Kingpin (An Italian Mafia Romance) (13 page)

“Ugh. Well, thanks for caring, but it’s not about that. I mean, come on, it’s been ten years. I’d be crazy to still be thinking about Dominic after all this time. I was a teenager. It’s just time for me to venture out on my own, and I want to do it in the place I loved the most as a kid, so that’s what I’m doing.”

I know they don’t believe me. It’s written all over both of their faces and sewn into their body language, but they don’t say it. They decide to drop the subject for now, and the three of us go back into the living room with the guests, where we spend the rest of the night reminiscing and ignoring the tension between us.

Dominic doesn’t get mentioned again for the rest of the night, but after the party’s over and I’m in the taxi headed back to my place, the truth about Dominic is all I can think about.

Of course I’ve been thinking about Dominic this whole time. It doesn’t matter that it’s been ten years. The way I felt about Dominic when I was fifteen is still the way I feel about him now. It’s not like we ended with some horrible breakup that made us hate each other. It ended against both of our wills. Neither of us wanted it to be over, and it just so happened, something horrible took place with his father right before we moved away. It’s not Dominic’s fault his dad died, and I don’t blame him for disappearing like he did. I probably would’ve done the same thing, and I can only imagine how terrible it must’ve been for him to lose his father and then lose me too. He had it rough, and I understand.

Over the years, I was always looking for him. I’d watch the news to see if there was anything big happening in St. Louis, hoping maybe I’d see his face on TV in the background, or I’d see his name pop up. Then again, I was hoping I
wouldn’t
see his name pop up, too. I was never naïve about Dominic’s life. Now that I’m twenty-five and I’ve learned a lot, I know Donnie Collazo was in the mafia, and I know Dominic was a part of that as well. It never changed the way I felt about him, though. If anything, knowing it just made me more interested in him. Strange, I guess, but I suppose that’s how love works. It never mattered what Dominic did, he always treated me with so much love and respect, and that’s all that’s ever mattered to me. I’ve known guys who were as nice as can be out in public, but they treated me like absolute shit behind closed doors. Dominic never did that.

There was a period where I was worried to death about Dominic, even though we hadn’t spoken in years. I was checking in on St. Louis like I always did—especially in the beginning—and some members of the FBI and St. Louis Police were really going after the Giordano family. According to the police, everything picked up when they found a guy named Alfonse Cestone in the Mississippi River. He had his hands and feet cut off. They even had pictures of the body on the internet. It was gruesome, and it was all the St. Louis PD needed to open up a case against the Giordano family.

After that, all hell broke loose. Donnie Collazo was next to go, in apparent retaliation for the Cestone death, then Sammy Cestone went missing. It was just hit after hit after that, in some war between the Giordano’s and the Cestone crew. The FBI got involved and got a couple of informants to snitch on some of the Giordano guys, and a lot of people either went to jail or died. After it all, St. Louis PD was basically shouting from the rooftops that they “Decimated the St. Louis mob.” They were proud of the mob’s collapse in their city, claiming all the important members of the mob were now either dead or in jail. But I never saw Dominic’s name. Not even once.

I scrolled and scrolled through headlines and articles, but I never saw his name. I even went as far as reading obituaries in the city, and I was relieved that I never saw him. I always knew that just because I didn’t see his name didn’t mean he’d made it out of all that drama unscathed. The mafia has a way of getting rid of people without them ever being found—just like Sammy Cestone—but something told me that didn’t happen to Dominic. He’s too strong for that, so I know he’s alive. I know he’s okay, and it fuels me.

A whole decade has passed, and Dominic Collazo is still on my mind. I’m not ashamed of it, and I don’t care what my parents have to say on the subject. So, I’ll board the plane in a few days, and I’ll fly back to the place where I left my heart, hoping the whole way that Dominic did survive the St. Louis mob’s collapse, and praying that he took my letter to heart. I don’t know anything for sure. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him when I get back. But a girl can hope, right?

Well, I’m hoping.

Dominic

T
hey stopped using social clubs back in the nineties because the Feds kept bugging them and fucking guys with their own words. So, the guys back in the day adjusted accordingly.

The Lodge is what those old social clubs used to be. Leo Capizzi’s the first boss to go back to social clubs to discuss family business, but he did it smart. He kept The Lodge completely off the books and disconnected from his name. The building is in the name of a guy Leo extorted over a decade ago, someone unrelated and unknown, so the Feds have no clue. Leo made sure The Family would have a safe place to meet up. We come in through the back and Leo has the place swept for bugs every single day—a welcome inconvenience—and the lights are bright so everything and everybody can be seen. There’s guys standing in every corner of the room for the sole purpose of watching all movement. No cell phones are allowed inside, and you don’t want to be the idiot who forgets to check his at the door. Leo Capizzi is not the guy you want to piss off, and it doesn’t matter how old he is.

I’m the first one in. I take a seat in the red leather chair and cross one leg over the other, my pant leg raises and exposes the red sock that matches the pinstripes on my suit. The large table in front of me is made entirely of glass, even the legs. It looks great, but it also keeps things from being hidden under the table, and it can’t be drilled into, which means no recording devices can be planted inside of it. Leo covers all his bases. The guys in the corners of the room eyeball me, but not out of disrespect, they’re just watching. It’s their job. They’re not dumb enough to disrespect any of the men who are about to enter this room. Not many people are that stupid.

The boss called on every captain in The Family, which makes me wonder what this meeting is going to be about. It’s not often we get together in a group like this, it’s bad for business. More than likely, something big is about to go down.

Our family has undergone a change over the years. This isn’t my father’s family anymore. We’ve had to keep everything completely quiet over the years because the Feds have a hard-on for us, and anything that even looks a little like organized crime makes the fucking pigs blow their load all over the streets of St. Louis, which is how we ended up with so many young guys becoming made members. Back in the day, you could be a made guy in your twenties, but you’d probably be in your thirties or forties before you were upped to capo, and probably would never become boss unless a lot of people died and the position basically fell to you. That was then.

Now, after all the shit that has gone down over the past decade, capos in this family range from twenty-five to thirty-five. Well, there’s only one capo who’s actually twenty-five years old.

Me.

I wasn’t handed this position, contrary to what some of the old heads might think. I wasn’t upped because I’m Donnie Collazo’s son. After the FBI started using RICO cases against our acting bosses while Leo was in hiding, and our other capos got killed in the Cestone war a few years back, I was upped because of what I bring to the table. For one, I’m the best earner. My casino, River City, is the best money maker The Family has, not to mention the other rackets I’ve had going since my father showed me the ropes when I was a kid. I own River City one hundred percent, the business is ninety percent legit and legal, so it’s damn-near untouchable, and I’m part-owner of two more casinos, and working on another. It was me who planted the seed in my father’s head about taxing casinos in the city, so I know this business better than the rest, and because I know how to keep my casinos clean, St. Louis PD can’t fuck with me. I’m a legit business man, so the feds can suck my dick. Nothing earns stripes in Our Thing like being an earner, and that’s part of the reason I am where I am. The amount of money I kick up to Leo trumps everyone else in The Family, but I earn it through smarts as well as hustle.

Being an earner is only part of it, though. The other part is almost just as important. I’ve been a part of La Cosa Nostra since I was in elementary school. I live it. I breathe it. I take it seriously because it’s my life. My father died in this game, and he was my biggest role model, so I proudly follow in his footsteps. Everything I do is to make him proud, and I don’t give a fuck who tries to get in my way. I have absolutely no remorse for anybody who makes a mistake when it comes to me and my business, and it all started the day I watched my father die right next to me. That day changed everything, and when Sammy Cestone
went to Australia
, I knew I was in this for life. Everything I do is La Cosa Nostra. It’s all I know, and it’s all I care about. The rules will be followed, and if they aren’t, there are consequences that I have no problem carrying out. To be frank, I don’t fucking care if somebody has to die. No one cared when my father died. I learned that the hard way, and if someone else has to learn it the same way I did, so fucking be it.

You better remember it forever. I’m Dominic Collazo.

My train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the door being opened by one of the guards. I watch as another one of our capos, Big Sal Bagano, comes waddling into the room, his belly poking out like he’s in his second trimester. Big Sal has been around for a while. He’s in his late thirties, but he just isn’t a good enough earner to ever make it past capo, but he’s a good guy who I respect. He knew my father, and when I meet guys who were connected to him, I hold them in higher regard.

Sal’s followed by our newest capo, John Salvatore, who’s got a bad habit of flaunting his wealth with expensive shit: cars, jackets, and jewelry. John’s thirty, and he’s got a big mouth, and is developing a reputation for saying inappropriate things to the wrong people. I don’t like him, but he’s a made guy, so it’s something I just have to put up with. There’s just something about his face that pisses me off.

“Dominic!” Big Sal says when he sees me. He approaches with open arms, and I stand to embrace him. We hug lightly, patting each other on the back, as is tradition.

“How you doin’ Sal?” I ask with a smile.

“Good, good. Just wondering why we’re meeting up like this, is all. I don’t like us being in the same place. You get one bomb in here and that’s it for all of us.”

“Jesus, Sal, relax,” John interrupts. “So paranoid. You’re gonna scare Dominic.” He says it with a playful smile, but I’d love nothing more than to slap that smile right off his face. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Boy Wonder,” he says to me jokingly.

My heart rate picks up, but I don’t let him know he just hit a nerve with that name. I’m not a teenager anymore, and I damn sure ain’t a boy, so I don’t like people calling me that. However, this is a friendly meeting. I exhale and let it slide. This time.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” I reply through clenched teeth. “How you been?”

“I won’t complain,” he answers as we hug. “How are the casinos? Still rolling in the dough?”

“Something like that,” I reply. I don’t like putting my business in the streets, and he should know better than asking about it, doesn’t matter if we’re in The Lounge or not. Something else I have to let slide.

“You know what this is about, right?”

“Nah. You do?”

“I think I do,” John answers with a nod. “He’s gonna make Frankie boss. I know it.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Sal asks with a deep furrow in his brow. “You don’t know that.”

“I didn’t hear it from anybody, it’s just a hunch,” John says, shrugging.

“Hey, you don’t know that, so don’t go around saying shit like it’s fact, especially when it’s about a decision from Leo.” Big Sal looks pissed, and I can tell he and I are on the same page about John. He’s an annoying little asshole who won’t last long if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Hey, I’m just talking. I didn’t mean no disrespect,” John backpedals, still doing that stupid shrug.

The door opens again, and in walks Frankie Leonetti. He’s wearing a gray suit with black, shiny shoes. His jaw is strong and his face has a long scar running down the left side, from his temple down to his cheek. It’s from a prison fight with a
mulignan
who sliced him with a shank a couple of years back, and it gives Frankie the look of a stone cold killer, which is ironic, because Frankie’s been a stone cold killer since the day I met him, so it’s fitting. I’ve known Frankie longer than anyone else in The Family, and I have more respect for him than anyone. He was like a brother to my dad, and he’s like an uncle to me now. I fucking love the guy.

Not only is he a killer, Frankie earns a ton of money. This guy came up with a scheme to tax highways. That’s right, highways. He started taxing local trucking and shipping companies to use the roads within the city, then he infiltrated the unions just like in the old days. That’s Frankie, he’s old school, but he’ll use a new gun to shoot you in the face without thinking twice about it.