Nicholas
Bruno led me out of the room, back upstairs, and to a car parked across the street. Neither of us said a word as he started the engine and piloted us down the street. We headed back downtown, joining the rest of the nightlife traffic headed into the city. I fingered the gun in my grasp. It felt good to have a weapon again. I hadn’t liked the feeling of being so exposed.
The pain still hummed in my face from the savage beating I’d suffered at the hands of the giant in the ring. There hadn’t been much time to do anything other than rinse the worst of the blood from my face and hands. I looked clean, but the swelling in my eye and mouth had only just begun.
We cruised to a stop outside a nightclub. It was almost midnight, and the lines contained within the velvet ropes were full of drunk partiers and girls in miniskirts and high heels. Bruno killed the ignition and looked at me. “This is it,” he said.
I nodded, tucked the gun into the back of my pants, and climbed out of the car.
Bruno threw the keys to the valet. “It’s Cosimo’s,” he said by way of warning. “Don’t let anyone even look at it. And if you scratch it…well, just don’t.”
The skinny, pimpled valet boy nodded, gulped, and carefully slid into the driver’s seat. I followed Bruno towards the door.
He nodded to the bouncer as we approached the entrance. The man jumped up from his stool to unlatch the velvet rope and usher us inside. “Right this way, gentlemen,” he said, stooping low in a quasi-bow as he pointed us through the double doors.
We entered the club. Strobe lights zoomed around the ceiling and the pulsing crush of house music filled the air. Bruno weaved through the crowd, headed for a dark hallway on the far side of the room. We sliced across the dancefloor. Every dancer’s eyes widened as they saw us and they immediately moved out of the way. This was clearly a Esposito joint. The patrons knew when to defer to the family.
Reaching the hallway, a massive boulder of a man in a black suit and black tie stopped us. “Who’s this?” he said to Bruno, sticking his chin out at me.
“New guy,” Bruno replied. “Just took down Mountain in the ring.”
“Mountain?” The man’s eyes widened as he spoke. He whistled. “Well, damn. How ’bout that?”
“He’s working security tonight,” Bruno said.
The man in black nodded and ushered us into the open elevator behind him. We stepped inside and the doors slid shut, restoring silence to my ringing eardrums. I reached towards where the bank of buttons should be, but there was nothing. I paused, confused, with my hand in mid-air. Bruno laughed as the car began to descend despite us not having selected a floor.
“Only goes one place,” he said.
We coasted to a stop at the bottom. When the doors opened again, they revealed a much different scene. It was a large, cavernous room, something like a cabaret club. Red velvet covered seats were arranged in half-circle rows around a circular stage. Bright spotlights were aimed at the curtain, but nothing was moving yet. A variety of people were sprinkled across the seats, but the lights on the audience were kept extremely low. I couldn’t make out a single person’s face.
“This way,” Bruno said. He gestured towards a small bar set up at the back of the room. A few men were clustered around it as a barely-dressed bartender mixed drinks in a silver canister. Bruno tapped one of them on the shoulder. The man swiveled around.
“Carlo, this is the new guy,” he said, pointing at me.
I met his eyes as he squared up to face me.
“You working tonight?” he demanded brusquely.
I nodded. “Giovanni sent me.”
“Good. Go to the basement. You’re guarding the girls.”
I was about to ask for clarification but I noticed we had drawn the attention of the other few men at the bar. One in particular was looking at me with interest. He had pale eyes and an unremarkable frame. This wasn’t a tough guy, not a hitman or an enforcer. He stood with the air of someone in complete control. It could only be one person.
Cosimo Esposito.
“You’re new?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“Yes.”
“What’s your name, new guy?”
“Nicholas.”
“Nicholas, tell me, where are you from?” His voice was low and smooth, like whiskey on the rocks. But I could tell this was a man who would not hesitate to resort to violence if called upon. The vibe rolled off him in waves. He was a panther, unafraid to spring when provoked.
“Way out in the boonies,” I replied.
“Who were your parents?”
“Dad worked the docks.”
“And your mother?”
“Whore.”
He chuckled and sipped his drink. “Was that her nature or her profession?” he inquired.
I shrugged. “Same difference.”
He laughed again. “I guess I wouldn’t disagree.” He pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side as one hand stroked his chin. A shrewish but pretty blonde woman peered out from his elbow with a furrowed brow. “I’ll tell you what, Nico. I like you. I want to keep my eye on you tonight. Carlo, move Nico to my table. I want to see how he handles himself during tonight’s…affair.”
“You got it, boss,” Carlo replied. He turned to me. “You heard the man. You’re on Mr. Esposito’s table tonight. Watch yourself, kid,” he warned. Then he walked away, whistling.
Cosimo gave me a lingering stare before turning back to his conversation. I looked at Bruno where he stood on the fringe of the circle. He gave me a nervous grimace, as if trying to smile, but then turned tail and disappeared. Good fucking riddance.
A bell sounded, high and clear over the slow murmur of the people littering the room. As soon as it did, everyone began to move towards the velvet seats. I heard Cosimo say, “This way, dear,” and extend an elbow to the blonde woman. She took hold and they moved towards a table on a raised dais in the middle rear of the seats. I followed close behind them after checking to make sure the safety on my gun was off. I wanted to be ready for whatever was coming next.
The gig seemed simple enough. We were in a Esposito club in a Esposito neighborhood. No one would be fool enough to launch an assault here. Everywhere I looked stood muscular bodyguards armed to the teeth with high-powered pistols and a look in their eyes that said not to fuck with them. I did my best to imitate them, settling to a wide-legged stance at the bottom of the shallow staircase that led up to where Cosimo and his woman were seated.
I felt the cool metal of the gun in the back of my jeans. I entertained for a moment the thought of turning around and unloading a clip straight between Cosimo’s eyes. End it all now. Just kill the motherfucker and let whatever happened happen.
But crime families had a funny way of growing two heads whenever you cut off one. These fuckers were cockroaches. If we let even one of them get out alive, they’d spawn and reappear sooner or later. No, it had to be complete and total annihilation. Killing Cosimo wasn’t enough.
They all had to die.
The bell rang again and the sound of conversation and rustling clothing died down. All eyes turned towards the stage. The curtain split a tiny bit and a man strode out. He was tall with curly hair, dressed in a nice suit. I stood maybe thirty yards straight back from him, enough to see his eyes were devoid of anything I recognized as emotion.
I still wasn’t sure what was happening here. A stage, an announcer—it must be some kind of a show. Maybe the girls Carlo had referred to were the performers. It wouldn’t be unheard of to have strippers or even a sex show. But that explanation didn’t sit quite right. The men occupying the seats in front of me didn’t look like the type to be content with just watching. They were all fat and grubby, though their filth was the kind that had dollar signs attached. These were hungry bastards. It had to be something else.
I got my answer soon enough when the first naked girl was trotted onto the stage. She was dark-skinned and shaking like a leaf. Her eyes were wide like hubcaps, clearly panicking. Even from this distance, I could see her skin pimpled in goosebumps. Her hands were tied behind her back, though I saw they’d forced her into a pair of tall, black stilettos. She walked slowly so as not to trip.
“Come here, honey,” said the man in the suit with a glittering smile. The girl shied away. He laughed. “She’s nervous,” he explained to the crowd. “But don’t worry, you can fuck that right out of her.”
The assembled men chortled as the girl descended even further into abject terror. I felt my stomach curdle. These sick fucks. That girl looked as innocent as anyone ever had. I wondered if they’d stolen her from her family. That would hardly be surprising.
“Let’s start the bidding at one hundred thousand dollars,” he suggested. He scanned the crowd, cupping a hand over his eyes to block out the rays of the spotlights. A few men raised their numbered cards to place a bid. He started to work them, calling out numbers as the price crept higher.
“Come on, folks, who doesn’t want to buy a tight little slut to have around the house?” he joked.
Again, a low, rumbling laugh rippled through the crowd. My fists tightened.
The first girl went for a few hundred thousand dollars and the next came out as the process repeated itself. This one, a rail-thin blonde, went quickly, and the one after, a red-haired girl with voluptuous curves, was sold even quicker than that. After the bidding had ended for each of them, they were led to the far side of the stage by a grim-faced handler.
The spotlight swung to stage right and the announcer warmed up the crowd for the next girl to be sold. As soon as she walked into the light, my stomach flipped.
I couldn’t explain the reaction. It was purely physical. My blood seemed to simmer and freeze at the same time, while a sickly tinge ran along the nape of my neck. The girl was stunning. Her body was petite but curvy, her unbroken skin shining like cream in the overhead glare. Her eyes were round and scared, but there was a warmth in them despite her fear. She kept her hands clasped in front of her.
I felt an inexplicable desire to touch her skin. That red slash of a mouth, the way her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. She was objectively beautiful, but it wasn’t like I’d never seen a beautiful girl before. They hung around the clubhouse all the time, eager for a taste of the dangerous life we led. This one was different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about her that called out to me. I wanted to respond to it, to hear it further.
I was vaguely aware of the bidding beginning as I drank in the girl. I could feel myself growing hard for her. What the fuck was going on with me? I had a mission at stake. I needed to get back in control of my body and my thoughts.
The announcer’s voice startled me out of my confused thinking. “Do I hear two hundred thousand?” A hand punctured the air a few seats to the left of where I stood. I looked down to see who it belonged to, and for the second time in as many minutes, recoiled in surprise. I recognized that skinny motherfucker. His face had been laser-etched into my memory since the moment I saw him in the apartment I once shared with Smalls.
This was the bastard who killed him.
“I have two hundred thousand from the man in the back row. Going once, going twice…”
My body reacted before my mind did. My hand shot up as I called out, “Three hundred.”
The man whirled around. His gaunt face was quivering with rage as he looked to find the man who’d suddenly started bidding against him. He saw me and his eyes narrowed. I heard murmurs on all sides. He spun back to face the auctioneer.
“Three twenty!” he yelled.
I didn’t hesitate. “Three fifty!”
“Three sixty!”
He was going to keep chasing me if we did things like this. I had to do something drastic. I swallowed, cleared my throat, and called out, “Six hundred thousand dollars.”
The crowd fell eerily silent.
I snuck a glance over to Smalls’ murderer. I was a roiling cauldron of emotions. Anger, desire, cold focus, and everything in between. I didn’t know where to begin or what I should do. All I knew was I wanted this girl and I wanted to spite this man. This was the only way to have both.
The auctioneer paused for a moment, thrown off his rhythm by the sudden animosity sparking in the room. He stuttered, then found his voice and said, “Going once, to the gentleman in the back. Going twice. Sold.”
The skinny man seethed. His face was an apoplectic mess of splotchy red. I stood silently. I didn’t know what to do.
How was I supposed to react? I’d just bought a girl.