Chapter 20
FRANCISCO
The clinking of glasses and whispered conversations create a sophisticated backdrop in one of my downtown restaurants.
I’m seated at a table near the kitchen, my back to the wall, of course.
Giovanni sits beside me, neither of us foolish enough to sit where we can’t see the door.
I’m sure that if any of the other patrons cared to notice, they would peg us for gangsters right off the bat.
Who else sits side by side rather than facing each other at a table for two?
But there’s another reason I want to look out over the restaurant.
I own it. I like to see how it’s functioning, how the waiters are doing, and how quickly the busboys can clear a table.
I’m pleased that the place is nearly full.
People are calling in reservations, and that means more money in my pocket.
Of course, there’s another reason I own the business, and it’s not because I’m interested in the food service industry.
Restaurants take in their fair share of cash, and they make perfect fronts to launder money I receive through gambling and other illegal activities.
Legitimate businesses are also a great way to pay taxes and keep the IRS off my back.
I can always point to such a successful enterprise when I need to explain my standard of living.
No one blinks an eye when they learn that the owner of The Focaccia is living large. Of course he would. That place is a premier five-star Italian restaurant in the city. So I go there periodically to check up on my investment, but also occasionally when I need time to relax.
It’s an upscale place that seems like a world away from my problems. I only brought Giovanni to have someone to dine with. But he’s giving me a hard time about my relationship with Marlena.
“I just don’t see why you have to marry the girl,” Giovanni says, sipping on ice water to stay frosty.
“Not another word,” I warn him.
He ignores my directive and continues talking trash. “Why would you want to get married at all? Especially to someone who’s not giving up the goods, if you know what I mean.”
I don’t bother responding. I’m well aware of how Giovanni feels about marriage.
And I made the mistake of telling him about Marlena’s last request. I can’t help it.
I’m a little bit put out. I understand her reluctance, but I’m assuming it’s because we don’t know each other that well.
I can’t imagine living an entire lifetime married to a woman I can’t touch.
I’m not opposed to going slowly, but I’d eventually like to arrive at some sort of mutually beneficial destination. I know I’m not her ideal mate, but I’d like to think we can be happy together. In all the traditional ways of husband and wife.
“Don’t talk about my wife,” I mutter. Anyone else spoke about Marlena like that and I’d rip their head off but I value my brother’s opinion, sometimes.
“Fiancée,” he corrects me.
“So you agree that I’m going to get married?” I ask, half teasing.
“Against my better judgment,” he replies dryly.
“Funny,” I grumble. “I don’t remember asking you.”
“You didn’t,” he quips. “But you should have.”
“I’m done with this conversation,” I snap. “We’re getting married, and that’s the end of it.”
Giovanni shakes his head, getting in one last observation before falling silent. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“When have I ever not known what I was doing?” I remind him.
He settles down, and we move on to other topics of conversation. But eventually our talk circles back to Marlena.
“I’m worried about Andretti,” Giovanni says. “How do you know that marrying Marlena isn’t going to bring things to a head?”
“He’ll back off,” I assure my brother.
“And what if he doesn’t?” Giovanni asks. “He’s already made a move to poach some of our men. That’s pretty bold. I wouldn’t put it past the guy to take you down, and this could present him with the perfect opportunity.”
I shake my head. Giovanni’s not wrong. It’s something I’ve considered. But that only makes our wedding so much more important. Because if Marlena is my wife and Andretti makes a move, that gives me full authority to rain hell down upon him. A girlfriend, not so much. And an employee, not at all.
“I’m not gonna run from a fight,” I tell my brother.
“I’m not saying run,” Giovanni argues. “But why stick your neck out for this girl?”
I slam my fist down on the table, shaking the silverware. The other guests look up from their conversations, shocked at the blatant display of anger. Giovanni clams up, realizing that he’s gone too far.
“The matter is not open for discussion,” I seethe.
“Sorry,” Giovanni admits hastily. “I won’t mention it again.”
“See that you don’t,” I reply. “If Andretti wants to make a move out in the open, I’ll answer it. Otherwise, what he does in the privacy of his home is of no interest to me.”
“I just don’t want to see a war,” Giovanni says, after he’s sure that I’ve calmed down.
“No one wants war,” I answer. “But if he makes the first move, I’ll end it.”
Giovanni grabs his water glass to toast me. “That’s what I like to hear.”
I smile at him, pleased to know that he’s on my side. I couldn’t ask for a better underboss than my own brother. My son, on the other hand, is a different story. I haven’t bothered to tell him about my arrangement with Marlena yet. But I suppose he deserves to know.
I’m not worried about his relationship with his former tutor.
Former, because now that she’s going to be my bride, I think it would be distasteful for her to continue tutoring Frankie.
She wants to be a teacher, and I’ve agreed to set up some interviews for her.
She doesn’t need a single overprivileged student when she can have a classroom full of bright and eager ones.
I make up my mind to tell Frankie this evening when I get home.
I’m not looking forward to it. If I know Frankie, and I do know Frankie, he’s not going to be pleased.
Tough luck, because I’m not looking for his blessing.
He’s an adult, and so am I. Who I marry is my business.
But I do understand that it’s going to be a little bit awkward for him to think of Marlena as his stepmother.
She’s closer in age to my boy than she is to me, and I’m sure that’s another thing Frankie will point out.
Giovanni and I finish up our dinner and leave a big tip on the table.
I want all the staff to know that their boss is a generous one.
I rule with equal parts carrot and stick.
You have to give people both positive and negative incentives to do a good job, so the tip is an expression of gratitude but also a warning.
Make sure you keep up this level of perfection, I’m saying with my crisp twenties.
I stop by to chat with the manager before heading out the door.
It’s a cold evening, and there’s a little bit of rain.
It’s not that much, but enough to make me wish I’d worn an overcoat.
I get into the back of the limo with a bright sheen of mist covering my shoulders.
Giovanni climbs inside after, bitching loudly about the weather.
“I hate this city sometimes,” he swears.
“Don’t let anyone else hear you talk like that,” I warn him in jest.
“I don’t care who knows it,” he snaps. “It’s cold as balls out there.”
I pull out my phone to check my messages. There’s no need to complain about the night air like a bunch of rich assholes. There are few things out of my control these days, but the weather is one of them. I just accept it and move on.
Giovanni settles down, pulling his jacket tight around his chest. I ignore him, reading the latest details about some of the other businesses I have going.
It’s all written in code, but I have no trouble deciphering it.
There was a fight at the racetrack, but that was all taken care of.
One shipment of tax-free cigarettes was stopped at the border, and my capo is requesting assistance.
I call him from the back of the limo and we talk, also in code.
I agree to make another phone call to the border patrol to get things straightened out.
If necessary, I can provide some pressure so that the people who are holding our shipment know who they’re dealing with.
But I want to wait until I’m back in my office before I make that call.
I’m not going to say anything incriminating, but I want to have a little more freedom to emphasize my situation without having to worry about anyone listening in.
“What’s wrong?” Giovanni asks.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I tell him.
He shrugs. He’s familiar enough with our family business that I could read him in if I wanted to.
But it doesn’t seem that important, and he’s got other things to worry about.
I need him to focus on the upcoming wedding, to make sure that all our soldiers are in line, and to keep an eye on Andretti.
All these other business dealings I can take care of myself.
The limo pulls up outside the house, and Giovanni and I get out.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Giovanni says. “I’ve got some business to take care of.”
I watch him circle around the driveway on foot, and then drive away in his BMW. I assume he’s on the prowl, and looking for a woman to spend the night with. That’s his business, not mine. I’ve got a few things I need to take care of first before calling it quits for the evening.
I walk inside, where I’m immediately accosted by my son.
He’s drunk. Unlike Giovanni, who stuck to water all night, I’ve had a few glasses of wine.
It didn’t seem all that much before, but now I can feel the alcohol surging through my blood.
Frankie and I are a bad combination when we’ve had too much to drink, and now is no exception.
“I wanna talk to you,” Frankie shouts, pointing a finger at me as if he’s the one in charge.