Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I stop by to chat with the manager before heading out the door. It’s a cold evening, and there’s a little bit of rain. It’s not that much, but enough to make me wish I’d worn an overcoat. I get into the back of the limo with a bright sheen of mist covering my shoulders. Giovanni climbs inside after, bitching loudly about the weather.
“I hate this city sometimes,” he swears.
“Don’t let anyone else hear you talk like that,” I warn him in jest.
“I don’t care who knows it,” he snaps. “It’s cold as balls out there.”
I pull out my phone to check my messages. There’s no need to complain about the night air like a bunch of rich assholes. There are few things out of my control these days, but the weather is one of them. I just accept it and move on.
Giovanni settles down, pulling his jacket tight around his chest. I ignore him, reading the latest details about some of the other businesses I have going. It’s all written in code, but I have no trouble deciphering it. There was a fight at the racetrack, but that was all taken care of. One shipment of tax-free cigarettes was stopped at the border, and my capo is requesting assistance.
I call him from the back of the limo and we talk, also in code. I agree to make another phone call to the border patrol to get things straightened out. If necessary, I can provide some pressure so that the people who are holding our shipment know who they’re dealing with. But I want to wait until I’m back in my office before I make that call. I’m not going to say anything incriminating, but I want to have a little more freedom to emphasize my situation without having to worry about anyone listening in.
“What’s wrong?” Giovanni asks.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I tell him.
He shrugs. He’s familiar enough with our family business that I could read him in if I wanted to. But it doesn’t seem that important, and he’s got other things to worry about. I need him to focus on the upcoming wedding, to make sure that all our soldiers are in line, and to keep an eye on Andretti. All these other business dealings I can take care of myself.
The limo pulls up outside the house, and Giovanni and I get out.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Giovanni says. “I’ve got some business to take care of.”
I watch him circle around the driveway on foot, and then drive away in his BMW. I assume he’s on the prowl, and looking for a woman to spend the night with. That’s his business, not mine. I’ve got a few things I need to take care of first before calling it quits for the evening.
I walk inside, where I’m immediately accosted by my son. He’s drunk. Unlike Giovanni, who stuck to water all night, I’ve had a few glasses of wine. It didn’t seem all that much before, but now I can feel the alcohol surging through my blood. Frankie and I are a bad combination when we’ve had too much to drink, and now is no exception.
“I wanna talk to you,” Frankie shouts, pointing a finger at me as if he’s the one in charge.
“So go ahead,” I say, ready to get the coming argument out of the way. “Talk.”
“What’s this about you marrying Marlena?” Frankie accuses me, getting up in my face like he’s got something to prove. “She’s half your age, for God’s sake.”
“You want to be very careful,” I warn my son.
“No,” he snaps. “You want to be careful. I’m done being careful. You’re just a dirty old man who wants to get into her pants.”
I seize him by the collar and drag him across the room. Slamming his back against the wall between the foyer and the living room, I lean in close. I can see he’s scared, but he’s trying not to show it.
From the kitchen, two of my bodyguards peer around the corner, investigating the commotion. They see that it’s just me and Frankie and return to their posts. I don’t pay them to involve themselves in my family business, but if it were anyone else, I know they would make their presence known.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I inform my offspring. “And I won’t allow you to disrespect Marlena that way.”
Frankie laughs in my face. “Me? Disrespect her? It’s you who’s disrespecting her.”
I tighten my grip on his shirt and slam him into the wall again, feeling the grip on my emotions slip. He makes me want to hurt him, even though I know that’s the worst thing I can do. I’m supposed to be a role model, not a violent son-of-a-bitch who hits his own kid. I force myself to get a grip, releasing him before I do something I won’t be proud of.