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The sick smile on the bastard’s face says it all.
“Johnny almost fucked it up, of course, going for the sister, making a big scene . . . But fuck if we didn’t get lucky when she walked right into my office.”
“My office,” I remind him. “That day is also why there’s now a lock that you can’t fuckin touch on this door. Because that day, you were a child stepping into the shoes of a grown man, toddling around because they were too fucking big for you.” He cringes but doesn’t let it show much that the strike hit true.
“What you don’t seem to be able to get through your thick fuckin’ skull is that sex trafficking is a federal crime. None of this greasing local judges’ palms to get out unscathed shit.” His chin ticks.
I can’t tell if he genuinely thought that this would be a good idea I’d be on board with and he’s disappointed or if he’s irritated that he hadn’t thought of a federal charge and the trouble that would make.
“You only get hit with a federal charge if you get caught.”
“You truly are a fuckin’ moron. Too fucking young and ignorant to understand how the real world works.”
“I’m not young—” I cut him off, over this conversation. Over this kid.
“Then act like it. I’ve been hit with local and state charges five times, Paulie.”
“What—"
“Marco has three.” Paulie licks his lips. “Carmine? Seven. But local charges, they get dropped. Federal charges, they don’t go anywhere. They get publicized, get used as a lesson, a feather in a fuckin’ cap. The men who nail that charge get the promotion and the corner office. The shit we do here? That’s fine. The disposal company, the politicians? We can work our way out of that, got enough people in our pocket, enough shit on enough people to be safe. Even the games, we can get around that shit. But you start prostituting fucking politicians’ children, Paulie, you’re begging for a fuckin’ fed to come knocking. Don’t be stupid. Sit back, watch, learn.”
“I’ve learned enough. Grandfather thinks—"
“Jesus Christ, kid. Get over yourself. Listen to yourself! Grandfather this. Carmine Carluccio doesn’t give a shit. He’s using you because he wants to fuck with me, the same way he did with your father. He wanted us to take his side, but we took your fuckin’ grandmother’s. Holds that shit against us. You were too young; you didn’t take sides. He sees that, likes that.”
“I don’t think—” Finally I stand, and Paulie stops speaking as I walk around my desk to him, grabbing him at the collar of his shirt and pulling him close to me.
“Listen to me,” I say. “Listen. To. Me. You could be great, Paulie. You’ve got men loyal to you, I know that. I’m not stupid. Know you set them up so if things don’t go your way, it’s gonna make my life difficult. I get it. Whatever. But what you don’t get is we can help each other. We can both win.”
He crosses his arms like a child. “I don’t believe you. You want to be Don.”
“I don’t,” I say, and it’s not a lie. He might not know the truth, but he can have that truth.
Over the years, I’ve learned that you can bend the truth to fit the mold of who you’re talking to. The closer you start to truthful statements, the easier to gain the trust and change their minds.
If this is going to work, I need to change Paulie’s.
Even if only for a short time, until I get the title passed.
I need him to trust me and watch as he either decides to go safe or let greed win.
The greed wins, I put him down.
His common sense wins, and he can be an asset.
But I need time.
“Give me three weeks. Three weeks, and I’ll come to you with new information. An offer.”
“Why the fuck should I believe you?”
“Because I have something you’ll want, but I need to make it stick first. You wait, Paulie, and I’ll make you a fucking king.”
He stares at me, licking his lips.
“This is bigger than our family, Paulie. So much bigger.”
He continues to stare, making his decision, and I continue to hold his shirt tight.
