Exposed: A Dark Romance

Chapter 1 - Gage Six Months Ago... The rain drummed heavily on every surface, like thousands of nervous fingertips tapping. The jittery sound amplified Gage Moretti's own tension as he held an umbrella over his head, staring down at the short, rumpled mook begging and cringing on the ground. With his weak chin and the beady, blinking eyes behind his thick eyeglasses, he resembled an unearthed mole—dazed, terrified, defenseless—dragged from the safety of its tunnel. There were bullet holes in the knees of the mook's trousers, and the blood that oozed from them was quickly carried away by the steady stream of rainwater on the pavement beneath him, creating a dozen cloudy pink rivers. The carefully-aimed hollow point rounds had blown one kneecap off completely and had reduced the other to a handful of gravel. Bits of bone peeked out from the ragged wounds, gleaming as the rain rinsed the blood from them. Gage walked over to where the mook was lying on the ground and scowled down at him contemptuously. He delivered a savage kick to the splintered left knee and tried to enjoy the resulting shriek as chips of bone dislodged from the injured leg and skittered across the pavement like dice. But all Gage could bring himself to feel was a wave of scorn and anger so powerful it was almost sickening. Seven months ago, the mook shook Gage's hand, saying that his name was Francis Maserone and he was a CPA. Two hours ago, Gage learned that neither of those things had been true. Jimmy Pirelli, a longtime business associate who was visiting from Philadelphia for a wedding, saw through the disguise of the Moretti family's newest accountant at the reception. Even with four glasses of champagne in him, Jimmy recognized him as Special Agent Fred Masters who'd helped take down one of the largest organized crime families on the east coast three years before. Jimmy whispered this information to Gage's father Mario, who quietly took Gage aside and ordered him to erase the undercover scumbag from the face of the earth. “First, though, make sure you find out what he's already seen and reported,” Mario insisted, “and do whatever it takes to learn whether we've got any other Feds crawling around us. If we can't at least take this opportunity to extract some useful information, then we'll have spent seven months with a rat chewing its way through our guts with nothing to show for it.” So Gage returned to the reception, raised his glass, and loudly demanded that everyone in the room drink a toast “to Francis Maserone, the smartest motherfucker ever to balance a checkbook.” This sentiment was met with hearty agreement, and Gage saw him relax visibly, grinning from ear to ear as the Morettis sitting around him clapped him on the back and kissed him on the cheek. That's right, Gage thought smugly. Lap it up. You're the world's most secret f*****g agent, and a bunch of dumb greasers like us could never suspect you in a million years. After seven long months, you can finally stop looking over your shoulder, right, you rat bastard? And when the mook finally stood up, drained his last glass of champagne, and announced that he needed to head home before he fell over from all the dancing and drinking, Gage waited for him to leave before giving the nod to Bruno and Julius, two of the Moretti family's enforcers. Together, they caught up with him in the parking lot and choked him out before he could make a sound as he pissed his pants. He slumped over in Bruno's arms and Gage unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a small microphone taped on his chest. The microphone was removed and smashed under the heel of Gage's imported Italian shoes, and the three men dumped him into the trunk of Julius' car, slamming it shut. When the mook woke up, he found himself sprawled on the concrete outside of a warehouse at the edge of town. The sedan's headlights glared at him like twin interrogation lamps, and the cold rain soaked him to the bone. Gage stood over him holding a gun as Bruno and Julius waited in the car, its engine idling. Before the mook could even open his mouth to speak, Gage shot him through both knees. “That's just so you know where you stand, Agent Masters,” Gage spat as the man yowled in agony. “It's only going to get worse from here. The sooner you understand that, the quicker we can get this over with.” Gage did his best to keep the gun steady in his hand, keep his voice level, and maintain a dead-eyed leer like the tough guys from the gangster movies he'd idolized as a kid. But this was only the third time his father had tasked him with killing someone, and the first time he'd specifically ordered the victim tortured for information first. As Mario's only son, Gage's official status within the Moretti crime family was unique. Although he was widely accepted as the crown prince of the organization and received all the power and respect that entailed, at the age of twenty-four he still hadn't earned the rank of “made guy” as men like Bruno and Julius had. To prepare Gage for the day when he'd have to take over the family business, Mario had made sure that Gage was involved in many of the Morettis' illegal operations from a young age, including extortion, hijacking, and arson. Gage had proven himself a capable bruiser and debt collector. But the act of murder still made Gage's insides feel hot and watery, and filled his mouth with the bloody taste of adrenaline. Gage knew that killing was a natural and expected part of life as the head of the Moretti family, but at times like these, he wondered whether he'd ever really be able to fit the role of assassin—unlike Bruno and Julius, who'd carried out over two dozen mob executions between them, or Mario, whose personal body count was much higher. Still, his father had given him an order. And as a child, Gage had learned the hard way that his father expected his orders to be obeyed without question or hesitation. Gage steeled himself as he stared down at the mook. He felt nauseated by the pathetic look on the mook's face, by his squealing and blubbering, by the blood pouring from his knees, by his betrayal. Hell, by his entire f*****g existence. Gage was so overcome with loathing and disgust that he thought he might puke. “My name's not Masters!” the mook mewled, his words dribbling out together so quickly that Gage almost couldn't make them out individually. “Wrong guy, you've got, listen, you've got the wrong, I dunno who Masters is, I'm not, no, I'm Francis, you know me, Gage, I'm Frank Maserone, I'm just Frank...” “There's nothing 'frank' about you, shitheel,” Gage sneered. “There never was, not from the first moment you opened your lying f*****g mouth to me. Your name is Fred Masters, you're a goddamn Fed, you've been found out, and now you're going to die. Period.” The mook shook his head, but Gage held up a warning hand. “I swear to Christ, if you look me in the eye and tell me your name is Francis again, I'm going to shoot your f*****g c**k off and stick the pieces up your nose. Understand?” The mook considered this and nodded, his face contorted with anguish. “Good. That's a good start. Now like I said, your little dress-up party is over. There's nothing you can do about that. But if you're smart, you'll tell me things so I'll make the rest of this short and painless for you. Starting with everything you've already passed along to the Bureau about us.” The mook swallowed hard, his lips trembling. Gage could see his mind working, trying to decide what information he could safely withhold. Gage gave the mook's other knee a vicious kick and felt the shattered bones there grind together. “Fu-u-u-u-uck!” the mook howled, the curse dissolving into a spew of whining and sobbing. “You don't want to hesitate when I ask you this s**t,” Gage said, raising an eyebrow. “That's just going to make me think you're not telling the whole truth. Now, let's try again. What have you already told the Feds?” “The Raven Club arson job,” the mook gibbered. “The underground casinos on Wabash and 11th Street. The payoffs to Judge Shebin. And the murders of Waylon Boggs, Ted Klepper, and Joey the Snake.” Gage considered this information. It certainly wasn't ideal for the Feds to know about any of that stuff, but he was pretty sure it was nothing that couldn't be fixed either, now that they knew what to cover up. “Okay, time for your second question,” Gage continued. “And believe me, you really don't want to f**k with me on this one. Do the Feds have anyone else working undercover in our family? Think hard.” “There's no one else,” he babbled. “There's just me, the Feds haven't been able to get anyone else inside your organization yet, I was supposed to bring in a couple more people next month but it's just me right now, no one else...” “Hey, see? That right there, that's helpful,” Gage replied encouragingly. “That's the kind of stuff we want to hear about. Who were you planning to bring in next month? More agents? What were their names?” He started shaking his head again before Gage had even finished his sentence. “No one told me yet. They just said they'd have me meet a couple guys soon, and that I should introduce them to you as my office staff.” “Hmm,” Gage grunted, pretending to think it over. The truth was, he wasn't sure if he was trying to put off the unpleasant task of killing the guy, or if he was honestly trying to give the mook another chance to talk before he was forced to torture him. He wished he were back at the wedding reception, sipping more champagne and swapping dirty jokes with the groomsmen. He wished he were at home, entertaining a beautiful guest in his Special Room. He wished he were anywhere but standing in the rain, shivering and summoning the courage to maim someone to death. “You know something?” Gage asked, pocketing his gun. “I think I've decided to believe you. Why would the Feds give you a heads-up on who they were sending in, right? That's not how they do business.” “Thank you,” he gushed, relieved. “Thank you, Gage, thank you...” “No, don't thank me yet,” Gage said, shaking his head and lighting a cigarette. “There's still one last question. And this is the lightning round, so you'd better come up with the answer fast or s**t's going to get real messy real quick. Ready?” The mook nodded uneasily. “Good,” Gage answered, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Because when there's an asswipe walking around with a microphone taped to his t**s, there's always another asswipe at the other end, listening in. The same asswipe who'd be giving the order for you to get pulled out of this situation, if we hadn't stomped the mic to pieces. The asswipe you've been feeding info to for months about our business—which also makes him the only asswipe who'll be qualified to try to take your place as an informant after you go missing. Especially if he's eager to get a little payback for his fallen comrade. Are you following my reasoning here?” The mook shook his head violently, but Gage could tell he understood. Fuck, are you really going to make me drag it out of you? Gage thought. Come on, don't make me do that. Neither of us is going to like it, and it's all going to end the same anyway. “Give me his name,” Gage said. “And don't start off pretending you don't know it, because we both know that you'd damn sure know the name of the man who's watching your ass.” Gage saw a strange flicker of hesitation in the mook's eyes before he answered. The look was oddly crafty, as though the mook had suddenly realized that he knew something Gage didn't. Gage didn't like that. “I won't tell you,” the mook said. “Kill me if you're gonna, but you're not getting his name out of me, no matter what.” Gage shrugged expansively. “Well, f**k it,” he retorted. “I tried, didn't I?” He walked back to the driver's-side window of the car and leaned down, rapping on it gently. The window rolled down, revealing Bruno's bald, lumpy head. “Try to aim for his lower body,” Gage told Bruno. “You run over his face, he might not be able to talk.” Bruno nodded once, then rolled the window back up. Gage stepped back and Bruno revved the engine. The sedan lunged forward. Its front and back wheels rolled over the mook's bloody legs, the headlights rearing up with each impact. The mook shrieked, staring down at his mangled legs. In several places, broken bones protruded from the rags of his trousers. Gage bent down and grabbed the mook's face, snarling into it. “Give me his name now, or I'll have Bruno put the car in reverse and we can do this again.” The mook stopped screeching, inhaled sharply, and spat in Gage's face. “You'll never know his name, motherfucker” the mook sneered, “and you'll never see him coming.” Gage straightened up and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face. Christ, is this really how it's going to have to be? he asked himself, his stomach twisting around on itself. How many more goddamn times will we need to do this tonight? He walked up to the driver's-side window and signaled for Bruno to back up the car. But as the engine roared again, Gage saw the mook use his arms to lift his upper body and heave himself under the spinning wheels head-first, screaming defiantly. Before Gage could do anything to stop it, the sedan jerked backward and ran over the mook's skull with a wet sound like a dropped cantaloupe squashing to the floor. The mook's arms flailed for a moment, then flopped to the ground. “f**k,” Gage hissed, tossing away his cigarette. Inwardly, though, he was relieved. He knew Mario would be disappointed that they hadn't gotten the name of the Fed's partner, but at least the act of killing the man had been taken out of Gage's hands. Now he could go home, dry off, and have a drink or three. Maybe later he'd even go online to find a new playmate for his Special Room, and he could try to forget the sight of brains pancaked under tires. Gage opened the car door. “Come on, let's grab the tarp from the trunk,” he said. “We can take him to the basement over on 57th, chop him up, and drop the pieces off in six different dumpsters. My dad wants this guy to vanish forever, so that's how it's going to be.” Bruno and Julius nodded, getting out of the car to help with the body. The life of Special Agent Fred Masters—alias “Francis Maserone,” alias “The Mook” (if only in Gage's mind)—was over. But the problems his death would cause for Gage and the Morettis were only just beginning. *