2

Six Weeks Earlier

Bobby

I accept a Cuban cigar from my cousin Al and light it.

“You’re late, stronzo,” he busts my balls, even though the only thing I’m late for is a game of poker with the other Made Men. But it’s his right to be the ball-buster. As the don of the Family, he’s my boss and the guy I’ve looked up to my entire life.

“I know. Sorry. We had a shitshow at the office.” We’re in the private lounge at Swank, the nightclub built by my construction company as our outfit’s unofficial headquarters.

“Anything I need to know about?” Al chomps on his cigar and swirls the ice in his highball glass.

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Permit problems. The usual fuckery. Nothing I can’t handle.” I own and run the Family construction and real estate companies, which I keep mostly above-board, other than calling in favors and making deals with politicians. Joey launders the Family’s dirty money through my business and the nightclub.

“You want me to handle someone, you just say the word.” Carlo, our ruthless younger cousin from Sicily stacks his chips. He’s Al’s protege. Joey, Al’s younger brother, is technically in line to inherit the throne, but I’m not sure his heart is in it the way Carlo’s is. There may eventually be a showdown between the two for who becomes Al’s right-hand man. For now, Joey is the mob’s accountant. The only one of us who went to college.

“Glen Livit, on the rocks,” I tell Gina, the cocktail waitress who comes in with a tray full of drinks for the men. She’s banging Leo, one of the bouncers.

“Already got it for you, Mr. Manghini.” She drops a cocktail napkin in front of me and sets the drink down.

“You take such good care of me, sweetheart.” I hand her a hundred-dollar bill because I appreciate the fuck out of good service, and Gina works it.

She takes it but hesitates, and I look up. “Um, your…uh…Stacy is asking to see you.”

Stacy. Fuck me. She was my last plaything. A stripper I set up in my downtown apartment to be available to me. It worked out for a couple of months, but she ended up being a pain in my ass. She has addictions–to cocaine, my money, and drama.

I cut her loose three weeks ago, but she misses her meal ticket.

“Could you handle her for me?” I ask Carlo, and the rest of the men at the table laugh.

He snorts. “I don’t do sloppy seconds, cugino. Although she is hot. I might bang her once.”

Carlo hasn't had a girlfriend since he moved to America. Like me, he seems to prefer strippers and no commitment. Although in his case, I suspect his hesitation to date has everything to do with Al's daughter, Summer. I’ve seen the way he watches her from across the room. The way he hovers protectively when she’s near. I doubt he'll make a move on her, though, because Al would kill him.

“Tell her to get lost,” I say.

It’s not really fair of me to make Gina the messenger, but I’m done with this girl. Plus, I’m already sitting down, and Al’s ready to start the game. I don’t want to get up and deal with her myself. “If she won’t go, have Leo throw her out.”

“Got it.” Gina’s been moving swiftly around the room, emptying Al’s ashtray and picking up used glasses.

“I'm sorry to make you the bad guy.”

“No, it's cool.” She pats the apron pocket where the $100 bill disappeared. “I've got your back with the ladies.” Gina slips out the door.

Joey snorts as he deals the cards. “You having trouble handling your ladies, Bobby?”

“Yeah, fuck off, stronzo.”

“No, but really.” Al pins me with a tough-guy look. “Is this girl gonna be a problem?”

Aw, fuck. The Family gets real touchy about who we bring in and out of our lives. What they know. What happens to them when we cut them loose. Al’s asking me if Stacy knows anything and is she crazy or manipulative enough to turn on me. To wear a wire and become an informant. Or to get in bed with one of the other organized crime families in the Tri-State area.

Basically, Al wants to know if Stacy actually needs to be dealt with. Because the Family does not like loose ends. Not even the ex-fucktoy variety.

“Nah, she’s not a real problem. She’s nothing,” I say. I need to de-escalate this shit right away.

Joey takes a sip of his grappa. “Maybe if you stopped dating strippers and settled down with a real woman, you might not be getting stalked by your crazy exes.”

“Where's your real woman?” I pick up my cards. “I don't see you bringing around anyone worth keeping.”

“True, true,” Joey admits. “But I’m looking. I also don't make a habit of keeping women on the side like you do.”

“Yeah, what's up with that?” Al sets his cigar in the ashtray to fan his cards in front of his face. “It's like you still think you're married.”

I divorced five years ago, and for the record, never kept a woman on the side while I had a wife, even when our marriage was shit. But Al’s right, I’m definitely treating my women now as side pieces, not main events. That’s the way I prefer it. I like to play sugar daddy.

“It’s just easier.” I shrug. “I take care of her financially, and she makes herself available to me. I’m the bossman. Works out great for both of us.”

When I’m sugar daddy, there’s an unspoken–or sometimes spoken–business arrangement. She receives financial benefit in exchange for being available to me. And I love holding power over my woman. It turns me on. I’m good to them–don’t get me wrong. I spoil my girls rotten. And that’s why I get to call the shots. If I want her on her knees, I tell her. If I want her over my knee, I put her there. I don’t have to bring her to family events or introduce her to my daughters.

“Until she turns psycho.” Carlo jerks his thumb toward the door leading to the main lounge.

“Yeah, there's that.” I seem to let my dick do the thinking when it comes to women. Another reason to keep them in the periphery and not actually allow them into my life. In the business we’re in, it’s too dangerous. You can’t mix psycho with La Famiglia. People will get killed. I’m definitely done with clingy crazy. My next arrangement is going to be clean. At the first sign of emotional attachment, I’m calling it off.

“What about you, Dean?” I change the focus of the conversation to one of the other soldiers whose wife gave birth six months ago. “How’s family life?”

He chomps on his cigar. “Good, good. Olive is sitting up. Cute as fuck. Jessie’s doing an amazing job with her.”

“She’s not pissed about you coming out with us tonight?”

He grins. “I negotiated a deal. I get to come to poker night, she gets a ladies’ night, which is essentially just a book club where they drink wine and talk about dirty romance novels. She comes home all ready to put into practice what she’s been reading, so it’s a win-win for me.”

We laugh. It sounds sweet, but no part of me misses having a woman to answer to.

I am never doing that shit again.