine. We make small talk and I force myself to banish the thought of my personal assistant from my head. For once in my life, I have real work to do.
“I’ll be straight with you.” Ricardo holds his glass perched in his meaty fingers. “Mr. F is curious about your offer. We spoke at length about the parking lot business, about your real estate ventures, about how you’ve expanded your territory, and he’s very impressed.”
“I appreciate that.”
“However.” He holds up his pinky. It’s a weird gesture.
I want to reach out and snap it sideways.
Maybe rip that ugly mustache from his smug face.
He cringes with an apologetic smile. “Mr. F is a very busy man, and while your proposal was very interesting, he isn’t going to follow through with further talks. ”
I mask the sudden ring of failure and anger by taking a low drink.
Even approaching Augustus Fontana with a simple business proposal was like walking across the Grand Canyon on a tightrope.
The man’s famously paranoid and rarely, if ever, gets involved with other crime families.
It took a lot of work, dozens of favors, and hours of dogged persistence to get a single message across his desk.
It’s a minor miracle even this low-level member of his organization is sitting here speaking to me in person.
For all that effort to end like this?
It’s brutal. Fucking devastating.
And I will not accept it.
“I understand Mr. F’s attention is always at a premium, however we both know our organizations have mutually beneficial operations. I can offer better terms if that would interest him more, or we can look into alternative structures?—“
Ricardo shakes his head regretfully. “That’s not the problem at all. You were more than generous with your terms and everyone in the outfit can see the wisdom in working with you. Unfortunately, the issue is slightly more… awkward, if you’ll permit me to put it that way.”
I bite back a sharp retort. Quit playing coy and suck my dick or don’t you fucking prick.
Instead, I nod thoughtfully and play the serious businessman to the best of my ability, even if most of my seriousness and business-ness comes straight from Deanna keeping me from self-imploding.
Without that girl, I’d be awash in pussy, liquor, and worse.
With her, I’m keeping my head above water.
“Please, I’d appreciate any honest feedback, no matter how strange. There are no hard feelings here. If it’s something I can change, we might be able to have better news to take back to your employer.”
Ricardo drains his glass. “I’ll be frank then.
Mr. F doesn’t believe you’re a serious man.
You know my boss, he has very strict, very traditional views on life, and your reputation, well, it’s not exactly to his taste.
So while your business proposal is solid, he rejects the idea of entering into a partnership with you, in particular.
I’m sorry, Prime. I wish I could say it isn’t personal, but?—“
That’s like a kick to the balls. Bad enough to be turned down by this stooge, but to hear him essentially call me a fucking loser to my face is almost too much.
The only reason I’m not snapping his over-padded neck right now is because that would only confirm his boss’s point and would shut down any potential for future access.
This is a test. Plain and simple. I can lash out and prove that I’m the immature fuckboy they think I am, or I can find a way to turn it to my benefit.
I know what they see. Prime Spadaro, rich playboy, a new woman every night, a new car every week, rolling in cash from his lucrative real estate investments and the thick margins on his multiple parking lots.
Not to mention the other side of my operations, all done for the Corsetti Famiglia, the real source of my wealth and power.
They see an operator, a smooth talker, a joke.
They see the image I’ve carefully built for myself.
And the worst part is, I can’t deny any of it.
“Would it help Mr. F’s opinion of me if he knew I planned on getting married?”
Ricardo looks genuinely surprised. He smirks like I’m joking, but his smile quickly fades away. “Is that for real? I didn’t know you had a fiancée.”
I fucking don’t. I have no idea why I blurted that out.
“I understand Mr. F’s reservations about me, but I can assure the both of you that I’m a serious man and I’m truly committed to settling down and focusing on my many successful businesses. You can relay that to him, if you think it would help, but either way I’ll be speaking my vows very soon.”
“Wonderful news! Well, congratulations are in order then!” Ricardo orders more drinks and grills me on the details of my future wife.
I’m cagey. Mostly because she doesn’t exist. I tell him she’s got dark hair, that we worked together, that she’s Italian and she’s got family in the city, and the more I talk the more the shape of this very fake woman begins to resolve in my mind.
“I’m sure Mr. F will be very interested to hear about your upcoming marriage. I wish you nothing but success. We’ll be paying close attention, I’m sure.”
“I appreciate that.”
We shake hands. He downs his second drink hurriedly, rattles off more pleasantries, and gets the fuck out of there without paying.
I slump down into my seat, head hanging into my hands.
“Well fuck me in the mouth,” I whisper over my empty glass of bourbon.
I took a bad situation and made it astronomically worse.
Now, I either find a wife on short notice?—
Or I lose any chance at ever connecting with Mr. F again.
Which is unacceptable.
Because I’m going to clutch that old, rotting bastard’s black, withered heart in the palm of my hand and look him in the eye as he dies knowing I’m the one who brought him down.