TOM DRAGGED—more like forced—his way through another round of phone calls. To some made men, sitting behind a desk or being the Capo out on the street making the rounds and calling the shots was like being at the top of the world.
Not to Tom.
If anything, work was another fucking chore to add to his days now. Something else he had to do, and not something he particularly wanted to do. He had been somewhat getting better with the crew and Capo position, and then New York happened three weeks ago.
Or rather, Camilla happened.
Tom’s gaze darted to the cell phone on the desk. His personal one, not the burner he was currently talking on for business.
Not once had his phone rang.
Not once had Camilla called.
Not in three long weeks.
Not one fucking word.
Tom’s irritation spilled over into the phone call to a fellow Capo. “You know what, fuck it, go to Theo, then.”
“That’s what you want, Tommaso? Me to take this to the front boss?”
“If that’s what you think is going to get this settled, then do that.”
“Or is it because you know you’re so shoved up Theo’s ass, he’ll just bend to whatever the fuck you want?”
“Theo’s not going to bend to whatever I want, Marty,” Tom replied, barely keeping his cool. “If anything, he’ll come back on me harder because he thinks I should know better. But go ahead and make my fucking day. It’ll be one more thing for me to have to deal with right now. At this point, I don’t give a fuck. I am done talking about it.”
Tom hung up the phone, and tossed it to the desk without care. He was pretty sure it cracked the screen when it landed on the face, but who gave a shit? Not him.
The damn thing was eighty bucks.
It could and would be replaced.
Tom was coming to learn not everything could be fixed or replaced so easily in his life. Actually, he had known that for a while. It was Camilla that had yet to get up to speed with shit like love and whatever else.
Fuck.
Tom scrubbed a hand down over his face and jaw, determined not to get in another one of those moods again. The last one had lingered for a couple of days, and spilled over onto anyone who came too close to him.
He was trying to keep this shit controlled.
He tried to keep people out of his business.
“You look like you’re ready to kick somebody’s ass.”
Tom turned fast at the new voice, and found Lou leaning in the warehouse’s office. “Marty is still being a fucking cocksucker, that’s all.”
“About the whole truck thing last week?” Lou asked.
“Yeah, that nonsense. He was under the impression that his guys would get the goods to sell, and we would get a cut of the profits. I figured since my guys nabbed the truck, even if it was on his territory, he would get the cut, and we would get the right of sale for the goods.”
“I mean, that’s how shit usually goes with other Capos and crews,” Lou said.
“Little late, anyway. The goods are all gone.”
It wasn’t like they could keep a whole truck’s worth of stolen luxury goods on hand. Anything with a designer label had to have the serial number filed off—if they could—and it needed to be turned around on the street, and fast. Otherwise, they were risking the cops getting a lead on the stolen goods, and finding them in one of their warehouses. That spelled bad news all the way around the damn board.
“The guys got the last of it sold today, right?” Lou asked.
Tom nodded. “First time in forever they actually decided to get off their asses and do something correctly.”
“Come on, Tommaso. They’re a good crew.”
“Yeah, when they want to be, and we both know they don’t want to be good for me very fucking often.”
Lou sighed, and leaned against the doorjamb. “They have gotten better.”
“They don’t respect me, Lou. They fear me, and that’s why they behave now. Because I killed a couple of them, and beat the shit out of a couple of others.”
“It did settle them down, though.”
“Sure,” Tom agreed, “but for how long? Fear and respect are not the same things, and it won’t get me anywhere with them in the end. If even one of them thought they had a chance to get rid of me, or whatever, I don’t doubt for a second that they would pull the trigger on it. As long as they could get away with it.”
“Give them a bit of trust. Turning on you likely means somebody’s coming after them. Or hey, turning you over to the cops likely means some of their friends on this crew might get caught up in that mess, too. I don’t think that’s something you have to worry a whole lot about right now, man.”
Tom chuckled. “Like I said, as long as they thought they could get away with it. Right now, they can’t. I’m safe at the moment.”
Again, for how long?
Sadly, Tom wasn’t even exaggerating. It was just a sad fact of the business. Capos either had really good relationships with their crews, or they had a shitty one. Tom was the latter, and he knew exactly why that was.
“I’m from a whole different world than them,” he said. “I grew up in a mansion, and they were brought up in crowded, rundown apartments. I attended a private school, and some of them didn’t even graduate public high school. I drive around on their streets in my Benz, and they’re … yeah. Trust me, I get it, Lou. I don’t ask why. I know why.”
Lou cleared his throat. “I’m from their world, too, man. I still respect you.”
Tom smirked, and came close enough to his friend to clap him on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, you saw something through the pretty rich boy exterior, I guess.”
“Nope.”
“No?”
Lou shrugged. “A lot of these guys on the crew forget, Tom, that regardless of where you came from or how much money you have, you’re still made. You still earned your spot just like every other made man in the business. That’s how it works, and that deserves some kind of respect.”
Tom laughed, and smacked Lou on the shoulder again. “You know that’s the kind of shit that gets you the button, right? That’s the kind of attitude that gets you made, Lou.”
Lou let out a bitter laugh. “Doubtful, Tom. How many made men do you know come from the streets; guys who come from nothing?”
Tom knew a lot. They weren’t from his generation, but from his father’s. He didn’t tell that to his friend.
What mattered most, was that Lou would eventually be rewarded and recognized. It would happen someday. Tom would make goddamn sure of it.
“You know what, fuck this whole place,” Tom said.
Lou cocked a brow. “That’s not very … Capo-like.”
Nope.
“And fuck Marty, too.”
Lou chuckled. “Someone’s thinking about causing trouble, Tom. Pretty sure you’re the one always telling us to stay the hell out of trouble.”
“Maybe, or maybe I just need to blow off some steam.”
Get out of this mood.
Get Camilla out of my head.
Move on.
“You got something in mind?” Lou asked. “Or do you trust me to take you somewhere good?”
Tom shoved his friend out of the office. “Fuck you for even asking.”
“Hope you like whiskey, man.”
Tom did like whiskey.
Quite a lot, actually.
He also tended to favor the cozy, homey feel of the small bar that Lou had brought him to. Sure, the tables were a little wobbly, and the leather stools had a couple of rips, but that gave the place its history. The dark wood paneled walls and neon lights that spelled out different drinks reminded Tom of a time when he hadn’t even been alive.
The bearded, massive man behind the bar liked to scoff when someone asked him for anything other than a spirit or a beer.
Understandable, really.
Nobody was coming here for specialty drinks.
Unfortunately, as much as Tom liked the place, and the top shelf whiskey burning his throat with every sip, it just wasn’t doing it for him. It, being thinking about something other than the fact Camilla hadn’t once tried to call him in three weeks.
That girl was under his skin something bad.
He just didn’t realize how much before.
Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to really think about it because of what it would mean in the end. That he had allowed himself to become attached to a woman who was in no way available. That he had somehow fallen in love with Camilla, and she couldn’t offer that back to him.
Fuck his heart for hurting.
Fuck his chest for aching.
Fuck his life for all of it.
Tom tipped up his glass and swallowed back the remainder of the amber-colored whiskey in his glass. It burned all the way down his throat, and he sucked air through his teeth in an effort to soothe the sensation as he set the glass back down on the bar.
“Another?” the bartender ask.
Tom nodded, and waved two fingers over his glass. “Double it, though.”
“You got it, man.”
The white bearded man topped Tom up, and then headed down the way to a girl in a too-tight dress standing on wobbly legs.
“Are you going to hug the bar all night, or what?”
The feminine voice came off sweet and yet concerned at the same time. Tom turned around on his stool to face a woman he had never seen before in his life.
The first thing he thought?
She’s not Camilla Donati.
She was tall, black-haired, and blue-eyed.
Thin as could be.
Pretty, sure.
“I beg your pardon?” Tom asked.
The woman smiled.
“Your friend …” She pointed at Lou across the bar currently playing a round of pool with a guy and another girl.
He’d asked Tom to join, too, but he hadn’t been in the mood. Instead, he stared at his phone for a good hour and a half while he got drunk on whiskey. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
“He said you were a little lonely, and I thought maybe I could cheer you up,” the woman said.
Tom cleared his throat, and wet his lips.
He usually appreciated a bold woman.
Hell, bold was what drew him to Camilla.
Camilla.
Fuck. His. Life.
Pushing off the stool, Tom gave the woman a smile.
Every bit of it was forced.
“Tell Lou thanks for the concern, but I don’t need cheering up,” Tom said.
“You sure?”
Baby blues and painted red lips.
He didn’t doubt she would be a fun time.
She just wasn’t Camilla.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
With that, Tom headed out of the bar without a goodbye to his friend. His phone was still dead to the world in his hand.
No calls.
No texts.
Tom had to hide the phone in his pocket, and busy his hands by running them through his hair in order to keep from calling her.
Fuck Camilla, too.
Fuck her for making him feel like this.
Fuck her for ruining him like this.
“Apparently you get to be the lucky fuck who drives my ass around today,” Adriano said as he peered into the car’s passenger window. “I could have used an enforcer, but you make for better conversation.”
Tom gave his uncle a look. “Yes, lucky me. I get to drive around the spoiled Capo because he doesn’t want to use a rental while his car is in the shop.”
“I hate rentals.”
“We’re going to completely ignore that I called you spoiled, then?”
“Shut up. It’s not like you have anything else better to do, Tommaso.”
“Get in the car, Adriano.”
“Tommas wants you at tribute next week,” Adriano said as he slid into the young man’s car. “Usually I show up for both of us, but he’s asked for you to show face, too.”
“He didn’t mention that to me when I went over there yesterday.”
“Sunday.”
Tom nodded. “No business on Sundays.”
“Well, not in your father’s house, anyway.”
“Fine.” Tom steered the car onto the road, and headed in the direction that would lead them back into the heart of the city. “Any reason he wants me to show up?”
Adriano glanced at the black bag on the floor of the Benz. “Money, Tommaso.”
“Well, yeah. That’s why there’s tribute. I mean, you usually pay my tribute.”
“Except you’re the main Capo now for the crew, so you need to be doing that.”
Ah.
Tom sighed.
More politics.
“Why does your face look like you smelled something bad?” Adriano asked.
“What?”
“Your face, Tommaso. It’s like saying tribute was as bad as dumping shit on your car.”
“No, I’m just … not in the mood to play mafia politics with other made men. Not lately, anyway. Plus, I’ve got that issue with Marty, and I know he’ll bring it up at tribute just to make a fucking show of it.”
“Huh.”
Tom glanced over at his uncle. “What?”
“You used to love going to tribute when you were younger. Never thought I would see the day when you dreaded it.”
“I don’t dread it.”
“Sounds like it.”
Tom sighed. “I’m just …”
In a fucking mood.
Or rather, he was still in a damn mood.
“Ignore Marty,” Adriano said, shrugging. “I know all about the truck scheme, and what happened between the crews. Listen, you were in the right on that, Tommaso. Did he threaten to call Theo on you? Like the fucking front boss of the organization would step in and slap you on the wrist or something?”
“Basically.”
“Of course, he did, the asshole. You think he’s going to bring that up, seriously?”
“Why wouldn’t he? Seems like anytime someone has a chance to knock me down a peg in this business, that’s exactly what they try to do.”
“He’s not going to bring it up just to look like a foolish prick, Tommaso.”
“You say that, but—”
“I say it because I know it.” Adriano shook his head, and stared out the window as they headed onto the highway. “You did the standard thing all crews do when it came to that, and you even offered him a higher cut of the profits to make him relax when he did try to throw a fit. He’s just pushing you because you’re young, and he thinks he can. Trust me. I know—I have dealt with dozens of fuckers just like him.”
Tom’s shoulders loosened a little from the stress that had been weighing them down lately. He kept his gaze on the road as he asked, “How did you do it?”
“Hmm?”
“All those years being the youngest Capo controlling a crew. I mean, I know a lot of your friends had moved up in the organization by then—my dad, Damian, and Theo. So that left you managing a crew, right?”
Adriano smirked when he glanced over at Tom from the passenger seat. “You know, there was a time when all my father wanted was to be the boss of the Outfit.”
“Wasn’t he for a time?”
“A very short time.”
“So what’s that got to do with you being a Capo?”
“The position was only supposed to be a stepping stone for me, Tommaso. At least, from my father’s perspective. Eventually, he saw me being like him. A boss—at the very top, doing what he thought I would do best.”
“Him, not you.”
“Exactly.” Adriano turned back to the window, saying, “Some men are meant to be bosses, and some are far better on the streets with a crew, and the soldiers of the organization. It just depends on the man, Tommaso.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“How did I manage being the youngest Capo?”
“Yeah,” Tom said.
Adriano laughed under his breath. “White knuckles, Tommaso.”
“Huh?”
“I white-knuckled my way through a lot of it. I got older, gained more experience, and a fuck lot more patience along the way. All traits that helped in different situations.”
“And you have no interest in taking over for Damian, or even Theo when they’re done?”
Adriano scoffed. “Hell no.”
“Why not?”
“They’ve gotten used to the politics of this business, Tommaso. They know how to handle other organizations, and make deals. They talk, talk, and talk more every single day just to keep peace and get shit done. Me? I’ll do politics, but I want to do them on the streets. It’s where I work best.”
Tom drummed his fingers to the steering wheel, considering his uncle’s words. “Maybe it’s just the politics I’ve been dealing with, then.”
“Pardon?”
The two men glanced at each other before Tom’s attention went back to the road. He wondered how to phrase his next statement, as he didn’t want to come off as ungrateful for the position he had or the work he had been given in the Outfit.
“The politics of a crew, the streets, and the Capos,” Tom said. “I think it’s the wrong kind of politics for me, Adriano.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t sound surprised for some reason.”
“You’re a hell of a lot like your father, Tommaso.”
He scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Adriano rested back in the seat, unbothered, and seeming pleased to be driven around by someone else to do his business. “It means, there was once a time when your father was one of the best Capos in Chicago.”
“And then?”
“Then, he became a boss. He did that for one reason—something he wanted more than anything.”
Tom’s brow dipped in his confusion. “My mom?”
Adriano nodded once. “Yeah. See, he went into the boss thing because he had no other choice, but that man would be a damn liar if he ever said he thought he could go back to what he used to be.”
“Funny.”
“What?”
“I don’t think I could see my father as anything other than a boss.”
Adriano chuckled. “See? Like I said when we started this conversation, Tommaso, some men are simply made to be a boss. They’re not meant to be fucking around with all the other nonsense that makes this organization what it is. They work better at the top.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
His uncle reached over and hit his shoulder.
Tom looked over at Adriano. “What?”
“You might just be one of those men, Tommaso.”
Who knew?
Not him.
Tommas’s hands landed heavily on Tom’s shoulders. His father leaned over him to see what was on his plate. “Nice spread.”
Tom stabbed the fork into an egg, but his interest in food was very little. “I have to keep my energy up somehow, don’t I?”
“I suppose. Adriano says you’ve been throwing yourself into work, and keeping your head down. Any reason for that?”
“Nope.”
His father moved around the table, and took a seat in front of him. Tom continued shoving his face full of food in an effort not to have this conversation with his dad. Especially not now, and not there, at tribute. There were too many other men around to hear their conversation, and he wasn’t up for that.
“You haven’t been over to the mansion more than twice since you got back from New York,” his father noted.
“Work,” Tom reminded him.
“Mmm. How was it, anyway?”
“Work is fine.”
“Nice try. New York, I meant.”
Tom cleared his throat. “Fine.”
“I don’t think so—something’s different with you since you got back. I’m not the first person to notice it. A mood, Adriano tells me.”
Tom shot his uncle a look. Beside him, Adriano pretended like he hadn’t seen or heard a thing. Asshole.
“Adriano should learn to keep his mouth shut,” Tom said, shrugging.
“I take it you’re not going to fill me in on whatever is bothering you, then?”
“It won’t make a difference if I do.”
Tommas nodded, and stood from the table. “All right, son. Enjoy your breakfast.”
His father left the table, and headed to his own where his underboss and front boss were waiting with their food. It was another twenty minutes, after tribute had been paid and the men were well into eating, before Tommas spoke again.
“Marty, I heard you’re having some kind of problem with another Capo. Care to fill me in?”
Tommas’s voice carried over the chattering Capos in the restaurant. Instantly, the men quieted, and looked to Tom’s father. A few glanced between the Capo Tommas had called out, and the boss himself. One or two glanced at Tom before looking away.
It made him think Marty had probably been running his mouth a bit. Not that it would be a surprise.
“No, boss,” Marty said from two tables away from where Tom sat with Adriano and another Capo. “There’s no need, really.”
“Can I assume the issue has been corrected, then?” Tommas asked.
No.
Not even close.
Tom kept quiet just to see what Marty would say.
“I can’t say the issue has been fixed,” the balding, bulging Capo replied, “but I can’t say a conversation here would fix it, either.”
Tom’s father tipped his head to the side like he was considering the man’s words. “And why is that, Marty?”
“Well, I suppose to start—”
“Do you think I’m not objective when it comes to my men and their issues?” Tommas asked, not even giving the older Capo a chance to speak.
“I didn’t say that, boss. I was going to say—”
“How you already went to Theo, and were told to take the offer the other Capo offered because it was a better deal—far more—than any other Capo would have given you, considering?”
Marty cleared his throat, and his gaze shifted to where Tom sat. “I don’t mean to be rude, boss, but—”
“You should know by now, and at your age no less, that adding a but into a sentence you start with “I don’t mean to be rude” actually means you very much intend to be rude, Marty.”
“I … my apologies.”
Tommas cocked a brow, but never once did his gaze leave the older Capo. He didn’t single Tom out, or even make it seem like his son was involved at all. While Tom was almost certain there were a few Capos in the room who knew that the other Capo his father meant was him, he appreciated the way his father was handling the issue.
At the same time, he really didn’t need his father to handle it.
Tom could do it.
He certainly didn’t need anyone thinking he needed his father to come to his rescue, either. He didn’t think that would do any good for him at the end of the day.
“My offer still stands, Marty,” Tom said, joining the conversation. “Twenty percent for the truck being on your territory, as it always is, and another five percent on top of that for the misunderstanding you think we had.”
“I don’t think anything, Tommaso. You know damn well what we agreed to.”
Tom sucked air through his teeth, refusing to show his irritation or frustrations in the presence of so many made men. “Yes, that my men would steal the truck, and sell the goods. They had the scheme worked out, and I brought it to your attention because of territorial lines. Not one thing was mentioned about who would handle the goods—you were only interested in money. My boys did the work, and so, they get the payoff from it.”
“As I told you, Marty,” Theo, the Outfit’s front boss, said.
“Any other Capo in here would—”
“Agree that if they wanted to handle the goods, it would have been brought up in the first conversation,” Adriano put in. “I mean, I’ve done these boosts between our territories before, and you didn’t try to pull this shit on me.”
Marty’s face reddened. “I didn’t pull anything on Tommaso. I can’t help that the boy doesn’t know how business works when a man who has been in it for longer than he has asks for something, Adriano.”
Tom stiffened, but still refused to let his anger bleed into his tone when he said, “That’s it, right?”
“I beg your pardon, Tommaso?”
“Because I’m almost twenty-two now, and you’ve got forty years on me. So it’s easier for you to think you can screw over a young gun like me because I won’t speak up, right? I’m a Rossi—my dad’s the boss—and you had it in your head I probably wouldn’t run to the boss because it would make me look like a boy who needs his daddy to fix shit for him.
“Nobody is fixing anything for me,” Tom continued, unaffected. “My offer stands, Marty. Twenty for the territory, and five for the misunderstanding. And since you tried to pull this nasty shit on me this time, you can trust that I’ll never work with you or your crew again on anything else.”
Finally, Tom’s father decided to speak up again. It was not like Tommas to stay quiet when his men argued. He usually culled that nonsense as soon as it started.
“Take the extra five, Marty,” Tommas said, “because if it were me, I would have dropped you back down to fifteen just for thinking you were smart and could pull one over on me.”
Nods passed around the room.
Confirmative agreements echoed from several men.
Tom had not been in the wrong. He could handle his business. He fucking hated being a Capo, but he knew how to be one.
Sometimes, the politics weren’t such a bad thing. At least, not when they kept him distracted from something else. Like the phone in his pocket that still hadn’t rang in a month with a call or message from Camilla.
Fuck his life.