Not much changed in a week. I was still getting my ass handed to me daily by my physical therapist. After our discussion, Wolf was crazier than usual and still insisting we keep things hush hush until he figured the right time to drop the bomb. The timing would never be right but, me being the idiot I am, agreed to remain silent. The shit with Yankovich was at a standstill as we waited on Rocco to come through with a plan. Every day that passed without word, was another day spent guessing Yankovich’s next move. Predicting the mind of a psychopath was becoming quite the task for the Satan’s Knights and Jack wasn’t the only one questioning his sanity.
Aside from all the club drama, Kelly was still here avoiding me at all costs. If I wasn’t so determined to get the fuck out of this chair and into the thick of this Yankovich mess, I would’ve taunted her a bit but when I wasn’t working with the therapist, I was pushing myself at Riggs’ brother-in-law’s gym. Anthony Bianci was a former hitman for the late Victor Pastore and aside from being Lauren’s brother, he was a good friend of Jack’s. Anthony went legit after marrying Victor’s daughter and opened a boxing gym called Xonerated. In the recent months, he opened a second location that wasn’t limited to boxing. It had an Olympic sized swimming pool, and I spent my off time there, strengthening my legs.
Riggs being my chauffeur today, picked me up from my therapy session and we were now on our way to Staten Island where Anthony’s new facility was located. Unusually quiet, I study Riggs as he drives the cage with one hand.
“You okay, man?” I question as his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel.
“Son of a bitch thinks he’s going to make a jerkoff out of me,” he mumbles.
“Who?” I ask, drawing my eyebrows together in confusion.
“Pipe,” he shouts. “I caught that bastard red-handed.”
“Pipe is back?” The idea of him being back and no one having the decency to tell me burns my ass as I wait for him to explain.
“No, he’s not and I get his wife died and all that but, the club needs him. So, I decided to take a ride up to the woods where he’s been hiding out.”
“Wolf said he’s got a cabin.”
“Yeah, he’s got a cabin alright and a nice piece of ass living next door that he’s banging too,” he seethes.
“He told you that?” I question, raising an eyebrow. It’s hard to picture Pipe with anyone but Oksana mainly because their relationship was unique. Unlike the other brothers who have settled down, Pipe didn’t go around wearing his heart on his sleeve. To be honest, I was taken back by how bad he took her death. It goes to show you, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors.
“No, I watched from the woods. The guy dropped us like a hot potato and got himself a ready-made family in the sticks. I’m talking kids and all.”
“Wait, so you went to see Pipe and then spied on him?”
“Well, when you put it like that, I sound like a perv. I didn’t watch him fuck her or anything like that. I just went up there to see what was more important than us.”
“You don’t sound like a perv, you sound like an abandoned child,” I correct.
“Fuck you too,” he spats. “Excuse me for giving a damn about all you idiots. Let’s be honest, Pipe somehow always managed to keep Jack sane. Now, Wolf is trying his hardest and all but, he’s no Pipe. I don’t know what it is, but he gets Jack’s crazy like no one else. He understands his maker and knows how put that bitch down when she starts her shit.”
Being a manic depressive has proved to be trying for our president. It sometimes affects the whole club and I think at times, Jack’s maker is our number one enemy.
“Was he always this bad?” I ask. “I mean, it makes you wonder how anyone voted him to take Cain’s chair.”
It’s the first time I’ve mentioned my father to anyone other than Wolf and I keep my eyes glued to him as he turns to me. He doesn’t react, making me wonder if we’re keeping this secret just for Jack’s benefit.
“I don’t know, I wasn’t around back then,” he admits.
“Still, you gotta wonder why they elected Jack to take the gavel and not Pipe or Wolf for that matter.”
I purposely leave out Blackie’s name because it’s a known fact he was in no condition to rule anything. He was a junkie back then and all that mattered was where his next fix was coming from. It makes you think about the logistics of it all. The club wasn’t willing to elect a man crippled by drugs as their president but, they selected a man who was crippled by his mind.
“I’m thinking Cain had a hand in Jack taking the throne,” he says pointedly. “We all know when the time comes Blackie is going to take Jack’s place at the head of the table. We don’t even have to vote on that shit. Maybe it was the same back then.”
“Maybe,” I agree, turning to glance out the window. Noticing we’re nowhere near the gym, I turn back to Riggs. “Where are we going?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
I refrain from laughing in his face. He should only know how good I am at deceiving everyone including him.
“Sure,” I say as the truck comes to slow stop. Pushing his shades onto the top of his head, he leans over the console and points out the window. Following the direction of his finger, I turn my head and peer up at the rustic looking house.
“What am I looking at?”
Raking my eyes over the white building, I take in the sign that hangs in front. The name is covered by a board and all that is visible is the word bar.
“You’re looking at our new clubhouse,” Riggs announces proudly.
“Come again?” Tearing my gaze away from the bar, I look at him as if he’s lost his mind. Apparently, everyone’s got a maker.
“I bought this place,” he says. Acting like it’s no big deal, he shrugs his shoulders. It isn’t a big deal for him to buy a bar or anything for that matter. The guy is loaded. His father owns some oil company in Texas and Riggs’ inheritance has helped bail the club out of quite a few jams in the past.
“Yeah, I get that,” I tell him. “What I don’t get is how this place is going to be our clubhouse.”
“Alright, so it needs some work but, it’s actually much bigger than it looks. I’m figuring we keep the bar open since the club needs a legit business that brings in cash and we close the back rooms off and use them as our chapel. There is also an apartment upstairs that we can use in case a brother needs to crash and all that. I close next week and once I get the keys, I’ll tell the rest of the club.”
“What about the compound? Wolf mention Jack was waiting on the insurance check and eventually planned to rebuild.”
“Man, we don’t got the money to piss away on rebuilding that shit and to be fair, I don’t think any of us want to go back there. Too much bad shit. We can build Trump Palace on that land and at the end of the day we’ll all still remember what used to stand in its place and how we lost it.”
He’s got a point.
That place is as cursed as me.
“Jack will probably give me some shit at first but, once our books are in the black and we’re not drowning, the club can pay me back and take ownership,” he continues to explain.
“Doesn’t our clubhouse have to be in Brooklyn though?”
“Fuck that, all the people on Staten Island are originally from Brooklyn anyway,” he pauses. “At least that’s what my mother-in-law says. Speaking of which, I hired her as our chef.”
“Our chef?”
“If Wolf can sell tomatoes with a tire, I can sell sausage and peppers with a shot of whiskey,” he argues.
“You were really selling me until you got your mother-in-law involved,” I reply. “Didn’t she beat you with a frying pan?”
“Beat me is a little harsh. She hit me over the head with it but, we’re all good now. Mama Leone loves me.”
“I bet,” I mutter.
“She’d love me more if I actually married her daughter but, that’s a story for another book,” he says, shifting the truck back into drive. “Now, keep your lips sealed. I’m going to unveil this bad boy when the timing is right.”
Of course he is.
The rest of the ride to Xonerated is uneventful and when we arrive Anthony Bianci is there to greet us. He takes us into the locker room and while I change into my swimming trunks, he fills us in on yet another fucking secret.
“Still no word on Yankovich?” Bianci questions, crossing his arms against his chest. His brooding blue eyes pierce Riggs with a steady look and I see why he was feared by so many. I bet he broke a lot of kneecaps in his day.
“Nah, the motherfucker is probably off playing roulette somewhere.”
Anthony sweeps his gaze to me and we both shake our heads, silently agreeing there is no use explaining what Russian Roulette truly is. Let the poor bastard think it’s a game only Russians play.
Sighing, Anthony cups the back of his neck.
“I’ve been working with Rocco,” he confesses, causing Riggs’ eyes to go wide.
“Adrianna is going to fucking kill you,” Riggs admonishes.
“She’s not going to find out because you’re going to keep your mouth shut,” he growls, pointing a finger at him. “I mean it, Riggs. I don’t want you telling my sister either.” Turning his stone-cold gaze to me, he narrows his eyes and continues. “The same goes for you. I’ll break your fucking legs all over again.”
“I believe you, man,” I say sincerely.
“We’ll keep quite but, you got some splaining to do Lucy,” Riggs says, wagging a finger in his face as he attempts to imitate Ricky Ricardo.
“He’s navigating through unknown waters looking for a mule to get you guys in with Yankovich. Not too many people are willing to cooperate with him because they were all looking to take over Victor’s empire,” Anthony explains.
“Where do you fit in?”
“I know all of Victor’s connections and everyone who was ever indebted to him. It’s time to collect,” he offers simply.
“So, you’re helping Rocco find someone to front me for this illusive card game,” I interject.
“Well, you’re not going to get in on your good looks,” he argues. “You need someone with a bank roll, someone powerful enough that Yankovich is going to trust.”
“Alright,” Riggs interrupts. “How’s the list looking?”
“It’s not that long but, with any luck in a couple of weeks we might have a bite. A gangster from Chicago is coming up to New York to meet with the five families.”
“The five families,” Riggs repeats, chuckling. “I swear sometimes I feel like I’m a guest star in a lost episode of the Sopranos.”
More like a blooper reel but, maybe that’s just my opinion.
“Yeah, and sometimes I feel like I’m watching a cartoon when I look at you,” Anthony retorts.
“Just call me the Tasmanian Tiger,” Riggs replies cheekily.
“If you two are done, I’m going to head to the pool,” I interrupt, gripping the wheels of my chair.
“Wait,” Riggs says, rising off the bench. “Don’t you need swimmies or a tube? Something, you need something. I’m fucking cool as fuck but I’m no lifeguard.”
Go on, laugh.
You know you want to.