The Bossman (12 page)

Tears stung her eyes and she nodded, rolling against his hard body, snuggling in for a cuddle. She fell asleep to his hand stroking lazily up and down her back.

She didn’t wake until the following morning, and found herself alone. The pounding in her head had diminished to a dull ache but her throat was just as sore as it had been the day before. She padded out to the kitchen, screaming when she saw a figure sitting in the easy chair in the living room.

Joey’s head jerked up. “Shh, it’s just me.”

“Have you been here this whole time?”

He shook his head. “Actually I left for few hours last night, but came back to spend the night.”

She wanted to run and crawl into his lap, but they were broken up, and she shouldn’t give mixed messages. Instead she knelt by his feet. He reached for her face and cupped it in his hands. She closed her eyes to savor the comforting feeling.

“Was it my mother who convinced you to break up with me?”

Her eyes flew open. She shrugged, her nose burning with threatened tears. “It wasn’t just her. But yeah, I’m not going to cause trouble for you with the Family. I’m not going to do it.” She gave her head a shake for emphasis.

“You wouldn’t--”

“I would,” she cut in. “I know how my mom felt, because I feel the same way. Joey, I don’t want to raise children in the environment I grew up in. I don’t want to worry about you going to jail or getting killed. And I don’t want to cause tension between you and the family,” her vision went blurry and she tried to pull her face from his hands so she could hide it.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling her toward him.

Too run down to resist, she obeyed, crawling into his lap, where she’d wanted to be in the first place.

“Don’t leave me, Sophie. We can work this out,” he said, pulling her against his chest and holding her as if he had no intention of ever releasing her. “Just give me some time...we can solve this.”

“Joey, how?” she demanded, her voice raising shrilly. “Is it true you’re acting boss now? I can’t--I won’t--be wife to a crime boss.”

He scowled.

She sighed. “There is no solution. It’s who you are, and it’s who I am and we don’t mesh together.”

“Stop,” he said sharply. “Don’t say that. There’s always a solution. We’ll find a compromise, okay? Just give me a chance. I can figure this out for us.”

Joey La Torre begging. Unflinching, unflappable, unbreakable mafia boss.

“Just don’t leave me,” he whispered.

She swallowed. She’d been lying before. She did know how her gut felt.

She didn’t answer him, just nuzzled her face into his neck, which was better than a “no,” he supposed.

After a while she unwound herself from him and stood up. He sighed and also rose. “I have to get going. I’ll come back and check on you later.”

“That’s not necessary, I’m feeling better. Thanks for making me go to bed--it really helped. How’s Al?”

He shook his head. “No change.”

“How are...things?”

He shook his head again, knowing she meant Family business and not wanting to show her any of the strain he suffered.

“If I’m better tomorrow, I’ll go see Al. Reiki--the energy work I do--is supposed to be good for people in comas. Do you think Carmen would let me?”

“Yeah, baby. That would be really sweet. I’m sure she’d be happy for help in any form.” He leaned over and brushed her lips with his. “Feel better. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to check on me,” she called toward his back but he just waved her comment away. She’d let him back in this far, he was going to run with it.

When he stopped in to visit Al the following afternoon, his mood brightened to see Sophie there, holding her hands six inches from his head as if she were blessing him.

“Are you giving him that energy thing?”

“Reiki. Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“Carmen told the nurses it would be okay.”

She kept her hands over Al’s head, leaning her cheek forward for a kiss. He took her jaw in his hand and turned her face, catching her lips instead, delivering a soft, exploratory kiss.

“Joey!” she said, a little breathless.

“What?” When she only shook her head, he said, “I know, you’re still pretending we’re broken up.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You owe me dinner, at least,” he pressed.

She made a scoffing sound. “Dinner? Why?” Before he could answer, she conceded, “Okay, I do owe you the massage you never got.”

“That’s right. The massage and dinner. Actually, I’ll take it dinner, then a massage.”

She shook her head, but grinned. “What’s the dinner supposed to be for?”

“For taking care of you when you were sick.”

“Ah, so you had an ulterior motive, eh?”

“Nah,” he said sitting on the side of Al’s hospital bed and peering into his brother’s face. “Any signs from him?”

“His eyelids fluttered when I started the Reiki and his fists uncurled. I think he might feel it.”

He nodded, all the heaviness of worry and responsibility returning. “I’m sure he can.”

One of Al’s eyes was black and the coloring in his face was a gray-green. But Sophie was right; he did seem to like the Reiki, because as they watched, Al sighed and moved his lips, his eyelids opening slightly.

“Thanks for this--I mean it,” Joey said, catching her eye when she looked like she was going to brush off his words.

Her face turned sober as well. “I’m happy to be able to do something.” She looked around the room as if she wanted to say more and he gave a little shake of her head. There was no telling if wires had been planted in his brother’s hospital room--he wouldn’t put it past the Feds.

Finishing her treatment, she picked up her purse to leave.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

“You don’t have--” she trailed off as he frowned and continued his walk to the door to escort her. “You are, by far, the pushiest man I have ever met,” she declared.

“Mmm hmm.” He put a hand on the curve of her low back, guiding her out.

When they were outside, she took a breath. “I guess you have a lot on your shoulders now,” she said, peering up at him.

“Just until Al recovers,” he said firmly. He was
not
going to be boss permanently, though if Al didn’t recover soon he couldn’t walk away from everyone who depended on him.

“I guess you’re responsible for supporting Vito, Lou and Mario’s families now? That must be a huge burden.”

He frowned. “No. I mean, I’d help out if they were in a pinch, but they should’ve left nest eggs for their families. I’ve been preaching to them all about how to shelter their money so it’s safe for their families no matter what happens. Lord knows, I told them enough.”

Sophie looked confused. “Oh. But the organization takes care of them if not, right?”

He shrugged. “Depends.”

They stopped outside her car. “Is each capo responsible for taking care of his soldier’s families if something happens?”

He frowned. He trusted her--he knew she wouldn’t turn rat on him, but she was asking too many questions. “Sophie,” he said with a note of warning in his voice. “There’s a number of reasons you can’t know details about the organization and I think you probably know all of them.”

“Right. Okay. I apologize,” she held her palms out.

He grasped them and pulled her body against his, tasting her lips before she could protest. “How about tomorrow night for dinner?”

She pursed her lips, but he could see amusement in the way they curved at the edges. He kissed them again and this time she pushed her hands against his to move back.

He refused to release her hands. “Tomorrow night?”

She gave an exaggerated huff. “Okay, tomorrow night.”

He stole one more quick peck. “You won’t be sorry,” he promised, opening her door.

“I already am.” She climbed in the car and gave him a wry grin. “See you tomorrow.”

“Good night. And thanks again for working with Al,” he said in all seriousness.

She shrugged. “I hope it helps.”

He walked back inside, needing to be alone with Al, even though he was unconscious. He needed to figure out what his brother would do--what he’d want him to do.

He walked in and announced, “I’m back,” as if Al might answer. His eyelids fluttered, as they’d been doing when Sophie worked on him. When they blinked open, he rushed to his brother’s side. “Al? Can you hear me?”

Al’s eyelids closed and his lips moved. No sound issued, but when his lids opened again, the brown eyes focused directly on his face. He put his hand on Al’s shoulder and tried to keep from crying.

“Fractured skull. And some cracked ribs. Your head will hurt for a few weeks but you’ll heal.”

Al gave a barely perceptible nod and his brows drew together.

“Does it hurt?”

Al’s tongue worked in his mouth as if he were testing it out, then he muttered, “Yeah.”

He couldn’t keep a ridiculous grin from spreading across his face. “I’m so glad you woke up.”

“What was she doing?”

“What?”

“Was that Sophie?”

“Oh, yeah. She was giving you an energy healing.”

“Woke me up. It was like she opened the curtains and let in the light.”

“No kidding,” he said with wonder, grinning even wider. “That’s great. I’ll tell her--she’ll be happy to hear it.” He flipped open his phone. “Lemme call Carmen, she’s pretty shaken up. They wouldn’t let your kids in here to see you.”

Al’s eyes drifted closed as Joey made the call and delivered the good news.

When he hung up, Al choked, “Who...did it?”

He looked around the room with meaning and Al caught on and closed his eyes, understanding they couldn’t talk.

Chapter Nine

Sophie’s mind whirled as she drove home. She’d been surprised to hear Al and Joey wouldn’t be supporting the families of the victims, but maybe things had changed since Al became boss. Something about it bothered her but she wasn’t sure why. Joey’s explanation had made sense, and it would certainly be an enormous burden to support so many families. She just hoped they had put away the money Joey was sure they had.

The next day she bought the ingredients to make homemade pesto--hand chopped, the way her grandmother taught her, not blended in the food processor--for Joey’s dinner. That night, she hummed as she minced the garlic, thinking of her first attempts at pesto, when she would prepare dinner after school to eat when her mom got off work. She remembered Pauly stopping by to drop off cash and sampling it with his finger, declaring her a full
dago
.

She stopped chopping, blood rushing to her head.

Pauly.

Had Pauly been supporting them all those years and not the organization? Was it because….oh God.

She could feel her pulse beat in her temples as she picked up her phone and dialed Joey.

“Hey, babe.”

“Pauly did it, didn't he?” she rasped.

The long pause answered her question.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped at last. “You don’t call on a
cell phone
with a question like that! We can talk about it when I get there.”

She hung up without answering, her fingers trembling. She’d guessed correctly. Breathing hard, adrenaline pumping as if her life were in danger, she paced around her small place, trying to figure out what to do. Some kind of action was in order. Remembering the gun Joey had left, she retrieved it from the bedroom closet, examining it to refresh her memory on how to use it. But where would she put it? She had no pockets and her purse would be too difficult to get it in and out of.

And a better question was could she use it? Could she kill Pauly for what he’d taken from her? She pushed the question out of her mind. She’d figure it out when she got there. Throwing on a jacket, she slid the pistol in the pocket. Perfect.

Then she got in her car and drove to Oakbrook, where Pauly lived alone in the same little house he grew up in.

She knocked on the door, her heart beating at a dizzying tempo. Pauly answered, registering her appearance with surprise. His eyes traveled immediately to the hand she kept in her pocket, and she realized how obvious the gun’s presence must be, especially to a man conditioned to look for weapons. She swallowed, sweat trickling down her neck. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought the gun. He probably had one strapped to his back and could shoot her before she pulled hers out and figured out how to get the safety off.

His eyes moved back to her face. “Yeah? You wanna talk?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Come in,” he said, holding the screen door open for her. She stepped past him nervously, eyes darting to his hands to be sure he wasn’t palming a weapon. He led her to the kitchen, where he pulled a chair out for her. She kept an eye on him as she squeezed past to sit, looking over her shoulder as he pushed the chair in. “What can I get you to drink? A Coke? Coffee?”

“No thanks,” she said quickly.

He grunted and sat down across from her at the 1950’s Formica table. She kept her hand in her pocket, the gun unforgiving in her sweaty palm.

“I remember when you used to make me coffee,” he said, looking across the table at her. “You were a good kid, always.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. She licked her lips. “Yeah, I was kinda remembering that, too,” she said.

“Your father would be proud of you--the way you turned out, you know.”

Her face flushed with hot anger. How dare he speak for her father? When he was the man who killed him? She gripped the pistol tighter in her fist.

“Did he ever visit you--after he died?”

“What?” she asked, taken aback.

“You know, visit you? He used to visit me.”

Angry tears pricked her eyes and she felt her lips tremble. “He haunted you,” she spat, accusation clear in her tone.

Pauly nodded, his eyes far away. “Yeah. He haunted me. You know what he used to say? ‘Go and check on my girls. They need help around the house.’ And sure enough, I’d go over there and your ma would have the garbage disposal stopped up, or the vacuum cleaner taken apart trying to change a belt. And then I’d know why he sent me over. You know, aside from the money.”