His: Tony: The Sabatini Family by Fiona Murphy (mystery books to read .TXT) 📗

Carlo looks to me. He doesn’t like that. Tough, maybe now that he knows he’ll get over the resentment.

“Tony felt he couldn’t do right by the position and maybe he can’t. But Dom can and will. The thing is, until the moment he’s named underboss, I don’t want him to know. He’ll fight like hell against it. I know he likes being in his own corner away from the schmoozing of the alderman and senators and shit. I don’t care. Dom is what this family needs.”

Throwing back his drink, Carlo nods. “I understand. Dominic would be my pick too. I didn’t know about you picking Tony before me.” He shrugs. “I’m not unaware people didn’t think I would be up for the responsibility despite the fact I make good money and work hard. So what I don’t like to get dirty? Not everyone has a taste for blood.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to listen to any bitching about Dom. For now, you tell anyone who asks it’s Sal who you’re thinking of but leave it open.”

Carlo scoffs in disgust. “That little fucker. He’s a piece of shit. I can’t believe I gotta call him family. If he makes it still breathing in five years it will be a miracle.”

“I’ve heard. You want me to order him dead, say the word. I have no problem doing it. He beat the fuck out of a civilian in a public place. We don’t make waves. The little fucker is making waves on an almost weekly basis.” Johnny offers.

“I think about it daily. He’s my sister’s only child. If there were another, he’d be dead already. But if you ever feel the need to end him, I’m not going to argue with you.”

My phone goes off with a text. I check it. Interesting. I look up to find the sender of the text at the bar, anxiety clear in every line of her body. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.”

Laughing, Johnny raises his glass to me. “Tony Sabatini, always with the women.”

Ignoring Johnny, I approach the woman. Lisa is one of the women who lives in the building I own, a working girl who was a part of the stable of women before I came to run them. Running is a term used very loosely when it comes to me. However, I refuse to use the word pimp. Grace Evans came to me asking me to do business as a madam out of a building in my territory, almost seven years ago. I gave my permission without much thought and didn’t ask for a cut, even though most men would have. A few years ago, Grace retired and asked me to take over for her.

It wasn’t something I was interested in. While there were men in the Outfit who ran women, it was a rule we didn’t force women to work in the sex trade and we didn’t traffic women, ever. My grandfather didn’t want a Sabatini handling women, even more so than not touching drugs. At the same time, there were more than thirty women who would be left without protection. Too many for my conscious to allow, so I accepted the responsibility.

Lisa is a woman who has been unremarkable in her time and my interactions with her. She isn’t into kink, has several regulars, keeps her nose clean, is without drama, and always pays on time. I appreciate all of that and make sure she knows it. She’s offered to service me many times whenever I like. I haven’t taken her up on the offer.

While a beautiful woman, Lisa has had too much work done to appeal. I loathe fake breasts. Her face is filled with so many things, it doesn’t move on its own much. Tonight it’s as animated as I’ve ever seen it, which means there is definitely a problem.

“I’m sorry, Tony. I hate to bother you but I have got to talk to you.”

I nod, “Follow me.” The door to the back of the club that leads to Dominic’s office, and the stairs up to his apartment, is always covered by an employee. I nod to the man; he unlocks the door for me. Pulling out my keys, I make use of Dominic’s office for the first time in years without him here. Once again, I’m wondering where he is.

Flicking on the lights, I motion to a chair in the seating area off to the side of his desk and sit down in front of her. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about the best friend I had in the world when I was growing. Her name is Christy Teller. She’s planning on killing you.” She starts crying.

“And?”

Lisa’s eyes go wide.

I shrug. “It’s fine. She’s not the first woman to want me dead. Why don’t you tell me what you know and I’ll take care of it.”

Her hands twist together. “You can’t kill her Tony. I know that’s what you’re thinking you should do, but you can’t. She’s mixed up in the head. Her mother fucked her up. All her life, Christy’s mom, Alana, has treated her like shit. Even on her death bed, she was still doing it. Alana was with Michael Corsia’s father, Danny, for like three years before Michael—you know, and you killed him. Danny committed suicide a week after you killed Michael.”

I’d heard about Danny. The man wasn’t on my radar at the time, but the papers made it into something, flashing the story of my son’s death and upcoming trial.

“Alana blamed you for Danny. For some crazy reason she got it in her head her life was shit because of Danny dying. It wasn’t true, her life was always shit. And it was usually Christy’s fault. At least that’s what she’d tell Christy. She beat Christy for everything that went wrong; if Alana overslept, if it was a Monday. Alana made Christy’s life a living hell before she even met Danny. After Danny died, it got way worse though.”

I hand her a handkerchief. She starts crying even