Long Live the King (An Italian Mafia Romance Duet #2)
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Authors: WS Greer
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Long Live the King
Copyright © 2016 by WS Greer
First edition published by Book Mode Publishing 2016
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by:
Robin Harper, Wicked by Design
www.facebook.com/WickedByDesignRobinHarper
Interior Design and Formatting by:
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
Table of Contents
Dominic Collazo
“G
ood evening, Mr. Collazo.”
“Good evening,” I reply to the young waitress as we cross paths. She smiles to keep my attention, but I’m not interested in all of that. I’m focused on the task at hand, so I quickly break eye contact and head to the elevator. I press the button and wait. It’s coming down from the fiftieth floor, so it’s going to be a while.
While I wait for the elevator to reach me, a smile teases my lips. I’m happy, and sometimes I can’t help smiling. Everything has been going very well over the past year since I became boss of the Giordano Family. From a business standpoint, things have never been better. I dropped every racket I had and started focusing my attention on the five hotels I run, especially River City and Lumiere Place. Since then, I haven’t heard a peep out of St. Louis PD or the FBI. No surprise there, because they can’t pinch a guy whose name isn’t involved with anything illegal. So, fucking with me would be a big, fat waste of time. They’re all sitting around with their heads and thumbs up their asses, wondering where to look for the bad guys. Meanwhile, the Family is flourishing.
A few days after my predecessor, Leo Capizzi, made me the boss, I picked my best friend, Tommy “Two Nines” Caprio, to be my underboss. This guy has done an amazing job of keeping unwanted attention away from me, while still pushing my agenda out to everybody in the Family. Tommy’s my go-to guy, fuhgeddaboutit. Anytime I need something done, Tommy is right there to take care of business, no questions asked. His loyalty is amazing, and I trust that guy with my life. Between Tommy, Frankie, and myself, the Family is a well-oiled machine.
Frankie Leonetti is my consigliere, and even though we had some drama a while back, he’s been a great advisor since I became the boss. He and I were able to put the bullshit about Alannah and my beef with the Russian aside and focus on doing what’s right for the Family, and I knew I’d need his wisdom in helping me deal with some of this stuff. I mean, I’m only twenty-seven years old, I have an entire criminal organization working for me, and I’m not so naïve as to think I don’t need help in this. Plus, I needed to smooth things over with Frankie, so I called on him the first time I needed to make a tough decision regarding the Family, just to show him there were no hard feelings. I’m in this thing for the long haul, all of us are, and we know we need each other. That’s why we work so well together, and that’s why the Family is doing so well. Last year was the biggest we’ve ever had financially. There’s no stopping the Family with the three of us at the helm.
The Giordano family runs most of inner-city St. Louis now. We’ve taken control of countless businesses, and we have more rackets than I care to think about. I let the captains deal with all of that stuff, and I just make sure they all kick up like they’re supposed to, when they’re supposed to. We’ve taxed the hell out of the highways and inbound trucks, so nothing comes into the city without paying a tax or giving us a cut in, and since the situation with the Russian kid ended, the streets have been quiet. We’ve got no beefs brewing. There’s nothing but power and money, and I thank Leo every time I visit him in prison for picking me to be his successor. Leo’s happy, the Commission is happy, and the Family is happy. Everything is good with business, but the thing I’m happiest about has nothing to do with the Family.
The elevator finally reaches me and I step inside. As I push the button to go to the basement, I think about Alannah. My Alannah. My life with her is the most important thing in the world to me. She’s the only person I’m emotionally connected to, and she’s the only thing I put before the Family, but the best thing about Alannah is that she doesn’t ask me to. She knows I have a job to do, and she doesn’t stick her nose in the Family’s business. She plays her role as my queen, and she looks damn good doing it. I swear, the woman gets more and more beautiful every day, and I love the look of pride she gets on her face when she sees me. Together, we’re untouchable, and this thing we have can never be broken. I’m the kingpin, and she’s my queen.
We’re in this.
Together.
The words repeat in my head as the elevator reaches the basement and the doors slide apart. In front of me is a narrow, dimly lit walkway with two doors at the end, and before I take my first step onto the concrete, I can already hear the sound of muffled screams. Each step I take brings the cries for help closer and louder, and as I walk, I find myself amused by the sound.
I knock on the door gently—two subtle knocks, and “Skinny” Joe Cuzamano swings the heavy door open so I can step in, then he quickly closes it behind me. Inside, I lay my eyes on a beautiful scene—my good friend, Charlie Mannello, stands behind two white guys with plastic ties around their wrists and ankles, seated in metal chairs with tape over their mouths, while Skinny Joe stands behind me guarding the door.
The two bound men have stopped moving altogether, and they’re staring back at me like they can predict the future and they know resisting is pointless now. Both of them are wearing halfway-decent black suits with no tie, and they even look like they might be brothers—dumbass brothers who decided to come to St. Louis to gamble and have a good time, but took it too far. Their faces are bloody and hairless, and they look young, probably in way over their heads. But who gives a fuck about any of that?
I approach the table and the guy on the left—let’s call him Idiot Number One—starts to tremble with fear. You’d think I was pointing a gun at his face, which is funny because I actually thought to do that on my way down, but decided against it. Charlie moves from his position, his white shirt spotted with blood, and he places a chair in front of me. I take a seat and stare the two idiots in the eyes before smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
“Do you know who I am?” I begin. Neither of them move a muscle, so I signal for Charlie to remove the tape from their mouths so they have no excuse not to speak up. “Now, let’s start again. Do you know who I am?”
“N . . . no,” Idiot Number One stammers. His friend, Idiot Number Two, shakes his head in agreement.
I smile again. “Good. Things would’ve gone differently if you answered yes to that question. Now, I’m gonna give you the opportunity to explain to me what made you think you could come into my casino and start counting cards.”
The two idiots look at each other, their eyes wide with the shock of being caught card counting in a casino, but they don’t say anything. It’s like they’re both waiting on the other to speak, and this is exactly the kind of thing I don’t have time or patience for. I look to Charlie.
His knee comes up with the speed of a whip and lands perfectly on Idiot Number One’s chin. He collapses in a heap just as Charlie turns and punches Idiot Number Two in the jaw with a deadly right cross, sending him crashing to the concrete floor next to his friend—or were they brothers? I never did ask, did I?
I let out a sigh of satisfaction just as Charlie starts to help Idiot Number One back into his seat. When he gets Number Two settled, I start again.
“Let’s try this one last time,” I say with a sly smile that quickly fades into a snarl. “What made you think you could come into my casino and start counting cards?”
“Ah fuck, man, I’m so sorry!” Idiot Number One pleads. “We were just trying to have some fun and make some money. We weren’t trying to hurt anybody. Please don’t kill us, man!”
“Please don’t kill us!” Number Two chimes in over his buddy. “I don’t wanna die over this. It’ll never happen again, I swear on my mother’s life! Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
“Okay, shut the fuck up,” I snip. “You’re gonna give me a headache with that noise. Alright, just so we’re clear and on the same page. You admit you were counting cards in my casino?”
They both slowly nod as if they’re too ashamed to move.
“Okay, and you’re really sorry about that, right?” I ask, using my kindest, most non-threatening tone.
“So sorry! We’re both so sorry, man!” Number Two repeats.
I nod my approval.
“Okay then. Great. Now, I need you both to pay attention. You don’t know me, and I’d hate for you to get the wrong impression, so it’s important that I’m honest with you. I have half a mind to chop your balls off and shove them in your friends’ mouth while you both bleed to death on the floor. But I don’t feel like getting messy. I will tell you this though; you made a life-altering choice when you decided to come to River City and count cards. Your lives will
never
be the same because of the choice you made.”
I stand up, and I can see the worry melting off their faces as they start to believe it’s over—like I’m really just going to let them go. Silly kids.
“Charlie,” I say as I point to Idiot Number One. “Cut off both of his pinkies,” I command, then I point to Number Two, “and cut off both of his thumbs.”
“What the fuck!” Number Two shouts, so I give him my undivided attention.