Walk it Off
1157 Words
Dante
I drop into my leather desk chair and cradle the hot mug of coffee I picked up in the kitchen to my chest. The virginity auction at the club is usually a great way to make some money and pull new eyes. I show up every year, but I’ve never bid before. I’m no saint, but women who’ve never had any kind of s*x before tend not to be as…flexible in bed as I prefer.
But goddamn Eleni Calimeris. El, as she called herself, one of the worst fake names I’ve ever heard. I can’t get her out of my head. When I went to the Greek Corner the other day, I was just hoping to rile Frank Lombardi. The dickhead gets reckless when he’s mad, so pissing him off is almost always good business. I didn’t expect Eleni.
I take a sip of the coffee and allow myself a minute to think about her before I have to do some work. The bun she’d worn to the auction last night made it impossible to think about anything but tasting the skin of her neck. When I asked her what the gyro tasted like to her, her soft blue eyes took on a faraway look that I wanted to dive into, like a pool on a hot summer day. And when she climbed onto my lap last night—
I groan.
Someone raps on the door to my office. Three short knocks, one long. That means Tony Bellini, my caporegime.
“Come in.” I straighten the handful of papers on my mahogany desk and open my laptop like I’ve been working.
He steps in and shuts the door behind him. Even this early in the morning, he looks polished. Crisp navy suit, hair gelled back, a sharp look in his ice blue eyes. I’ve spent half my life hearing from different women how they want to melt the ice in those eyes.
“You look like you took a swim in the Narrows,” he says by way of greeting.
“f**k you too,” I reply.
He laughs. “Seriously, Dante, what the hell happened to you? Carla said you disappeared halfway through the auction last night.”
I look at my best friend, my right hand. I love him like a brother, but if I tell him about Eleni, not only will he make fun of me forever, he’ll tell me she’s not worth the turf war. Maybe he’s right. But I don’t want to hear that right now, when I can still picture her slinking toward me in that church dress.
“I was with that rat Eddie last night.” Not a lie, technically. “Left him in the hands of a couple bruisers when the auction started, but I only ordered one drink before I got the call he’d finally cracked. The auction’s good business, but Carla runs it with an iron fist. She didn’t need me.”
Tony nods slowly. “Anything good shake loose from Eddie?”
I sip my coffee. The dark brew burns down through my body. “He’s a rat, but he’s a crappy rat. He gave old drop details to a few runners for Lombardi at the docks. Nothing to worry about.”
He drops into the armchair across the desk from me. “Funny you mention Lombardi. He’s actually why I’m here.”
“What, it’s not just for my beautiful smile?” I grin at him.
He rolls his eyes. “I’ll show up for your beautiful smile when you get one of those. No, Lombardi’s making moves. He had a couple of his heavies take out a restaurant owner under his own goddamn protection.”
“Idiot.” I shake my head. The occasional internal hit inspires respect, but Frank’s a loose f*****g cannon. Everyone under him is going to assume this is the beginning of a cull, and his protection racket is going to dry right up. He actually has to supply something if he wants people to demand it. “What restaurant?”
“That little Greek place.” Tony snaps out a knife and begins cleaning his fingernails.
My heart skips a beat. “The Greek Corner?”
“Yeah, I think that’s the one,” he replies.
My pulse thrums. Almost every real answer I’ve gotten out of Eleni was about her parents, her family. She clearly loves them. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Frank Lombardi and this hit has something to do with her showing up at the auction in the first place. But I gave her the money. Why didn’t she use it?
In my mind’s eye, I picture her beautiful eyes filling up with tears, her small, strong hands stained with blood.
I shoot to my feet. “Round up the boys.”
“What?” Tony snaps his knife shut again. “Five minutes ago, you were roadkill.”
“Call me a friggin’ zombie if it makes you happy, we’re going into the city.” I stride around my desk to the massive, unlit hearth against one wall. I pull on the left cast-iron sconce, and the false back wall of the fireplace slides away to reveal the rack of guns within. “I’ve got business.”
“f**k, okay.” Tony stands. “We’ll be ready in fifteen.”
He leaves the room. I pull my favorite pistol from the rack, close the fireplace, and return to my desk to place a call.
“Who is this?” the voice on the other end asks suspiciously. “You’re not already a contact, and nobody’s supposed to know this number.”
“You’re Eli, right?” I smile. “This is Dante. Put me on with Thano.”
The young man on the other side of the phone—on the other side of state lines, with the rest of the Coppola syndicate in Jersey—splutters for a moment. Then, he seems to place my name.
“Mr. Cattaneo!” he says. “Mr. Coppola is in a meeting right now, but—”
“Thano owes me.” I infuse my voice with a note of steel. “Take the phone in. Put it against his ear, if he won’t grab it himself. I’m calling in my chip.”
“Yes, Mr. Cattaneo.” Eli rustles like he’s standing up, and I just barely hear a few knocks.
Muffled conversation. I can’t make out anything solid, but there are at least three voices.
“Dante,” Thano says finally. “You’ve got crap timing.”
“Who doesn’t, in this life?” I lean back in my chair and run a cleaning cloth over the pistol on my desk. “I don’t intend to take much of your time.”
“Not yet, you don’t,” Thano mutters. “What?”
“Where can I find Frank Lombardi?”
- Writer
