ROMANCING THE MOB BOSS (2 page)

was stunned.

Reno, who hated to lose his temper,

although he often did, pul ed out a handkerchief

and began to wipe his manicured hands. He

looked at Trina. “You ready?” he said to her.

Trina could see the regret in his eyes. “I’l walk

you out.”

+++

Outside of Boyzie’s and Trina was stil

reeling from what she’d just seen. Not just the

fact that Reno had come to her defense, she

appreciated that part, but that he had come with

such ferocity, with such violence. The kid

needed to be taught a lesson, it was true, but he

didn’t need to be nearly kil ed.

She looked at Reno, who was buttoning

up his suit coat against the chil of the fal

evening. “Where’s your car?” he asked her.

“My . . .
what
?”

Reno looked at her. “Your car. What,

you deaf? Your ride, where is it?” He was

impatient now. Didn’t mean to be, but he

always was after losing his cool.

“I don’t have a car.”

“Don’t have a car? Whadda you mean

you don’t have a car?”

“I don’t have a car yet.”

“How you get around? How you get

home from work?”

“I catch the bus if it’s not too late, or

catch a ride from a co-worker if it is.”

“That’s a problem.”

“That’s a problem?”

“That’s a problem. Young lady walking

around the streets at night al alone, what you

around the streets at night al alone, what you

some kind of superwoman? Think nobody’s

gonna mess with you? They rape you, knock

you over the head, put you in the ditch, then

where are you?”

It was almost nonsensical to Trina, but

he looked so serious.

“Hun?” he said. “Then where are you?”

“Raped, unconscious, and in a ditch?”

“There ya’ go,” Reno said as if that said

it al , and then began walking toward his car.

“Come on, I’l give you a lift.”

Trina wasn’t the type to accept rides

from strangers, especial y from customers, but

to her own surprise she bent the rule this time.

The man did, after al , come to her rescue. He

was, after al , annoyed that she would even

consider walking home alone. What harm could

it do, she wondered, as she walked over to his

car, a shiny gray Bentley convertible, and got on

in. Of course if they found her raped,

unconscious, and in a ditch, it would have done

her considerable harm, but she was nobody’s

fool. She was keeping her eyes on him.

His car smel ed like him, Trina thought

as she sat down, like his expensive cologne

mixed up with new leather, and he slung that

stick shift and drove like he was a speedster

from way back. This was Las Vegas, loaded

with red lights, and she wasn’t above jumping

out if he turned out to be some kind of maniac.

“So what’s your name?” he asked as he

drove, his eyes glancing down at her bare legs

underneath her short skirt.

“Katrina Marie Hathaway,” she said.

“What’s yours?”

“Dominic. Dominic Gabrini.”

“But everybody cal s you?”

“Mr. Gabrini,” he said and then laughed.

“Reno. Everybody cal s me Reno.”

“Reno. Why Reno?”

“I don’t know. Has something to do with

my style or something, my flashiness, I don’t

know. But I’ve been cal ed that name since I

was a kid. Now nobody real y knows why, or

who started it.”

“Everybody cal s me Trina,” she said.

“Or Tree.”

Reno glanced down at her legs again.

“Funny, you don’t look like no tree.”

“Funny, Boyzie doesn’t seem like your

kind of club.”

“Very perceptive, Tree. It’s not. I was

thinking about buying it, but I don’t think so.”

Trina looked at him. “So that’s it.

That’s why you’ve been coming around so

much.”

“Correct.” Then he glanced at her. “You

disappointed I’m not buying it?”

“Me? No way. That ain’t my stop.”

Reno smiled. “You’re a girl with

dreams. With ambitions.”

She was, but she wasn’t about to get

into that with him.

His car stopped at the curb in front of

Trina’s apartment building. To say it was in the

heart of the hood would be an understatement.

Young men were hanging out on the stoop

laying lines on the females passing by, hustlers

and crack dealers were sel ing t-shirts, DVDs,

and crack not fifteen feet away, drunks were

drinking a quart of liquor straight from the

bottles, rap music was blaring, conversations

were numerous and muddled, and older men

were sitting around gambling and tel ing stale

jokes. It was too festive for a dwel ing place, a

kind of ghetto hang-out corner, to Reno.

He stared at the Dodge-like

surroundings and then looked at Trina. “You

joking right? You live here?”

Trina’s heart dropped. She knew she

was poor and lived in poor circumstances, but it

always hurt a little when somebody else knew it

too. “Yes, this is my home.”

Reno saw the change in her expression,

the embarrassment, and he immediately felt like

a prick. “Look, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know,” Trina said. “You’re just stunned

by the view.” She was too, when she first

moved there, but now it didn’t even faze her.

“Wel , see you later.”

But he refused. He insisted on walking

her to her front door, a door on the fifth floor of

the apartment building, and when she unlocked

the door, he stil didn’t want to just leave.

“Could I use the bathroom, please?” he

“Could I use the bathroom, please?” he

asked her.

Trina was hoping he didn’t ask to come

in, her thrift store furnishings would only amplify

her state of poverty in his eyes, but she couldn’t

let the man pee in his pants, either. Although,

she also knew, that was his lame excuse to get

in.

But she liked him, what could she say?

“Sure,” she said, and opened the door

wider to let him in.

The only bathroom was the one inside the

only bedroom, and she lifted the bedroom

window while he did his thing. The fal breeze

was just what she needed after a hard day at

Boyzie’s, and she stood at the window, soaking

up the breeze, longer than she had planned.

When she suddenly felt a presence behind her,

she jumped and turned.

“It’s okay,” Reno’s soft, melodic voice

said. “I was just enjoying the view, too.”

The view was of the backside of the

apartment complex, an open field littered with

trash, but if you looked beyond the immediate

area, there was a magnificent sight of the bright

lights of the Las Vegas skyline.

“Vegas at night,” Reno said. “Ain’t

nothing like it.”

“That’s why I got the place. Sometimes,

at night, I pul up a chair and just look out this

window for hours.”

“I believe it. It’s beautiful. It’s Vegas.”

“Yeah. A long way from Dale.”

“Dale? What’s Dale?”

Trina smiled. “Dale, Mississippi. My

hometown.”

Reno laughed. “Mississippi? A

Mississippi girl.” He looked down the length of

her, at her long, smooth legs, her tight ass, her

bone-thin back and swan-like neck, at her black,

silky hair. “I don’t see Mississippi when I see

you.”

Trina smiled. “I’l bet you don’t see

Vegas when you see me, either.”

“No, not Vegas. More like Paris in the

Spring, or Rome in the Fal .”

Paris? Rome? Trina smiled. Your boy

was smooth. She moved away from the window

and headed for the living room. “Would you like

something to drink?” she asked as she walked.

Reno smiled, and then began to fol ow

her. He was losing his touch. “Sure, why not,”

he said. “What you got?”

“Water,” Trina said with a grin.

“Water? What I look like a kid to you?

You can hold your water.”

You can hold your water.”

Trina laughed. “And wine,” she said.

“Now you’re talking,” he said as she

continued to laugh and made her way to the

kitchen.

Reno walked around the smal living

room. It was neat, clean, and with only the bare

minimum of furnishings that let him know not

only was she poor, she was also very thrifty.

Very smart with the little money she did have,

very efficient.

Then he thought about her. Probably

never got a break in her life. Probably always

had to take a backseat to females who weren’t

as smart, weren’t as kind, didn’t have an ounce

of the talent, of the ingenuity he just knew she

had. Kid like her shouldn’t have to live like this.

He looked out of the living room

window. And talk about a contrasting view.

This was a view of the front side of the

apartment building, the street side, and man

was it loud and raucous and, Reno thought with

some degree of anxiety, dangerous. Very

dangerous, he thought, as he surveyed the drug

dealers and crack heads, the prostitutes and

pimps. This was no place for a lady like her.

Trina returned with two glasses of wine

and the bottle too, to make it clear to him he

was not about to consume any Cristal or

Courvoisier or Cognac or whatever the hel he

drank. Because whatever he was accustomed

to drinking, she was certain it wasn’t what she

was about to give him.

She sat the bottle on the table, and

would not be at al embarrassed if he checked

the label. But he didn’t even look at it.

She gave him his glass of wine, kept her

own, and they both sat side by side on the sofa.

She tucked one of her legs underneath her butt,

and he turned toward her and crossed his legs

as he unbuttoned his suit coat. He definitely

was a distinguished looking gentleman, Trina

thought, with everything about him screaming

power and success.

And he also had a magnetism about

him, a kind of supercharged sexual energy that

Trina couldn’t ignore. She tried to, she tried to

just sit back and enjoy a drink with this man, but

her eyes kept betraying her, and kept glancing

down at his bulge.

And they talked. For hours they talked.

Trina liked the fact that she had company

tonight, somebody interesting to talk to for a

change. She was usual y home alone most

nights, unless Jazz, her only friend in town,

would come over.

And she was glad that it wasn’t just any

company. She could grab some dude off the

street, or out of Boyzie’s, if any company would

do. In the couple years since she’d been in

Vegas, she’d had a few dates with that
any

company
type where she was horny as hel and

gave this guy or that one a chance.

But they’d usual y end up so boring to

her, so cookie-cutter ready to wham, bam,

thank-you ma’am her, that she didn’t even give it

up to many of them. They weren’t worth the

effort it took to take off her clothes, she would

decide, and would bid them goodnight. They

didn’t like it, they had thought it was understood

that their date was strictly for getting laid

purposes, but they had no choice in the matter.

She’d kick them out. It wasn’t a debatable

point.

But say what you want about Dominic

Gabrini, she thought, smiling as he talked on

and on about growing up in Jersey and

eventual y moving to Vegas, this guy was a long

way from boring.

“So it was your mother, your father, and

your baby brother Joey,” she said. “That’s it? I

thought Italian families were supposed to be

massive.”

“Wel , and two sisters, don’t forget my

sisters,” Reno said. “But I know what you’re

saying. And I wish our family was bursting at the

seams. Especial y with boys. I wish pops had a

truckload of boys, two truckloads. Then he

wouldn’t be bugging me so much about taking .

. .”

Reno didn’t finish. He, instead,

exhaled. “But forget about me. I’m tired of

talking about me. Tel me about you. Tel me

about Tree Hathaway.”

By now Trina was a little buzzed by her

numerous shots of wine and was leaned back

numerous shots of wine and was leaned back