The Mafia’s Obsession

Ayla

The next morning, Alessio wakes up before me and I hear him taking a phone call in the other room. His trip to the “gym” last night lasted nearly 3 hours. Long enough that when he got back, I was already in bed. I still don’t exactly know what I did wrong, but I won’t be asking about his grandfather’s death again, that’s for sure.Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

The phone call sounds serious. I get up and hop in the shower, and when I get out, I see that he’s ordered crepes for breakfast.

“Strawberry-Nutella or banana-brown sugar?” he asks, holding out two plates.

I take one of them. “Strawberry-Nutella, obviously. Why did you even get the other one?”

He shrugs. “I like banana. Ever had bananas foster? Pretty amazing.”

“You and your penis-themed desserts. I’ll eat my strawberry crepe like the innocent girl I am.”

Alessio hits me with the bedroom eyes. “My dear, you and I both know that you’re far from innocent. I’ve made sure of that.”

I dig into my breakfast, and it’s just as good as it sounds. “Mmm. So is this your way of apologizing for last night?”

An emotion I can’t read flashes across his face, and he ignores my question. “There’s something we need to do today.”

I blink.”‘We?'”

“Yes, ‘we’. You’re not just a trophy wife, remember? I married you so I could take over the Gonzalez family.”

“Well, aren’t you romantic.”

“I never claimed to be. This is business, unfortunately.”

Okay. Business it is. I straighten up, putting my plate down on the coffee table. “All right. What are we doing?”

Alessio takes a deep breath. “I need to convince your father’s capos that I didn’t rat him out to the FBI.”

“And what does that entail?”

“My Uncle Sal arranged a meeting between me and the top Gonzalez captain. Are you familiar with Giovanni Lombardo?”

I wince. “Gio the Butcher? Yeah, I know him. Unfortunately.”

My husband chuckles. “Dominguez told me you’d have that reaction. I don’t think I’ve met him. What’s he like?”

“Well, you have to know his reputation.”

“I mean, I assume you don’t get called ‘the Butcher’ for nothing.”

That makes me snort. “I think even the other captains are afraid of him. My dad hates his guts. Only tolerates him because his crew brings in so much money.”

Alessio scratches the stubble on his jawline. “That makes sense. And it’s probably good for us. Sounds like he had moreof a working relationship with your dad than any actual loyalty. Shouldn’t be too hard to win him over.”

“I hope you’re right. My dad never wanted me to hear him talking about the business, but I know he bent over backwards keep that relationship friendly. I’m pretty sure Gio was the only man who ever really scared him.”

Maybe other than your grandfather, I think, not finishing the thought.

***

I’ve met Giovanni “the Butcher” Lombardo several times at weddings and the like, but I’ve never been to his home. I feel uneasy as Alessio’s henchman Dominguez drives us out to his estate in Beauford Hills, one of Bover City’s suburbs.

“This neighborhood is swanky,” Dominguez remarks, looking out the window at the impressive houses. “Guy almost lives like a boss. His is this one on the left.”

“What did my grandfather think of Gio Lombardo?” Alessio asks Dominguez as we pull up to the gate.

“Thought he was a mean bastard, from what I could tell. I remember him saying Anthony Gonzalez would find a way to keep him in check if he had any sense. Gio’s crew being so profitable and all.”

A big man in a designer tracksuit comes out and glances into the car, then waves us through the gate.

“Okay,” says Dominguez as we drive up to the house. “I’ll put ‘spending the night in Gio the Butcher’s mansion’ on the list of things I could have happily gone my whole life without doing.”

Same.

***

Giovanni Lombardo is attractive in that sleazy, rattish kind of way, with dark hair and absolutely dead eyes. He has two painful-looking scars on his left cheek that legend has it come from knife fighting in his youth, and his 40-something years haven’t done anything to soften the wiry strength of his frame.

He greets us at the door, looking me up and down in a fashion that isn’t quite subtle enough. “Alessio Razone,” he says, shaking my husband’s hand. “Your grandfather was a titan. I was deeply sorry to hear about his passing.”

“I appreciate that,” Alessio replies stoically.

“But even from tragic loss, good things can come. I see you have brought your lovely new wife to my home. Congratulations on your marriage.” He kisses my hand. “And your associate is?”

Dominguez holds out his hand. “Dominguez Gary.”

They shake, and Gio leads us to the living room. Another man is sitting on the one of the couches, wearing a jacket that clashes horribly with his patterned shirt. “This is Robert Costa, my second-in-command.”

Just as Gio did, Robert looks me up and down before shaking hands with Alessio and Dominguez.

Yuck.

We sit down. The room around us is lavish, the star feature being an enormous fish tank in the center containing what seem to be…

“Are those piranhas?” Dominguez asks, pointing.

Gio’s face lights up. “They are indeed! Red-bellied piranhas, specifically. Lovely little creatures.”

Alessio nods his head appreciatively. “Is keeping them dangerous?”

Our host leans forward. “Not at all! They actually don’t deserve their reputation. Would you believe all the stuff you’ve heard about them came from Teddy Roosevelt? He went to the Amazon, see, and the natives wanted to give him a show. So they starved a school of piranhas and fed them a cow, and sure enough, those piranhas stripped the flesh from the bone. But in nature, they would never go after something that big unless it was already dead. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

Gio stands up and walks over to the tank, which is about the size of a hot tub and as tall as his shoulders. Rolling up his sleeve, he reaches in through a window at the top and sticks his entire hand into the tank. The sharp-toothed fish swim around him, investigating, but not biting.

“I think the moral of the story,” says Gio, shaking the water off his hand and coming back to us, “is that dangerous things don’t need to be our enemies. We can live with them, if each party understands and respects the other. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I was just as broken up as I’m sure you were to hear about Anthony ‘s arrest,” says Alessio. “My own father-in-law and all. It’s been quite the shock. To both of us.”

My husband puts his hand over mine. I nod solemnly, playing the part.

Robert snorts. “And right after you came in line to take over the family, too. That’s mighty convenient. Nazio makes you his successor, he croaks it. Then you marry Gonzalez’s daughter, and old Anthony gets pinched by the feds. I’m not saying anything, obviously. Just, you gotta see how it looks. People are gonna have their concerns.”

“Hey,” Dominguez retorts sharply, “you better not be implying what I think you are.”

“Robert has the knack for saying things that are impolite,” chuckles Gio the Butcher, “but that everyone is thinking. Please do not hold it against him. As we all know, appearances matter.”

“People will have their opinions,” Alessio says evenly, “but I’m not worried about people. A smooth transfer of power means the cash keeps flowing. For everybody. If you back me publicly, the other Gonzalez captains will fall in line.”

Gio nods thoughtfully. “You’re right about that. I’m open to it. If the terms are right.”

“Okay, let’s talk numbers. I’m willing to match the arrangement you had with Gonzalez.”

My attention wanders. There’s something creepy about this living room that I can’t quite place. My eyes explore the ornaments on the coffee table, trying to figure out what exactly is encased in that clear block of resin…

I can’t help but recoil as I realize that embalmed in the transparent cube is a human jawbone, complete with teeth. Robert makes eye contact with me, noticing my reaction, and a cruel smile appears on his face. I avoid his gaze, my heart suddenly hammering.

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation after dinner?” our host suggests. “We have all night to talk business. Let’s enjoy some good food.”

***

It is good food. We sit outside on the patio, feasting on pesto pasta with fresh tomatoes along with lemon-herb chicken and roasted asparagus. After the catering staff clear our plates, we stay at the table drinking limoncello, taking in the night air.

It seems like the negotiation is going well. “I can see why your grandfather picked you,” says Gio. “You’ve got stones.”

Alessio’s face twitches, but he accepts the compliment. “And I can see why he respected the way you do business. What if we keep the same arrangement you had with Gonzalez, but we shave two points off. Hell, call it two and a half. That way for you, nothing changes. You just get to keep more money.”

The other man frowns, mulling it over. “Three and a half.”

Alessio pauses and makes brief eye contact with Dominguez. Then he holds out his hand. “Done.”

Gio’s scarred face breaks into a smile. “Then we should have champagne.”

“Lucky bastard, aren’t you?” says Robert. “The old man kicks the bucket just in time, and then you get to marry this piece of ass.” He leers at me. “What say you throw her my way for the night? I’d be happy to break her in for you.”

Alessio’s eyes flash, but he remains calm. Gio watches his reaction, and I swear there’s something smug in his eyes. Like he knows the deal they just made is too good for Alessio to make an issue of the disrespect.

“He’s going to keep pushing boundaries,” warns Dominguez, meeting with us in our guest bedroom when we retire after dinner. “The deal you made was smart, but he thinks he’s going to be able to walk all over you.”

I’m uneasy as I go to bed. Growing up as the daughter of Anthony Gonzalez, nobodyeverspoke to me like that. It would have been a death sentence. But Alessio just let it happen. All to secure his position within the family.

It’s an arrangement. Stop expecting him to care about you.

***

Robert doesn’t join us for breakfast. We eat on the patio again, this time a very American meal of eggs, bacon, and hash browns.

“I’m sure it’s just his stomach,” says our host, walking us back into the house. “It bothers him sometimes.” We’re on our way out now. The deal is done.

Gio, Dominguez, Alessio, and I pass through the living room, the first time we’ve entered it today. When my eyes land on the fish tank, I scream.

Floating in the piranha tank is a bloated corpse with half its skeleton picked clean. The water is red and cloudy as the fish swarm, devouring pieces of the flesh. Not much is left of the face, but what does remain makes its identity clear:

It’s Robert.

Gio the Butcher stares at it, seething. His face is pale, but I can see the calculations quickly being made behind his dead eyes.

“I agree with what you said yesterday,” says Alessio, taking my hand. “We can get along with dangerous creatures. If we show them the proper respect.”