The Mafia’s Obsession

Ayla

When I wake up the next morning, I’m still feeling the warm glow from the night before. Losing my V-card was better than I expected. A lot better. I’m filled with a surprising amount of affection for the man who took it.

I turn over, looking for Alessio to cuddle him, but he’s not in bed. Disappointed, I pick myself up, still naked, and throw on a big T-shirt. I leave the bedroom, wondering what we’ll eat for breakfast.

Instead, he’s already dressed.

“Do you want to order breakfast?” I ask. “Or we could check out the restaurant downstairs. I think I saw a blackberry French toast on the menu that looked amazing.”

Alessio doesn’t look at me. “Choose whatever you want. I have to go.”

My face falls. “Go? We got married yesterday.”

“And I have not one, but two criminal organizations to run.”

“I thought marrying me was supposed to solve that problem.”

“Marrying you makes the problem solvable. It doesn’t solve it by itself.”

“So stay and talk with me about it. Maybe I can help.”

“Well, let’s see. Every captain from the Razone family except Sal hates me, and probably wouldn’t mind if I died. Meanwhile, the Gonzalez family literally just tried to kill me, and murdered my grandfather.”

His tone is sharp, and it fills me with dismay. Last night, somehow, I actually felt some hope for us. Some warmth. Some connections.

Now, it feels like all of that has evaporated.

“Come on,” I say, stepping closer, “it’s the first day of our marriage. We can have breakfast together, at least.”

But emotionally, he recoils from that suggestion like I threatened him with a gun. I can see it written all over his face. “It’s the first day of our arranged marriage,” he corrects me, turning to the door.

I try to hold back the tears welling up in my eyes. “So that’s all this is? An arrangement? Nothing else?”

Alessio looks back only for a moment before he leaves. “Yes. It’s an arrangement. I don’t know why you thought it was anything more than that.”

He shuts the door, and I break down.

Alessio

Fuck! I clench my fist, almost wishing I was stupid enough to punch the wall. It would be satisfying, at least, but not worth the broken knuckles.

I hate how I just treated her. I watched the whole thing happen like a movie, an awful car crash I wanted desperately to stop.

But I couldn’t. I never can. Every time I start to get close to someone, it goes like this.

Maybe I’m just broken. Maybe the day I got pulled out of class and told on a crackly phone call in the principal’s office that both my parents had been murdered in a car bombing, something just broke inside me and I’ll never be able to fix it.

A part of me died that day. And that’s why when Grandpa Nazio was killed, I couldn’t die again. I’ve been through so much pain, there’s no space left for it. Just anger and clarity of purpose.

I don’t feel pain like that anymore. Not since I stopped letting people in. Now I have my armor up at all times, and it keeps me safe.

It also makes me do bullshit like what I just put Ayla through. Every. Fucking. Time. Which is exactly why I never wanted to get married.

Pulling out my cell phone, I call Dominguez, who is still guarding Anthony Gonzalez and his wife at their house. He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, man, congrats. Sorry I couldn’t be at the wedding.”

I ignore the marriage talk. “I’m coming to you. It’s time for Anthony and me to have another chat.”

When I pull up at the Gonzalez estate, however, I can tell immediately that something is wrong. The gate is open, and aline of black SUVs fills the driveway. One look tells me these vehicles aren’t from the Razone family, or the Gonzalez family, either.

These are feds.

I swing a U-turn, going right back the way I came, and pull over on the side of the road. I stay there, watching the driveway from my rearview mirror. No commotion so far. What is going on?

After about 20 minutes, Dominguez calls me. “Shit, I’m assuming you saw? Sorry I couldn’t call you earlier. Had my hands full.”

“Yeah, it looked like it. FBI?”

“You guessed it. Lot of agents, too. It was a big ol’ party.”

“I assume from the fact that we’re talking on the phone that you weren’t arrested?”

“They were only there for Anthony . Had a warrant for his arrest and everything. They asked me about my pistol, but I’m a legal gun owner so they had to let me go. I’m leaving now.”

“Good. Meet me at Sal’s joint and we’ll talk.”

***

Sal runs a strip club, which mostly serves as a money laundering operation. I don’t particularly like coming here, but it’s a convenient place to meet up in familiar territory. Sal is counting money in the back when I arrive.

“How’s it going, kid?” he asks, looking up. “Enjoy your wedding night?”

“Feds just hit Anthony Gonzalez,” I say, ignoring his question. “He’s in custody. We need to tighten things up.”

Dominguez bursts in, out of breath. “I just got here. You already explain to Sal?”

Sal nods. “I’ll tell my guys to run an even tighter ship than usual. Last thing we need is someone ending up in the can.”

I nod. “Good.”

“You know,” says Dominguez, “Now that I think about it, I’m not entirely sure this doesn’t help us. Getting loyalty from the Gonzalez captains should be a lot easier with the boss out of the way.”

I sigh. “I’m not even sure I have loyalty from the Razone captains. You saw them at my ceremony.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Sal reassures me. “They can grumble, but they’re already coming around. Come on, this is a good thing. The Gonzalez boys will fall in line now that Anthony isn’t a factor.”

“Unless they think I’m the one who set him up,” I reply darkly. “They won’t support a rat.”

“That’s true,” Sal agrees. “But they’ve had quite the profitable operation under Anthony . Nobody really wants to rock the boat. Convince them you’re not a rat and that you’ll keep the cash flowing, and they’ll back you. Every one of ’em.”

“You’re married to the daughter,” says Dominguez. “That’s going to count for a lot. Why don’t you meet with some of the captains. You know, show off your happy marriage, hit them with a little charm offensive.”

Fucking great.

Reluctantly, I nod. “You’re right. I’ll do that. Sal, who would you recommend I meet with first?”

“Giovanni Lombardo. He’s their highest earner. Nobody will dare go against you if you have his support.”

Dominguez snorts. “Gio the Butcher? Oh, have fun with that. Your wife is going to love him.”