Long Live the King (An Italian Mafia Romance Duet #2) (12 page)

I cling to her as I close my eyes and hope tomorrow provides me with a raft made of answers. If not, then maybe I’ll just have to start drowning the people next to me to keep myself afloat.

Dominic

“A
h! Alannah what the fuck?” I hear myself screaming as I jolt awake. My face is dripping with water and my pillow is soaked.

“I’m sorry, I had to wake you up,” Alannah exclaims, wearing a t-shirt and short shorts. Even through the dripping water sloshing over my eyes, the woman looks mouthwatering.

“You had to wake me up by splashing water on my fucking face?”

“Yes,” she replies. “Your phone was going off, and I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t wake up so I answered it. It’s Frankie, he’s here and he’s on his way up to the penthouse.”

“What? Right now?”

“Yeah. He said it was really urgent, and he absolutely has to talk to you, so I needed to wake you.”

I wipe my face and think about what the hell Frankie might want at six o’clock in the morning. Nobody comes to River City to see me. I keep my business separate from where I lay my head, so I think of this as an intrusion, and if Frankie doesn’t have a damn good reason for this, we’re going to have a fucking problem.

I rush to the bathroom and throw on a wife beater, and a pair of dark gray sweatpants, while Alannah throws on the sexiest red shorts known to man and a Cardinals t-shirt. By the time I finish grabbing her ass with a playful smile on my face, the elevator door chimes and Frankie steps into the penthouse, wearing a black and white track suit, like he’s intentionally paying homage to the gangsters of old.

I notice his face when he walks in—tight lips with a furrow in his brow. He’s frustrated or worried about something, and the first thing I think of is Jimmy and the truck. What the hell has happened?

“This better be something really fucking important, Frankie,” I say as I lean in and wrap my arms around my consigliere in a hug to show our mutual respect.

“It is. I wouldn’t have shown up like this if it wasn’t,” Frankie replies. He runs a hand through his hair before motioning towards the living room. “There’s something you need to know, Dominic. We should go sit down.”

I eyeball him for a minute, evaluating his strange demeanor. He looks upset in a way I haven’t seen in him before, and I know whatever he’s about to tell me isn’t something small, so I nod to Alannah, and she nods back to me before turning on her heel and walking back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I lead Frankie into the living room and take a seat on one couch while Frankie sits on the other. Once he’s seated, Frankie starts fiddling with his zipper on his jacket like he’s too nervous to sit still. I scrunch my forehead wondering what the hell has gotten into him.

“The fuck’s the matter with you?” I ask, frowning. “You’re sitting there looking all nervous, playing with your jacket and shit. You’re making
me
anxious.”

Frankie looks down at his hand like he’s noticing it moving for the first time, and he stops himself by letting go of the zipper and placing his hand on the couch before finally looking up at me.

“Have you ever thought about this thing with Victor? Like, what his intentions are?” Frankie asks, his eyes boring into me now.

“What his intentions are? You mean besides being an old annoying cocksucker and diming me out to the Commission? Nah, I guess not. He’s a fucking Mustache Pete who needs to die already, preferably
not
by natural causes.” I reply. “But as far as his intentions are concerned, I ain’t thinking about that. Now that Jimmy found the truck, I just want the debt settled and the bullshit in my rearview mirror. But why do you ask?”

“Because I’m starting to think Victor Fronzo intended to kill one of our guys from the very beginning,” Frankie says, sending me reeling.

“The fuck you talking about, Frankie?”

“Just hear me out a minute, Dominic. As soon as that truck got taken, I think Victor’s been out to flex his muscle on you. He’s an old head and he ain’t gonna stand for a twenty-something boss making him look weak. I think we should’ve never trusted him or that cocksucker Giovanni.”

“What makes you think I ever trusted either one of those pricks? They ain’t ever done nothing for me. But where is all this coming from, Frankie. You come to my home this early in the morning to ask me about Victor fucking Fronzo? Stop beating around the bush and tell me what’s going on.”

Frankie leans forward with his elbows on his knees and lets out a loud rush of air before speaking again.

“You remember Raphael Barissi?” Frankie asks, and as soon as he does, I know what’s coming next.

“Of course. Big Sal put him on Jimmy’s crew when Jimmy got upped to capo. We call him Raphy for short. Why?”

“He’s dead,” Frankie blurts out. “Jimmy sent Raphael and one of his associates, Dan Stanza, to deliver the truck to Victor this morning. Just as they got outside the city, a car sideswiped them and forced the truck off the road. From the looks of the truck and the car Dan was in, there was a bit of a shootout, but both Dan and Raphy got hit pretty bad. Raphy was in the truck, and whoever took them off the road put two in his chest and took Victor’s payoff money from the passenger’s seat. Dan got hit in the neck and in the chest too. He’s in ICU.”

Rage and fury boil up in my stomach like a science project gone wrong. I’m not even sure how to act as I lean back and pinch my lips together.

“You’re telling me somebody hit us?” I ask rhetorically. “Somebody jacked Jimmy’s crew, and they took the money? Our fucking money?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Dominic,” Frankie replies before letting his head fall in obvious indignation.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” I snap, rising to my feet. “I wanna know who the fuck it was! Put every fucking crew on it, Frankie. No one rests until we find out who did it. I want them dead yesterday!”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Dominic. I think it might’ve been Giovanni,” Frankie says, locking his eyes on mine.

“I don’t wanna hear who it
might’ve been
.
I want to know for sure. And why would Giovanni rob us for Victor’s money? They were gonna get it anyway, so that doesn’t even make any fucking sense.”

“Because Giovanni and Victor don’t like what happened with the truck, and I think Giovanni keeps messing shit up so that we end up going to war with Victor over it. I think it’s all a setup.”

“A setup for what, Frankie?” I snip, barking at Frankie as he looks up at me. “And you need to be real clear about what you say next, because if what you’re saying makes sense, bodies are about to start piling up.”

“Look, maybe I’m reaching here,” Frankie goes on, “but the way I see it, Victor has Giovanni come to St. Louis and steal the truck before we can take it back, making it look like someone on our side is fucking around with his money. Then, after Giovanni gives it back and we’re all set to deliver it, he has Giovanni steal the payoff, that way he can justify a war with us to the Commission, who we know he has enormous pull with. I think Victor
wants
a war. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Is it? Because to me, that makes no fucking sense,” I reply as I bring myself to sit back down. I put my elbows on my legs and lean forward so I can focus on nothing but Frankie and the situation. “It doesn’t make any sense for Victor to send Giovanni to take money that he was gonna get anyway. Let’s say Victor does wanna kill one of us—why do it on the highway as they deliver the money? Why not wait until our people show up to drop it off, then pop them within the walls of his own warehouse? Seems like a lot of trouble to go through for the same results. Either way, they get the money and dead Giordano members—so why go through the trouble of doing it away from Chicago? Victor wouldn’t do that. If he wanted to kill one of us, he’d want us to know it was him who did it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because that’s what I would do,” I admit, even though the idea of Victor and me being anything alike makes me sick to my stomach. “Nah, I don’t think it was Victor. To me, this looks like it might be . . .”

I stop talking as the thought sweeps its way into my mind and latches on like a virus. My heart rate picks up as new questions are born in my brain.

“Where’s the truck?” I ask, glaring at Frankie with unflinching eyes.

“Victor came and got it.”

“He came and got it?”

“Yeah, since it was already so close to Chicago when it got hit,’ Frankie replies.

“What the fuck?” I say aloud as the questions and frustration reach a peak.

“I’m telling you, Dominic, it was Victor and Giovanni. I know it.”

“You don’t fucking know shit!” I erupt. “You give me one piece of proof that it was Victor pulling the strings on this and I swear to the Virgin Mary we’ll go down there and slaughter all of them tonight. Give me one piece of evidence that would get the Commission on board to sanction Victor getting clipped. Go ahead, I’m listening. I’ll wait.”

Tommy doesn’t respond, like I knew he wouldn’t.

“Exactly,” I snip. “I wanted you to be my consigliere because you know better than to take shit at face value. You know an unsanctioned hit on Victor would kill all of us. The Commission would go bananas over the death of a sitting member of their crew. So, get your shit together and be realistic. We’ve gotta be smart with whatever our next move is. Now, where’s Tommy?”

“I talked to him before I came here,” Frankie replies after a long, exasperated sigh. “He’s on his way to Mercy Hospital to see how Dan’s doing.”

I take a second to think about everything I just heard, and even with Frankie trying to convince me the hit was ordered by Victor, my mind has a conclusion of its own already.

“So, Victor got the truck back?” I ask, making sure I have all of the information before proceeding.

“Yeah.”

“And he knows two of our guys got hit?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he say anything about the money we owed being stolen?”

“Not really,” Frankie says. “He said he’d give us a day to dust ourselves off, but then he wants to talk to you.”

“He told you that after he came and got the truck?” I ask, never breaking eye contact with Frankie.

“He told me that as his crew was taking it. We had to come clean up the mess before the cops showed up or Victor’s truck was gonna get confiscated, and he would’ve lost the million-plus that was in the back. I sent some guys to take care of Raphy and Dan, and Victor called me.”

“And how’d
you
find out about the hit?”

“Dan called Jimmy after he got shot, and Jimmy called me. After I made sure everything was taken care of, I rushed over here to tell you.”

“You came over here to tell me after all of shit had already gone down,” I say as a statement instead of a question. I see Frankie’s eyes flinch, apparently put off by my accusing tone. “You came and told me
after
you spoke to the guy you think ordered the hit, and
after
you sent members of
my
family to help Victor’s crew clean up the scene of the hit. I got all that right?”

I glare at Frankie like I’m trying to kill him with my eyes, and he reads the accusation loud and clear. He recoils, sitting back in his seat and putting his hands up like he’s showing me he’s not hiding anything.

“Whoa, wait a minute, Dominic,” he says in a tone that’s a mixture of anger and fear. “You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you? I would never turn my back on this family. Never. I’ve known you your entire life. Me and your father came up in this thing together. I would never do that to you, not just because I respect you and Our Thing, but because I loved your father like a brother. I would never do that, Dominic.”

I try to think of a smart way to respond, considering the thoughts bouncing around in my head. It all sounds like bullshit to me. He was trying entirely too hard to convince me it was Victor, and all he did was convince me it wasn’t.

“Okay, Frankie,” I bring myself to say. “Well, obviously I got a lot to think about. I’m gonna take a minute to get my head straight, then we’re gonna meet up and figure out the next move. For now, I know a lot of people were close with Raphy, so go give his family our condolences. We’ll meet up soon. Oh, and make sure his body is taken care of at your morgue.”

“Absolutely,” Frankie says, frowning. “Are you alright, Dominic?”

“I’m fine,” I reply quickly like I knew the question was coming. “I just gotta wrap my head around some shit. Just go make sure Raphael’s family is taken care of. Anything they need. We’ll talk soon.”

Frankie is hesitant, but he eventually gets up and heads for the elevator. Before he gets in, he turns around one more time. “You sure you’re alright, Dominic? Are
we
alright?”

“Of course we are. Make sure Raphy’s mother knows to come to me with anything she needs.”

Frankie nods as the elevator doors open for him. He steps in and presses the button to be taken back down to the basement. As soon as the doors close, I walk to the bedroom where Alannah is waiting for me.

“Is everything alright?” she asks with genuine worry in her voice.

“No,” I reply bluntly. “Frankie just came in here and told me our guys got hit on their way to Chicago this morning. Raphael Barissi got killed in a shootout, and Dan Stanza, who Raphy vouched for, is in the ICU with some pretty bad wounds.”