Chapter 6
FRANCISCO
Ican’t help but focus on Marlena’s ass as she walks toward her car. I can see her clearly through the window, even though she doesn’t see me. I know Marcello said the girl was a looker, but I wasn’t expecting someone so feisty. She wasn’t intimidated by me, and that was a big turn-on.
Marcello sees me looking, but like a good soldier, he doesn’t say anything.
She’s too young for me anyway. I’m not sure how old she is, but clearly several years younger than I am.
Still, she’s not a college kid. I had expected Frankie to pick up someone his own age, but this tutor is officially all woman.
She’s got the curves and the experience to boot.
And I know I didn’t imagine the look in her eyes when she first saw me. The attraction is mutual.
“What do you think, boss?” Marcello asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say, watching intently as she gets in the car and drives away.
There’s something more to her story than she was letting on. I can tell when someone’s lying to me. But I also don’t think she’s working for any of the rival families. Her story is far more personal. Whatever it is she’s hiding has got nothing to do with me.
“Boss!” Edoardo says, barging into the room without permission.
Edoardo is my head of security and built like a linebacker.
We go way back, and I trust him with my life.
Something important must be going on, or he wouldn’t dare intrude without knocking.
Marlena slips from my mind as I shift my attention to the problem coming my way.
My senses heighten, and I listen closely for any sounds in the house.
Nothing I hear trips my internal alarm, so the crisis must be further away.
“I just got word from Vinnie down at the casino,” Edoardo says. “Some kid is talking about taking you to the cleaners.”
“Who?” I demand.
“Vinnie didn’t know, but he’s sitting on the guy,” Edoardo announces.
“Is this related to Andretti?” I ask, trying to guess how important the tip is. It could be someone just trying to get a rise out of his friends, or it could be actionable intel.
“Pretty serious Vinnie said,” Edoardo explains. “He claims he’s been to your home.”
“All right,” I decide. “Get me Vinnie on the phone.”
“Right, boss,” Edoardo agrees, pulling out his latest burner phone. He dials and passes it over, and I listen while Vinnie tells me everything he’s managed to squeeze out of the potential rat.
“I’m on my way,” I tell him.
This kind of thing demands a personal touch. The kid in question was blabbing his mouth about the ins and outs of my mansion, describing where all the bedrooms were and how easy it would be to put me in my grave. I can’t let that kind of thing go unanswered.
“I wanna know who this kid is and how he got into the house,” I demand, storming through the hallway and out onto the porch.
“Right boss,” Vinnie says.
“Edoardo, you’re with me,” I snap.
The driver brings my car around, and I hop in the backseat, Edoardo sliding in next to me. Marcello comes down with a look on his face.
“Do you need some help, boss?” he asks.
“I got this,” I tell him.
“What should I tell Giovanni?” Marcello wonders.
“Nothing,” I reply. “I’m handling it.”
The car drives off, leaving Marcello in the driveway.
I don’t have time to think about him right now.
I want all the information I can get about this kid who’s running his mouth.
There are many people who come and go from the house every day.
I’d like to meet them all, the same as I did with Marlena, but occasionally that just doesn’t happen.
When there’s a group of soldiers or some event like a party going on, I don’t always know who’s in my home.
That bothers me. I’ll have to have a talk with Edoardo and Marcello when all this is done.
I want to crack down on strangers walking through the house unannounced.
I don’t care who they’re with or whether they’re vetted or not.
If I don’t know them, I don’t want them walking through the door.
Vinnie’s got this guy locked down at a local casino.
It’s one of my joints, which is double egregious.
The kid was throwing his weight around in my own place.
How dumb could you get? That’s one of the things I appreciate about the lowlife scum I have to deal with all the time: most of them aren’t too bright.
It makes keeping people in line somewhat easier.
At least I’m not dealing with criminal masterminds.
We pull up outside the casino, and the valet comes running.
He stops short when he sees who it is. My driver gives him the signal, and he goes back to his post. The car will wait for us until we’re ready to go.
Just in case we need a quick getaway, I make it clear that I’m not handing the keys over to some prepubescent parking lot attendant.
Edoardo gets out of the car, and I follow.
I button up my shirt as I make my entrance.
I’m not wearing a tie, but the place is classy and demands a certain amount of decorum.
I have to walk through the gambling floor to get to the door in the back.
Everything seems to be business as usual.
It’s late in the afternoon, and already the slots are starting to fill.
I spot a few regular gamblers and a few guys at the bar who’ve had enough already.
I make eye contact with the bartender, and he nods toward one of the drunks. I give Edoardo a signal, and he signals to one of the bouncers. As I disappear into the employees-only hallway, I can see two security guards converging on the unlucky man.
I pass the kitchen, Edoardo at my heels. We turn left and then right until we reach the very back, where the meat locker is. I push my way through into the bedroom-sized refrigerator, to the far end where there’s another door.
This is where we do any kind of private business. The meat locker serves as a sound barrier, so that people inside can scream all they want without calling attention to us. Plenty of wet work has gone on in this hidden room, both with and without my direct supervision.
Pushing past the meat locker, I find myself in the hidden room. It’s slightly warmer, which is appreciated. Sometimes I have to spend hours picking people apart for information, and I prefer to do it in relative comfort.
The kid in question is strapped to a chair. Two of my men are standing over him, and no one’s speaking. The kid knows that he’s in trouble, and I can see that he’s on the verge of pissing his pants. His knees are shaking, and his eyes are wide as saucers.
“Hello,” I say politely.
“Hello, Mr. Corello,” the kid gulps.
“I hear you’re saying some pretty interesting things about me.”
“No, I would never,” he swears. “Honest, I was just running my mouth. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“My men tell me that you’ve been inside my home,” I remind him.
“Just the once,” he whispers. “I didn’t even really get a good look.”
I crouched down next to him, putting one hand on his knee. “When did you have occasion to be in my home?”
He swallows thickly, his voice nearly inaudible when he speaks. “My boy Taylor brought me.”
“Taylor, huh?” I say, standing back up.
“One of Frankie’s friends,” Edoardo explains.
“Ah,” I exclaim, putting two and two together.
“I don’t like—” Edoardo begins, but I put a stop to it with a raised finger.
“I don’t appreciate people selling information about me,” I tell the kid, making it clear that he is in no way out of the water.
“I understand, Mr. Corello,” the boy whimpers.
“I don’t think you’ve got anything to do with my son,” I tell him. “I think you’re lying to me.”
“Why would I lie?” he shouts, trying to get up.
The men behind him push him back down, and he looks away, seeing the writing on the wall.
“Why would you lie?” I say thoughtfully. “What have you got to lose? I know you’re not some punk who came in with my son after school. Now. I want to know who you are, who you run with, and who else knows.”
“Honest to God…” the kid begins.
I nod, giving my muscles the signal. One bodyguard steps around and slugs the kid in the stomach. The boy doubles over, coughing into his lap. The guard grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back up.
“I don’t believe you,” I say again.
“I swear,” he cries, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“You tell someone where I sleep at night?” I demand, thirsty for action.
When he doesn’t answer, I let my men have at him, pummeling him again and again until finally he’s ready to give me the real story. I motion to the guards to give him some breathing room. He sobs, coughs, and spits out blood. I’m getting bored.
“Talk,” I command.
“I’m on Andretti’s payroll,” the kid whispers.
“That’s what I thought,” I say. “So what was the plan?”
“I was supposed to get close to Frankie, and then use him to get close to you,” the boy wheezes.
“And what then?” I ask.
“I-I was just supposed to be a mole,” he responds. “I was supposed to listen and learn and be there whenever Mr. Andretti called.”
“So why were you running your mouth?” I ask, sticking two fingers under his chin so he looks at me.
One of his eyes is swollen shut, and the other one is a half-moon.
He’s hurting, but that’s not going to be the end of it for him.
I can’t let this kind of thing go unpunished.
I haven’t decided if I’m going to kill him yet.
There’s something to be said for dumping his body on Andretti’s doorstep, warning my rival to keep his men off my property.
But maybe I’m feeling generous. The kid obviously isn’t going anywhere if he can’t keep his mouth shut.
Maybe I should let him off with just a warning.
Of course, the warning is going to have to be a bit more severe than what he’s experienced already.
I want to put the fear of God into him. And I want to make it crystal clear that I’m not going to tolerate this kind of behavior.
I roll up my sleeves. The kid sees what I’m doing and starts blubbering.
I’m going to have to talk to Frankie when I get home.
I need to make him aware that he’s the vulnerable link in our family chain.
Not that he doesn’t know that already, but I can’t have him bringing Andretti’s spies into our home.
“I want you to take another look at all of Frankie’s associates,” I tell Edoardo.
“Yes, boss,” Edoardo says.
“You listen to me,” I tell the kid, cracking my knuckles. “I can’t decide whether to let you off with a warning or not. You want to give me a good reason not to send your head over to Andretti in a box?”
“Please, Mr. Corello,” the kid whines, “I’ll never do it again.”
“Damned right, you’ll never do it again,” I swear. “’Cause you’re gonna move clear across the country. And if I ever see you again, I’m gonna finish what I’m about to start, do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” he cries.
And I light into him like I used to in the old days.
I decide that this is punishment enough.
If the kid survives the beating and manages to tell anyone else about it, he’ll explain how Don Corello took care of things personally.
That’ll cement my reputation on the streets as someone you don’t want to mess with.
I’m pretty pleased with the solution, since it doesn’t involve disposing of a body.
I beat the kid until he’s barely breathing, and then leave him on the floor for my men to clean up.