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Charlie
“You’re shittin’ me?” Only, his forest-green eyes assured me he wasn’t.
“Kazaam!” I whistled. For Christ’s sake, who actually admits that they’re in the mob? Low-level wannabes with big mouths trying to impress women they ordinarily would have no shot in hell with. Yes.
Actual mob bosses? No.
He had to be shittin’ me; trying to scare me. I stared at him, looking for some crumb of falsity in his declaration. Some braggadociousness. Some ... something that said it wasn’t true.
I was greeted with a heart-breaking smile, as if we’d just been discussing San Diego’s amazingly perfect weather.
“Kazaam. I haven’t heard word that since I was a kid,” he said.
“Are mob bosses ever kids?” I said, almost to myself as I stared at him, trying to dismiss the way my insides fluttered when he smiled. It wasn’t fair to be what he said he was and be that handsome. There ought to be a law against it; it was too deadly of a combination. “How ... When ... How the hell can you be a mob boss and come to work every day? I mean, how does shit like this happen? You look normal?”
“Like serial killers, we don’t have signs pronouncing what we are. We walk among you as normal as day – more often than you think.”
“Well that’s a helluva comfort,” I said sarcastically, glaring at him as I tried to reconcile what I saw in front of me with the image you see in the movies of a mob boss. “Why was that man attacking you?”
He gritted his teeth.
“Dante?” I prodded.
He sighed. “He wants something that I’m not prepared to give.”
“Like?” I pushed.
“Control.”
“Dammit Dante, don’t make me pull teeth! Control of what?”
“Control over the organization. He thinks things should be run one way. I think they should be run another. You might say we’re at an impasse.”
“One he’s obviously trying to break through,” I noted. “Why are you telling me this?”
These were the kind of secrets people like him took to their grave. But he was spilling them to me with relative ease. People in his line of work got people liked me killed for knowing too much. So I didn’t know whether to be relieved, or even more terrified.
“You asked,” he said, that deadly smile appearing again. “Seriously, your neck. You were right. You deserve to know.”
“Thanks, I think,” I said, my hand going automatically to my throat. I winced at the swelling.
“That was a dick move he pulled, hijacking you at your office like that.”
He smiled again and I felt swoony, but not from lack of oxygen this time. I felt that we’d crossed into comrade territory. I smiled back, feeling stupid for doing so. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t know enough to trust him. But I wasn’t immune to him either. Far from it.
“All he cares about is money. And that’s dangerous, especially in our line of work.”
I snorted. “I didn’t realize that was a reason to be a mob boss besides money. Isn’t that what runs your world?”
“Money runs the world Charlie; not just the underworld. And in answer to your question, smart leaders have systems and processes in place to control the flow of money. Stefan will do almost anything to make a quick buck. That’s where my he and I differ, and what makes him so dangerous.”
“Him, or you,? You’re calculating. He’s reckless. Different kind of dangerous, but dangerous nonetheless?”
“Touche Charlie,” he said, unbeknownst to me his estimation of me expanding each time I spoke. “That intellect of yours – you, too, can be dangerous Charlie. Remember that.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. A woman with brains has always been dangerous.”
“I should have known,” he smiled.
I’d have to learn to ignore his smile if I was going to keep my wits about me and get out of this mess; whatever it was. I pressed on. “Why the anger? Why the viciousness?”
“Classic power struggle,” he answered. “It’s been going on since we were kids.”’
“Oh. How long have you all known each other?”
“Since birth. Stefan is my brother,” he said.
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. My brain must have been deprived of oxygen for longer than I thought. Otherwise, it was so obvious. The curly black hair. The expressive eyes. The super-thick black lashes. The olive skin. The exact same physique.
I looked at him again, studying him.
He responded with another deadly smile, this one tinged with bitterness.
“Fighting with your sibling is its own special kind of hell,” I said. I had to admit though, I felt better about this piece of intel. If Stefan was his brother, then I couldn’t be in that much danger. He’d only hurt me because I’d been there, caught in the proverbial middle, so to speak. Whatever was between them would blow over. I could get my life back. I sagged back into the sofa in literal relief.
“It is.” He was surprised that, given what his brother had done to her, she could be so magnanimous with her feelings. He wouldn’t have been as gracious had the situation been reversed.
“I thought that in the mob, family stood for something; that there are certain lines that weren’t crossed.”
“I thought so too,” Dante said. “We’ve had our disagreements, but this is different. He’s different.”
“How?” I asked.
“He actually attacked me. And he obviously planned it; lurking around the office, based on what you said about encountering him earlier this morning. Then he blitz attacked me right there in my office.”
“You’re brothers. Why wouldn’t he just come and see you or call? Why all the nefariousness?”
“Because I’ve been blowing him off for a while now; trying to give him a chance to come to his senses.”
“Come to his senses about what?”
“The less you know, the better Charlie,” he said, his green eyes turning to a dark jade as a frown formed on his handsome forehead. “I want to thank you though. If you hadn’t been there, one of us might not have made it out alive.”
“It wouldn’t have gotten that far. You’re brothers.”
“Don’t be naive Charlie.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to be nice, to give you some hope that you will patch things up with him. You’re blood. Blood doesn’t betray blood ... or it shouldn’t,” I finished.
“I used to believe that. Now I’m not so sure,” Dante said, a flicker of pain softening his rock-hard features.
“It’ll be ok. You’ll see,” I said. “I want to go home. Is there a bus line around here?”
“Stefan has seen you. I can’t just let you go, Charlie. You have to realize that.”
“I realize no such thing. What I realize is that you got into a fight with your brother. It has nothing to do with me. I’m going home,” I insisted, standing up and looking around for my purse. Had I left it at the office?
Dante grabbed me by the arm.
I jerked away from him.
“Stop it!” I said angrily.
“Come here. I want to show you something,” he said. He reached for my hand.
I shook my head and folded them across my chest.
His eyes landed on my pushed-up bosom. My heart beat against the thin poly-cotton of my yellow dress.
“What do you want to show me?” I asked, fear starting to mount somewhere in my sternum as I locked onto his stern features. “Wh... where are you taking me?” I finally squeezed out.
“Merda!” he swore.
My eyeballs got big as golf balls. I swallowed hard. “Murder?” I squeaked. I felt like character Karen in Good Fellas; that scene where Robert DeNiro’s character, Jimmy, is trying to talk her into going into some type of warehouse or something to pick out some designer dresses from some stolen loot. She knows something’s not right; that Jimmy was gonna have her wacked and she makes an excuse not to go. Only, I had no excuse. I was trapped in this penthouse in the sky with an admitted mob boss. There was nowhere to run.
“There is no reason to be afraid,” Dante said.
“The hell there isn’t?” I replied. “You just said murder. You ... you wouldn’t – couldn’t ... please don’t hurt me. I swear, I won’t say a word,” I said, my fear mounting with every word.
“Charlie no. That’s not what I said.”
I shook my head, my vocal cords frozen by fear.
“Merda, not mur-der. It means shit ... in Italian,” he explained.
I sagged in relief, my knees actually buckling.
“Don’t faint on me now,” Dante said, wrapping his arm around my waist.
“I’ll be fine once I get home,” I said.
“You can’t go home Charlie. I meant it when I said that.”
“Do you really think your brother would hurt me?”
“Unfortunately, I know he would. Look at what he tried to do to me, and I’m his flesh and blood,” Dante answered.
My blood turned to ice as I let the realization of Dante’s statement sink in. “I see your point,” I said.
There’s actually someone out there who wants me dead. I felt paralyzed, couldn’t move my legs. My hands lay on my lap, limp, dead things. My vision turned hazy, transforming Dante’s handsome form into a smeary, monstrous nightmare.
“What now?” I managed to get out.