Chapter 9

 

Gio

 

Eight Days Later

 

Gio parked his 'Vette in front of a small, shabby-looking blue house. It was so far west that it was barely within the city limits, and the houses and buildings surrounding it were covered in gang signs and graffiti. Young men in white undershirts and baggy jeans eyed Gio from the street corners as he got out of the car, leaned in through the window, and honked the horn a couple of times so Carolyn would know he was there.

 

He had enjoyed working closely with her over the past week, and not just because of how she looked—though he still couldn't take his eyes off her whenever they were together. The meeting with the loan officer at the bank went smoothly, with Carolyn handling the money talk and Gio chiming in earnestly about how he'd always wanted his own restaurant.

 

The Laughing Fish was signed over within the next twenty-four hours, since Shimizu knew what would happen to him if he didn't.

 

And since the place already had the staff and supplies it needed, the only indication that anything had changed was the “Under New Management” banner draped over the door and the celebration of the first official night with Gio as the owner. The restaurant was packed with almost every middle- to high-ranking mafia member in Chicago, plus their wives and kids. Every table was covered with platters of exquisite maki, and wine and beer flowed like water.

 

For the most part, Shimizu stayed in the kitchen, rolling and arranging sushi with his head down and his mouth in a tight line.

 

Gio watched as Carolyn worked the room like a pro—shaking hands with everyone, remembering their names, swapping funny stories and off-the-cuff legal advice. He hadn't met a lot of slick professional women before, and he was impressed.

 

Seeing her like that only made him more eager to learn what her face would look like when contorted with pain, lust, humiliation, or all three at once. Her poise and confidence made him desperate to know what she'd look like on her knees, crawling to him and begging.

 

As the evening drew to a close, Mario walked over to Gio and put an arm around him. “Just remember what I said about the lawyer lady,” Mario whispered, his wine-breath making Gio's eyes water.

 

“What? You mean Carolyn?” Gio asked.

 

“If that's her name, then yeah, her,” Mario slurred. “I've seen you staring at her all evening. You keep things professional, understand?”

 

“Yeah, Papa, fine, I understand,” Gio said dismissively, trying to wriggle away.

 

Mario's arm clamped him tighter, keeping him in place.

 

“Don't forget that I did all of this for you,” Mario growled, his muddy eyes staring Gio down like a shark's. “Everything you've got is because of me. So don't you dare fuck it up. You want to play around like some kind of degenerate, you go to those clubs and parties you like so much, but you keep it away from all this. Non merda in cui si mangia. You know what that means?”

 

Gio struggled harder, but he couldn't break free. Mario's vise-grip on him was starting to hurt. “Hey, Papa, knock it off, okay?”

 

“Of course you don't, because you're a spoiled kid who never bothered to learn the language of your grandparents. It means 'don't shit where you eat.'” Mario released Gio, giving him a drunken shove. “Now go on, get back to your big party.”

 

Gio was unable to enjoy the rest of the night, no matter how many toasts people made in his honor.

 

Carolyn helped him set up accounts under the restaurant's name. Within forty-eight hours, Gio was depositing money from drugs, robberies, and extortion, and marveling at how all the cash was immediately washed clean in the form of business checks he could write to himself. As long as he kept his deposits under $10,000 so they wouldn't be reported to the Feds, and as long as he remembered to justify the checks he wrote himself as legitimate expenses, it felt like a license to print money.

 

Meanwhile, it had taken six increasingly-insistent invitations to come out and celebrate with him before Carolyn finally agreed, rolling her eyes as she did. Gio understood that it was all part of her act. He'd seen the same behavior in countless other women. They felt like they needed to play a little tug-of-war with guys before the inevitable “yes” came—they liked being chased, they figured it kept them from looking too easy, or maybe they just liked the attention.

 

But it had been his experience that eventually, they always gave in. Women could never resist him for long, and he knew Carolyn would be no exception. A few drinks, a few laughs, and she'd be his to do with as he pleased.

 

“Where do you want to go?” Carolyn had asked. “Just tell me what time, and I'll meet you there.”

 

Gio shook his head mischievously. “Nah, I'll pick you up. That's the right way to do a date, and besides, I want where we're going to be a surprise.”

 

“First of all, I never said this was a date,” she said.

 

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Gio chuckled indulgently. If that's how you want to play it, he thought.

 

“And second, I need to know where we're going so I can choose an appropriate outfit.”

 

“Just wear something gorgeous, and you'll be fine,” Gio insisted.

 

Finally, she agreed to give him her address, and he told her he'd be there at 8:00.

 

Now it was 8:14, and he was outside her home. He'd purposefully arrived a little late. The thought of her waiting for him and peering out the window expectantly gave him a private thrill.

 

“Jesus, what a shitty place to live,” he muttered, looking around at the neighborhood's boarded-up shops and broken windows.

 

A muscled thug in his late teens with a red bandana on his head strutted up to the car. Gio could see a large handgun tucked into the man's waistband.

 

“Yo, you must be one brass-balled motherfucker to come out here in a sweet ride like that an' start leanin' on your horn,” Bandana said.

 

Gio raised his eyebrows. “You know who I am, kid?”

 

Bandana grinned, revealing a mouth full of gold teeth. “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “You the dude gonna be walkin' home in his socks tonight once I snatch up them fly shoes an' that pimped-out car.”

 

Gio smirked. “Close, but no. I'm Gio fucking Mancini.”

 

Bandana's eyes widened, and he cackled. “For real? You the big man's son? You better break out some ID on that shit, homie. I mean, any jive-ass, wop-lookin' cracker can come out to the 'hood an' name-drop, know what I'm sayin'?”

 

Gio nodded, flipping his ID out of his wallet and displaying it for him. Bandana looked it over and he laughed again, clapping his hands. “Yo, check it!” he called out to the other thugs on the corner. “We got motherfuckin' Al Pacino up in here tonight!”

 

“Damn right you do. So the next time I come rolling up to this shitheap, I expect you to show me the proper fucking respect. Got it? And make sure you keep your gang signs and crap away from that blue house.”

 

“Sure thing, homes,” Bandana said, backing off. “You got it.”

 

The front door of Carolyn's house opened and she stepped out wearing a black cocktail dress and stiletto heels. A tiny purse hung from her arm.

 

Once they saw her, the men on the corner started whistling and catcalling.

 

“Pipe down, assholes!” Gio snapped.

 

“What was all that about?” Carolyn asked, walking to the car. “You know those guys?”

 

“No, but they damn sure know me,” Gio chortled, eyeing her. “Wow, you look foxy as hell tonight.”

 

“Thanks,” Carolyn said. Gio leaned in to kiss her on the mouth, but she turned her head away at the last second and his lips connected with her cheek instead.

 

“Remember what I said,” Carolyn told him sternly. “This is not a date. We're just celebrating as friends and business associates.”

 

“We'll see,” Gio replied, opening the passenger's-side door for her.