Dominic
Idon’t like this feeling—this mystery that lingers overhead like a dark shadow, casting confusion on my life. I don’t like the randomness, I don’t like the spontaneity, I don’t like not knowing what’s going on, and I don’t like the feeling of deception that rests in my gut like an ulcer, eating away at my insides. I don’t like feeling like there’s something going on behind my back, and as I open the doors to the conference room with Tommy following closely behind me, my anger explodes into a giant fireball when I see Jimmy standing in the middle of the room wearing a gray sweater and black sweatpants.
“You motherfucker,” I bark, as I grab Jimmy by his shirt and yank his body towards me, our faces only inches apart. “You better tell me what the fuck is going on right now!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dominic,” he replies with fear in his eyes.
“You’re full of shit,” I snap. “You told me you had your crew look everywhere for that fucking truck and you couldn’t find it. Now, all of a sudden, it just shows up ten blocks from your carwash. Either you didn’t look anywhere, or you knew where it was all along. You better fucking explain this shit, Jimmy, because I’m starting to think I can’t trust you, and that ain’t good for your health.”
Frankie and Tommy stand behind me, watching in amazement as I push Jimmy and he falls to the floor.
“I don’t know how the truck got there, Dominic, I swear,” Jimmy says, looking up at me. I can see the worry in his eyes, so either it’s real, or he’s a great actor. Only one way to tell.
I reach inside my coat and pull the nine millimeter from its harness. Frankie and Tommy looked shocked as I kneel down and place the tip of the barrel under Jimmy’s chin.
“I don’t fucking believe you,” I say. “And you know what else? The Commission won’t believe you either. So, I may as well pull the trigger because you’re a fucking dead man anyway.”
“Oh shit! Dominic, wait,” I hear Frankie chime in. “We gotta find out if he actually took it first.”
I ignore Frankie’s plea and chamber a round.
“Where was the fucking truck?” I ask, as I dig the barrel into Jimmy’s skin and he winces in pain.
“I swear to god I don’t know, Dominic. I fucking swear. It wasn’t just my crew who looked for the truck when it went missing. It was all of us. The whole family looked for that truck and it was nowhere to be found. So, I’m just as confused as the rest of you, but I’m telling you I didn’t take it. I swear on my mother’s life I didn’t take it.”
“Dominic, I’m begging you not to do this,” I hear Frankie speak up. “You named me your consigliere for a reason, and now I’m doing my job by reminding you that you gotta have proof about something like this. We gotta get to the bottom of it before you go down this road.” I snap my head in Frankie’s direction, and he immediately knows why. “I’m not trying to question your authority, Dominic, I swear. I’m just saying, you can clip him if you want, but if the Commission finds out, it’s gonna be a problem.”
I hear Frankie’s words, and I know he’s right. I can’t justifiably kill Jimmy without knowing for sure that he took the truck.
See, when it comes to Our Thing, people always think mob guys can go around killing each other all willy-nilly, like it’s a motorcycle club or some lame shit like that. In La Cosa Nostra, you can’t kill a made guy without Commission approval, even if you’re a boss. A made guy is untouchable until the Commission says otherwise. So, once again I have to hold back. Not because I’mweak, but because this is La Cosa Nostra.
“The only reason you’re alive right now, is because I have all these fucking rules to follow,” I snip, nearly foaming at the mouth. “But you can bet your ass I’m gonna find out what the fuck is going on, and you’re gonna be the first motherfucker I visit when I do.”
Jimmy doesn’t respond, he just stares at me with a terrified look on his face. I know he’s doing something sneaky, but I can’t prove it. I will, though. Right now, however, I have to address the task at hand—Victor’s truck and the money we owe him.
I stand up and holster my gun as Jimmy gets to his feet. He has a look of fear and disappointment on his face, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m feeling fed up and am in no mood to give a fuck about anybody’s feelings.
“Alright, this is what we’re gonna do,” I say, addressing all three of the made men in front of me. “Jimmy, get the guys in your crew to gather the truck and money, and take that shit to Victortonight. We already owe an extra five hundred-grand, and I’m not waiting another minute. Get that fucking truck out of my city, now. The extra half-a-mil comes from your end, got it?”
“I got it,” Jimmy replies, looking down at the floor.
“I want that fucking truck gone! We can call Giovanni and let him know the truck is coming, and if he doesn’t answer, leave them a message. I don’t give a fuck what we have to do, we’re leaving that truck with them. If something happens to it once it’s in Chicago, it’s their fucking problem. This is not up for fucking debate.
“Jimmy, make sure your best guys take the truck, and they better not fuck it up. I don’t care how late it is, you call me when it’s done. Once the truck is out of our hands, then we’ll get together and start looking into who the fuck took the truck in the first place, and Iwillfind out who it was. I don’t care if I have to start cutting guy’s fingers off myself until I find out the truth. That’s it. Now go.” The three of them start to leave, but I feel the urge to address Jimmy again. “And you’re lucky this happened. If the truck hadn’t magically reappeared, you were gonna die tonight. You might wanna think about that.”
The elevator ride up to the penthouse seems just as long as this day has been. I stand in the corner of the metal box as it approaches my home, and I feel a weight on top of me.
It’s been a rough couple of days, definitely the stressful of my tenure as boss of the Giordano family, and I feel like I may have taken the good days for granted. I may have let them go by without fully appreciating them, without cherishing them enough, because what I feel now makes me yearn for the good days. There was a part of me that hoped we could transcend the older generations of gangsters. I was hoping we could avoid the backstabbing and power grabbing that has always plagued Our Thing, but the past couple of days have made me second-guess all of it. I should’ve known better. This is La Cosa Nostra. You can’t trust anybody.
The doors open and I find Alannah sitting in the living room on the couch reading a book—a novel calledThe Secrets That We Keep, by Isabel Lucero, and I can’t help but laugh at the irony of the title as I sit down next to her.
She looks beautiful as always, wearing a long t-shirt that goes all the way down to her knees, and some sexy little shorts that are basically underwear. Her brown hair is tied in a ponytail and her supple lips call out to me, so I don’t resist the urge to distract her from her book with a soft kiss.
“Welcome home,” she says after the kiss. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. How’d it go with Tommy?”
I let out a frustrated sigh as I lean back on the couch. “The conversation with Tommy went as expected, but before I could drive away, I got a call from Frankie, informing me that Jimmy’s crew found the truck with all of the money still inside. That’s why I’m so late coming home. I had to go back to the Lumiere and talk to them about it.”
Sensing my predicament, Alannah puts the book down on the wood coffee table and turns to face me with one leg up on the couch.
