Kingpin (An Italian Mafia Romance) (18 page)

He smiles like he already knows there’s more to it than that.

“That’s awesome. So, what have you been up to the past decade? I mean, I figured you would’ve been married with kids by now.”

“Me? No way.”

“Not even a long-term boyfriend after all this time?”

“I mean, I’ve dated, but nothing too serious. What about you? Girls must be flocking to you, Mr. Casino Owner.”

Dominic smiles humbly.

“I haven’t been interested, and I haven’t had the time to really care about anybody else. I’ve been busy with work.”

The mention of “work” sends a sharp tingle down my spine.

“Busy with work. You talking about the casino business, or the other kind of work?” I ask, doing my best to tread lightly but failing. I’m thinking about it too much to just let it go, so I go for it. “Like the kind of
work
you used to do with your dad when we were kids?”

He doesn’t look pissed, but he doesn’t look happy either. He shifts in his seat a little and clears his throat like he’s uncomfortable, which isn’t something he used to do when I knew him all those years ago.

“Getting right down to it, huh?” he says. “You seem genuinely curious, but I’m not sure you actually want to know what you think you want to know.”

“I
do
want to know,” I reply. “What do you have to hide?”

“I have no need to hide,” he snips, frowning a little. “You only hide when you’re afraid, and I’m not afraid of anything or anybody, so I don’t hide or lie. I just don’t know what you actually want to know.”

“I learned a lot while I was gone,” I answer, just as the hostess delivers our drinks. “A byproduct of growing up, I guess. One of the things I was really interested in was the kind of stuff you used to tell me about. The things you and your father were into were things the police put a lot of effort into getting rid of in this city, so I’m just curious.”

“The police can think that they got rid of something if they want to,” he says, avoiding the word
mafia
. There aren’t many people in the VIP Lounge, but it’s better to be careful. “I’d prefer they think that, actually. But the thing my father was a part of will always be around, it just operates differently now. Quieter.”

“And you’re a part of that now?” I sip my drink to try to prepare myself for the answer.

“I always have been.”

My heart picks up pace. I knew it, but now I really
know
it. Dominic is still in the mafia. It’s easy to think about the rumors and misconceptions of what people say about the mafia, but I don’t really know what that means, in all honesty. I think I want to find out, but maybe now isn’t the best time. I think confirmation of Dominic being a member of the St. Louis mob is enough for the first night.

A waiter comes over to the table and takes our order—I order a steak, Dominic gets the most expensive lobster on the menu—and I use the interlude to change the subject.

“I tried to write you, you know?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, twice,” I tell him. “The letters came back both times. I just figured you moved or something. Which kind of reminds me of something else. So, I have another question.”

“Uh-oh. More questions.”

“Nothing bad. I was just wondering if you got my letter.”

He looks confused.

“I thought you said the letters got sent back.”

“Those did get sent back, but this is a different letter,” I reply. “I wrote it before we moved to Alaska, and I left it in your mom’s mailbox. I guess she decided not to give it to you. Or maybe she never got it. I don’t know. Never mind, I guess.”

“Hmm. Nah, I don’t know nothing about no letter,” Dominic says, as he starts devouring his lobster and digging into the baked potato that came with it. As he chews, he leans over so he can reach into his back pocket, then he places a folded piece of paper on the table and looks at me with a grin.

“What’s this?” I ask as I reach for it. He doesn’t answer, so I unfold the paper and I’m shocked to see that it’s my letter to him. The writing is faded, but it’s still legible. It’s my letter.

“I take it with me everywhere I go. Always have,” he says. He smiles at me as tears fill my eyes, then he goes back to his food like it’s no big deal.

But it is. To me, it is.

“I can’t believe you still have this after all this time. It’s been ten years, Dominic. Why do you still have this?” I ask as my voice starts to shake with emotion.

“Because you wrote it,” he replies nonchalantly. “My mother gave it to me the day of my father’s funeral. It goes where I go.”

“This is incredible,” I say, doing my best to shake away the tears. I fold up the paper and hand it back to him, and he pushes it into his back pocket, its home for the past ten years.

We finish our dinner—which Dominic pays for without hesitation—and make our way to the elevator. The doors close behind us and I’m filled with all kinds of emotions. On one hand, Dominic admitted he’s still in the mob, and on the other hand, he still carries my letter around with him every single day, and he’s been doing it for a decade straight. If that isn’t love, then what the hell do you call it? But he said it all so casually that I’m not sure how he even feels about me. The fact that he’s still carrying my letter around has to mean something, though. Right? I mean, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care. Would he?

The elevator opens and I die inside, because I don’t want the night to end. We’ve stopped on the floor of my suite, and Dominic walks me to my door.

“I’m sure you’re probably tired after all the traveling and whatnot,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t let you rest before asking you out to dinner, but I’m really glad you came.”

“It was my pleasure. Thanks for asking. I’ll definitely sleep well tonight. I had a good time, though. It was good catching up.”

“Yeah, it was. But we still have more catching up to do. Ten years’ worth. So, I have to see you again. And then again after that. And probably again after that, too.”

We both laugh, and my insides fill up with teeny-tiny butterflies.

“Well, I have to report to the hospital tomorrow now that I’m here,” I reply.

“Okay, that’s cool. Just call me whenever you’re free.” Before he leaves, he gives me a River City business card that has his number on it, then he grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing it softly as he looks me in the eyes.

I melt.

Then he turns on his heel and walks away.

I watch him until he turns the corner and is out of sight. I’m overcome with feelings of happiness, anxiety, joy, and fear. It’s a whole buffet of feelings that bring tears to my eyes without me being able to fully understand why.

Once inside my amazing suite, I sit on my bed for fifteen minutes before I’m able to move. I have to take my time breathing all of this in. It’s like I’m right back in the ninth grade. Nothing has changed, even though everything has. There’s so much I don’t know, but the things I do know are enough for now.

He’s even more perfect now than he was before I left, and this was the perfect beginning to my new life in St. Louis. I have a feeling there’s more nights like this just around the corner, and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

He’s still perfect.

He’s still Dominic.

H
e quadruple-checks both nine millimeters to make sure everything’s good to go. The knife is there, too. The last thing Tommy needs is to get inside and find out he doesn’t have all the necessary tools to do the job.

Everything’s good to go, so he slowly and quietly turns the knob. There’s an alarm system, but Charlie disabled that about sixty seconds ago, so Tommy doesn’t have to worry about cops showing up just because he opened the door.

It’s dark inside. Luckily, Tommy’s been waiting outside the house in the dark for the past hour so his eyes are adjusted. He can see the end table sitting in front of him, waiting to tell on him if he hits it. There’s piles of clothes sprawled out on the floor that Tommy has to avoid just in case there’s something loud under them. He can also see the glass coffee carafe on the wooden table in the middle of the messy living room, and in the brown leather recliner next to the table is Alex Romanov. Abram Baskov’s right hand man.

The fat fuck is lying there wearing a white tank top and basketball shorts, as if he’s ever played basketball or exercised in his entire fat life. Even in the dark Tommy can see the hair on his shoulders arching towards his back, covered in sweat and filth. Who would ever let this guy be their number two? Fucking Russians.

There’s no kids in the house, because nobody would be desperate enough to fuck this pig and risk getting pregnant, and of course there’s no wife. Alex lives alone and always has. He’s had a rough life, growing up in foster care and all, but it doesn’t make Tommy feel bad. He doesn’t give a fuck about what kind of life Alex may have had leading up to this point, because it doesn’t change anything.

Dominic called and pushed the button on Alex a few hours ago, so it is what it is. Tommy doesn’t question any of it, because Dominic is nothing if not calculated and smart. He doesn’t make a move without thinking about the next three. So, when Dominic told him he had the green light on Alex, Tommy knew the point behind it. Abram Baskov fucked up when he tried to get cute at the sit down. He didn’t realize that Dominic Collazo is a guy who always gets what he wants. You can fight and resist all you want, but eventually Dominic will outsmart you. He’s been involved in La Cosa Nostra his whole life, and sometimes people just have to learn the hard way. Which leads Tommy back to the glass carafe on the table.

Tommy thought to hit Alex in the head with the butt of his gun, but he didn’t want to risk damaging his weapon on this sloppy fucker’s skull. Tommy loves his two nines too much to take such a risk. So, he inches his way over to the table and grabs the carafe. Alex’s snores are loud and disgusting, and he never knows what hit him as the carafe connects with his face and glass goes flying everywhere.

Alex clutches his face in pain, and yells in terror, so Tommy punches him in the mouth to shut him up, then throws his fat body down to the floor. There’s blood gushing from one of the many wounds on Alex’s face, but Tommy’s not sure which one as he leans forward so Alex can see him. Alex is covering his face with his hands because of the glass that is surely lodged in his skin, so Tommy has to get his attention.

“Hey,” he says. Alex tries to look at him through his fingers, but there’s too much blood. “Hey!” Tommy snaps. Alex pulls his hands away from his face and they finally make eye contact.

Alex recognizes him, and his body goes numb with paralyzing fear. He knows what’s about to happen, and he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

Tommy can see the fear in his eyes and it makes him smile. Russian mafia background or not, you don’t fuck with the Giordano family. You don’t fuck with Dominic Collazo.

Tommy reaches into his jacket and removes one of his trusty nine millimeters from its shoulder holster. He makes Alex watch him as he slowly chambers a round, screws the silencer onto the barrel, and aims the pistol at his chest.

“No hard feelings, Alex,” Tommy says. “It ain’t your fault Abram’s an idiot.”

“Fuck you!” Alex screams at the top of his lungs. He’s determined to go out like a soldier.

Tommy is almost impressed.

“Good night.”

Tommy pulls the trigger three times and the nine kicks back, but the silencer does its job and suppresses the noise. Alex’s body jolts from the impact of the three rounds to the chest, then it’s forever still.

He’s gone, but the job isn’t finished yet. Dominic wants the message to Abram to be loud and clear. So, Tommy removes the knife from his jacket pocket and kneels down next to Alex’s lifeless body. He’ll have to get rid of this fat fucker ASAP, but not before cutting off every finger on Alex’s hand—the same hand he used to point that gun at Dominic underneath the table.

It’s gruesome, but Tommy’s wearing gloves and doesn’t mind a little blood. It comes with the job. As long as the message is received, Tommy’s happy. So, he’ll be sure to deliver the message—all five parts of it—to Abram Baskov’s mailbox first thing in the morning.