“Firearms, Less. Friend of mine says that the De Luca organization is moving into weapons and stepping on a lot of people’s toes to get shit done. Since your old man hasn’t been seen over the past few months, shit rolls downhill. You’re the underboss.”
“My father is still the Don, and he’d never agree to running guns unless we had a plan that minimized our risks. We’re not going to war to sell bullets and gear.”
Dimitri laughs heartily. “Less, you’re like a brother to me, but the Bratva? There’s no war when it comes to them. It’s a massacre. No one lives. Shit, I might not get away with even being linked to you. They’re giving some leniency because nothing’s been done, officially.”
“But if a sale is made?”
“Everybody dies.” Dimitri sighs and shrugs his shoulders.
“You seem awfully calm about that.”
“Why get upset over something you have no control over? I’d hate to lose you as my friend, or my life, but if you don’t know your Family’s stepping into business ventures without you, maybe it’s time you take a hard look at the people close to you.”
He’s right. After thanking him, I head out of the bar when I see a familiar face clasping a pink drink in a martini glass. Dr. Kathleen Bireli is sitting alone.
“Macallan, double, neat,” I call to the bartender.
“Ah, Dro-seph, how goes it?” she asks with a lazy giggle. Her normally curly blonde hair is bone straight, falling to her waist, and I can see the eyes of every man in the room locking onto us. Well, her since she’s wrapped in latex under a light trench coat.
“You haven’t called me that in ages, Kathleen. How are you?” The name comes from a time where she never knew it, but I was Italian and connected. My name had to be Joseph, according to her. Not one to ever be told what to do, she decided on Dro-seph until we got older, and I refused to answer to the moniker.
“I’d be better if you took a few steps back. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea here.”
The bartender places my drink in front of me that I sip leisurely, turning my back to the bar so I can face the room. “Two peas in a fucked up pod?”
“Yep.”
“What the fuck? Why would you say that to Evelyn?”
“Mrs. De Luca? Am I wrong? You found me at a strip joint in the Bronx getting my face bashed in by my old man who happened to be on your slice and dice list. She thought we… we… she thought we were fucking! Eww.”
I grunt. “You don’t have to be so disgusted by the thought. Still, Evelyn and I were very new in our relationship.”
“Clearly. That doesn’t mean she gets to come into my office that I worked damned hard to get?—”
“Let’s not exaggerate the truth. You were sixteen when I pulled you out of that place. After I turned that pedo, Tony, into fish food, you got enough money out of his safe to go to med school and open that practice.”
“Don’t forget the trauma therapy, oh, and the lifestyle that helps ease the tension. Listen, I’m sorry if I caused a little tiff between you guys. I didn’t mean it. Call it envy. For a long time, I’ve been the only woman in your life you’d let close to you. It’s like owning a piece of something everyone wants, but less than a handful of people on this planet have access to something so special. Hearing Mrs. De Luca just rubbed me wrong.”
“Don’t worry about it, I won’t be rubbed wrong or right by Mrs. De Luca ever again.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Alessandro. It wasn’t anything I said, right?”
“No, only I can run people who love me out of my life.”
She chuckles and nods. “Yeah, but only the people who love you let you catch up to them. Don’t let her go if you love her. If she cares about you.”
“She wants a divorce.”
“Did she tell you that? Have papers drawn up? Divide the assets?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Always the sunshine looking for the dark cloud. I’ve never known you to accept anything less. Go get your wife, man. Weddings are easy. It’s the marriage that takes work. Now that I’ve given you a dose of reality to treat the scars uglying up your love life, go away. I’m trying to ram these stilettos down someone’s throat tonight, and you’re scaring away all my potential subs.”
“Yes, Mistress.” I bow my head to her with a joking smile, down my drink, and head home.
Every room smells of Evelyn, the faintest scent of something sweet with a hint of lavender. I open the door to my office where it still smells of Scotch and leatherbound books, inhaling deeply to erase the pain of missing her. I linger in the room until the sound of someone moving around upstairs jars me out of my trance.