Page 28 of Married with Mayhem

27

MONTE

M y phone is gone and my fucking pants are wet.

At least this camping trip from hell is almost over. We’re on our way back to Storm’s Eye, towing along three of the escaped cattle. So I guess I was wrong about the mission being a ruse. But I’m not wrong in saying that Getty Tempesta deserves the Asshole of the Year award.

Yesterday morning I began scouring the creek for my phone at the first hint of dawn. Maybe I was out of my mind thinking it could be salvaged after hanging out in murky water for an extended period of time but there’s no harm in hoping for a miracle.

Fort was the only one who helped me search and we didn’t get to look for very long before Julian started barking that it was time to go. The second night of camping out was less eventful than the first, mostly because I didn’t give any of them a chance to fuck with me. With my ass sore from sitting in the saddle all day and my temper high, I didn’t speak to the four bastards at all. This morning we found the three bulls wandering around in a meadow. They were all grumpy but Fort and Julian got them under control and tied up in no time.

On the way back, we passed right by the spot where Getty tossed my phone in the creek and I couldn’t resist jumping out of the saddle for another look in the water. No luck. But Getty cackled like a maniac when I waded right in up to my knees had to finish the rest of the ride with wet jeans.

Now, as we clear the last tree line and get a look at the valley, the first thing I can spot in the distance is the black helicopter squatting in an empty field beyond the main house. This probably means my uncle is home.

If I felt like speaking to any of my cousins then I’d ask them. Instead, I just slow walk the horse the rest of the way in silence.

When we get close, a trio of dusty, cowboy-hatted ranch hands trot over to take custody of the cattle. Fort jerks his head at me and points to the stable. I follow him with no objection.

With my uncle back, I’m hoping to be on the road within the next few hours. My sleep for the last two nights was shit and I’m tired as hell but I won’t stay here a minute longer than necessary.

After jumping down, I grab a couple of carrots from a burlap bag hanging on a wall hook inside the stable and offer them to the horse. She gobbles them up and I run my hand gently down her neck as a gesture of thanks for not throwing me off.

Still, it’ll be a while before I’m willing to get back on a horse. The last few days have given me more than enough time in the saddle.

Fort watches me closely and then takes the reins. “You better go. He’ll be waiting for you.”

Sure enough, Cassio Tempesta stands outside the house looking like an evil version of Johnny Cash, dressed head to toe in black, from his button down shirt to his boots. He’s my father’s age, but unlike my dad there’s hardly a hint of grey in his helmet of black hair. His sons all inherited his formidable build and it’s fair to say that there’s no sign of my gentle aunt in any of them. All four are their father’s sons, Tempesta replicas. The only variable between my cousins is which piece of their fearsome father’s personality won out.

Fifty yards away, he’s listening with his head cocked to whatever Julian is telling him. I just left Fort behind in the stables and there’s no sign of Tye and Getty, not that I miss them.

I see more staff hanging around than what I remember. A few are rough and tumble ranch hand types. The rest are the sort of grim wise guys I’ve been looking at all my life. As Cass grows more powerful, more minions are required to do the legwork.

There’s no doubt the Tempestas are reaping the benefits of the New York families falling into disarray after last year’s war. The power vacuum back east resulted in the loss of whatever foothold New York had in the west. When the Amato and Barone empires went up in smoke, the Tempestas moved right in to shovel up the scraps. From what I hear, these days no one so much as hosts a card game west of Chicago without Cass Tempesta’s blessing.

Cass’s lips move and Julian quits speaking. He turns around and waits in cold silence beside his father. I’m expected to go to them and I see no point in dragging out the inevitable.

My uncle’s smile is chilly but he opens his arms and kisses each of my cheeks in the old fashioned way. “My nephew. You’ve been gone for way too long. We’ll make up for lost time.” His calculating eyes sweep over me and note my wet jeans. “What happened?”

“Fell in the creek,” I say. “I’m fine.”

Julian catches my eye and smirks. I doubt Cass would be bothered about Getty’s shitty behavior and even if he was, the old tattletale codes die hard. I’ll deal with Getty myself.

Cass isn’t interested anyway. He’s already starting to walk away. “You boys go get cleaned up. After two solid days on the trail you could stand to be hosed off. Then we’ll have dinner.”

His heavy boots thud on the steps leading to the front door and he disappears without looking back, leaving me alone with Julian.

“Carmela set up your old room,” Julian says. “You remember where it is, right?” He starts to follow in his father’s footsteps up the stairs. “I hear tortellini alfredo is on the menu for dinner.”

The pair of wide iron doors to the house are already wide open. My cousin stops at the threshold and glances over his shoulder. “You better move, Monte. Get cleaned up and try to look halfway decent before showing up in the dining room.”

It won’t get me anywhere to complain that I don’t want to hang out and eat fucking tortellini. What I want is to get this meeting finished and burn rubber right the hell out of here.

More than anything, I want to get back to Sabrina. I need to get back to her. Every hour I’m away from her digs a deeper pit of torment through my soul. I can’t even call her. She must be worried by now.

It’s a shame that no one around here is especially concerned with what I want. At least a shower doesn’t sound half bad so I might as well follow orders and get on with it.

The interior of the house is outfitted in dark country vibes, like a log cabin mated with a vampire lair. Every room is always cool in the summer. As a kid, I’d forget just how massive and cavernous the mansion was until I stepped back inside. Nico and I would joke that the entire first floor of our house would easily fit into the Tempestas’ foyer.

I’m still standing just inside the entrance, temporarily stuck on old memories, when Carmela, the Tempestas’ devoted housekeeper, shuffles this way while holding a pair of tall silver candlesticks. She’s got to be in her late seventies now and moves a lot more slowly than she used to but she acknowledges me with a smile. “Dinner will be ready in an hour. Oh, your brother called the main house line while you boys were gone.”

“Nico called? What did he say?”

“He just wanted to know when you’d return. It sure would have been nice if he’d come with you for the visit.”

“I’ll call him back right now. Where’s the phone? I lost mine.”

She examines one of the candlesticks and frowns. “These things get tarnished so easily. I’ll have to polish them again.” She turns around and starts walking rapidly in the other direction.

That may or may not be weird. She’s harmless but she’s fanatically loyal to the Tempestas.

The house has something like fifteen bedrooms but during my stays here I always slept in the same room. I’m struck with some unpleasant déjà vu as I jog up the broad staircase and seek out the third bedroom on the right.

My duffel bag is already sitting in the middle of the bed. There should be a sense of comfortable familiarity with being in this room where I slept so often. Instead, it just feels eerie.

Dragging my bag into the attached bathroom, I’m not surprised to discover it’s already stocked with soap and towels. Hospitality, at least on the surface, is a feature here at Storm’s Eye. You might get jumped and bloodied to within an inch of your life but at least you had a nice towel to dry off with after your morning shower.

Following a quick date with soap and water, I’m rummaging through my bag when I think of Julian’s warning to ‘look halfway decent’. Uncle Cass is a stickler for formality at dinner time. Too bad. All I have are jeans and t-shirts.

As I exit the guest room, I still haven’t seen a soul since Carmela ran away with her tarnished candlesticks. Now that the inevitable meeting with my uncle is finally here, I’m torn between feeling impatient and feeling wary. I’ll need to keep a lid on my sarcasm and remember who I’m dealing with.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs I can hear a low rumble of voices. Pausing to listen, I would guess the voices are coming from the direction of the dining room located to my left in the east wing of the house. A whoop of laughter rises above the din and my jaw clenches. I can recognize Getty’s spiteful cackle anywhere.

I’m intensely aware there are security cameras in every room. Most are hidden. I’m sure at least one is pointed at me right now.

Still, since no one has yet tracked me down and hauled me to dinner, I’m going to take advantage of this temporary freedom to search for the phone. Carmela said Nico called the house so this means there’s still a landline connection around here somewhere. I don’t expect privacy in any call I make from this house but at least I can give Nico a heads up that I’m alive and unscathed and he can relay the news to Sabrina.

Even the most fleeting thought of her name makes my chest tighten like nothing else. I’m desperate to get back to her. Once I successfully appease my uncle with this lame ass family dinner, maybe I’ll be out of here before dark. This means I’ll reach Sleepy Rock in the middle of the night but I don’t want to wait.

There’s no phone in the immediate area and none to be found in the next three rooms I stick my head into. The most logical place would probably be my uncle’s office. If I’m caught poking around in there it might cause a problem but I’ve already got problems so I’m doing it anyway.

My Aunt Teresa smiles down at me from the wall while I search her husband’s desk. My uncle used to talk to her portrait sometimes. I’ve heard him.

“What are you looking for, cuz?”

Julian is standing in the doorway. Right behind him is Tye. They don’t appear particularly friendly at the moment.

I’ve frozen in place behind the desk but I see no reason to lie. “Searching for the landline. I need to make a call.”

Julian leans against the door frame and sizes me up. “There’s no phone in here.”

I’m sick of these games. “Look, I need a phone. Your dickhead brother threw mine in the creek so can I borrow yours?”

Julian shakes his head. “No phones allowed at dinner. That’s always been a rule.”

“Yeah, Monte,” Tye says. The idiot is grinning like he’s watching five star entertainment. “How could you forget?”

“And you’re late,” Julian says. “Dinner’s ready and Dad’s waiting.”

How the fuck could I be late when no one told me when to show up?

Julian blocks my path when I try to leave the room. Tye cracks his knuckles.

“You didn’t pay your respects,” says Julian before angrily shoving my chest.

This must be how it feels to get trapped by a cult.

I raise my eyes to Aunt Teresa’s portrait and silently tell her that I’m sorry her sons grew up to be fucking lunatics. I make the sign of the cross because my cousins will throw a fit if I don’t.

Julian walks in front of me and Tye walks behind me on the trek to the dining room. The massive rectangular table could easily seat twenty people but tonight it’s only set for the family. And me. My uncle waits at the head of the table. Getty and Fort sit on his left. Julian and Tye take their seats on his right.

When I start to pull out a random chair, my uncle stops me.

“Monte, you’ve got the seat of honor down there.” He motions to the chair all the way at the other end.

When I get there, I notice the table has been pushed close enough to the wall that I have some trouble getting squeezed in. Also, the chair is at least eight inches shorter than the rest of the chairs, making it look like I’m either very short or sitting in a hole. Petty as hell but I say nothing and spread a white linen napkin over my lap.

I’d definitely win the prize for the worst dressed member of the table. My faded black tee and old jeans look awful shabby at a table full of neatly pressed trousers and carefully tucked button down shirts.

Cass snaps his fingers and half a dozen men walk in, all of them carrying food.

You truly don’t know the meaning of the word ‘surreal’ until you’re offered a breadbasket by an overdressed, heavily armed mobster who hoarsely asks if you’d like a saucer of olive oil to enhance your meal.

The second all the plates have been delivered and the wine has been poured, our waiters depart after a hard glare from Cass.

Then he focuses on me with a cold smile. “We’re all so glad you’re back here at the ranch, Monte.”

As if I had a damn choice.

But that’s the sort of thing I’ll have to avoid saying if I want to keep this short and remain healthy.

“Thanks for inviting me,” I say. No sarcasm there at all.

Cass nods and with a cutting motion of his right hand, signals his permission to eat.

While the Tempesta boys are often about as polite as wild boars, they have aristocratic table manners. Nico and I, used to jamming double slices of pizza in our mouths on the run, used to nervously copy them at dinner. Keeping my elbows off the table sure isn’t a problem right now since I’m basically sitting in a kiddie chair.

Cass sips his goblet of red wine and sets it down. “How’s your dad, Monte?”

I drag a slice of crusty bread through olive oil and pesto seasoning. “He’s doing good.”

“What a blast from the past, seeing your grandfather’s Impala sitting out front. You must put some work into keeping it running.”

“Yeah, but it’s worth the effort.”

“I’ll bet it is,” he says.

My cousins all chew their food in silence and occasionally shoot me glances that I cannot read. No one has said or done anything rude since I sat down and yet I’m seasoned enough to detect a palpable hostility hanging in the air. The large round lighting fixture hanging from the high ceiling is fitted with the type of lights that flicker on and off like candles.

Cass lets a quiet minute go by. The only sound in the room is the scrape of utensils on plates. It’s unnerving and I’m sure it’s supposed to be.

My uncle forks a bite of tortellini and leans back in his chair. I have the uneasy feeling the conversation is about to turn more serious.

“You were visiting friends in Colorado, isn’t that right?” he says.

“Yup. Remind me again how that came to your attention.”

He shrugs. “Can’t remember. What are the Connelly brothers up to? Aren’t they the friends you were visiting?”

I don’t feel like confirming what he already knows. He’s inching toward the real reason I’m here.

“Anyway,” he says after another sip of wine, “it’s funny to think how they were supposed to be the heirs to their uncle’s New York throne. And now the whole Amato family is gone, just like that.”

There’s nothing funny about any of it. He’s not really waiting for me to say anything so I don’t.

“The Barone family too,” Cass says and shakes his head with phony sadness. “Vittorio Messina has stepped in to handle a lot of Barone’s business on behalf of his widow but that must be tough to do from the other side of the world. I seem to remember that Luca Connelly’s wife is one of the Barone girls. Or do I have it wrong?”

I stare back at him stonily, giving him nothing, although my pulse is rapidly speeding up.

Cass Tempesta’s mouth stretches into a slow, malicious smile. “Speaking of wives, we’re all wondering why you didn’t bring your own wife with you. Wasn’t Sabrina interested in meeting your family?”

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

All movement at the table has come to a halt. Five pairs of eyes fasten on me and await my next move. I’m unable to think of a response that won’t make the situation worse. Denial is pointless. A snide remark is an escalation.

“I saw photos of her,” my uncle says and lets out a low whistle. “Quite a looker, that girl. I can imagine how my boys would have clawed each other to pieces while competing for the chance to roll around with a body like that every night.” He grins. “But you managed to catch her first so hats off to you. I’m sure you’re getting a lot of use out of your prize.”

If I move, if I breathe, I’ll dive all the way to the other side of the table and grab him by the throat. There’s little doubt this act would make Sabrina a widow.

“You should see your face,” he says, chuckling. “I’m just over here feeling hurt because I didn’t receive a wedding invitation.”

They knew.

They knew all along.

They’re jungle cats teasing their prey.

This whole visit is one big fat fucking farce.

There’s no doubt Cass Tempesta had his eye on Sabrina because he sees her as a means to grab some New York territory and align with Vittorio Messina. The thought of Sabrina in the midst of this pack of animals for even a minute turns my blood to ice.

Getty snickers as I sit here raging. The rest of them wait to see if I’ll dare to take them on.

“You stay away from her,” I say. “All of you.”

More laughter erupts. Everyone joins in except Fort, who has lost interest and begins eating again.

“Easy now,” Cass says, still chuckling. “We just wanted to wish you and your pretty bride every happiness. Raise a glass, boys. To Monte and Sabrina.”

“To Monte and Sabrina,” they chant in obnoxious unison, still messing with me.

I’m not stupid enough to believe that’s the end of the drama.

And of course it’s not.

“Now on to some unfortunate business,” Cass says. “I think it makes sense to deal with everything at once, don’t you?”

I cross my arms, scowling, tired of them, ready to run out of here, jump in the Impala and crash through the ranch gates on my way out. “Whatever you say.”

He points his fork at me. “There’s still the matter of your grandfather’s outstanding loan. Now that he’s gone, bless his soul, it’s time to reckon all old accounts. To be honest, I have no use for a pizzeria but I’m really tired of carrying the debt on my books so we need to find a different solution.”

During his speech I started tensing up, thinking he’d demand ownership of Gino’s. But no, this has all the hallmarks of a simple humiliation ritual. He intends to extract something meaningful but not ruinous.

The bottom line is he’s pissed that his plans for turning Sabrina into a Tempesta bride were thwarted but doesn’t want to risk anything drastic enough to offend Vittorio Messina.

If that’s the way it has to be then I’ll pay a price, as long as Sabrina is kept out of the fight.

“Why don’t you just tell me what the hell you want?” I say.

He acts like he’s carefully considering the question. “I’m pretty sure your car will cover the balance.”

The car. Yeah, I should have seen that coming. My car is far more than a car. There’s a ton of sentimental value attached. My grandfather was so proud to hand the keys over to me and made me promise to take care of it.

If Gino is watching somehow, I hope he can forgive what I’m about to do. Digging the keys out of my back pocket, I swiftly remove two from the keychain and I toss them both on the table.

“Done. Are we square now?”

For the first time, there’s a crack in their united armor. Julian’s head turns to give his father a skeptical frown.

“Maybe,” my uncle says and sprinkles some grated cheese over his tortellini. “You can fly out in the morning, Monte. You shouldn’t be neglecting that cute little bride of yours any longer. For tonight, eat up and relax. There’s tiramisu for dessert.”

How was I ever dumb enough to look up to this psycho?

The rest of them dig into their plates with enthusiasm but my appetite has gone missing. I pick at my food with silent frustration and wait for dinner to be over so I can continue my quest to find a phone. It’s clear that no one will help me locate the landline extension so I’ll have to think of something else.

Twilight is settling when I walk out into the yard. My car has already been moved. Just as well. Seeing it one last time would only have hurt.

A squad of mafia subordinates eyeball me with suspicion. I ignore them and keep walking toward the horse stables where I’m hoping to find the one Tempesta who might have a heart.

Fort is there, brushing down the sorrel he’d been riding. He looks up at the sound of my footsteps. “The staff here is worthless,” he says, shaking his head with disgust. “Can’t even rub down a horse properly.”

“That’s terrible,” I say. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Fort doesn’t answer right away. He keeps brushing the horse for a few more strokes before sighing and pulling his phone out of his pocket. He opens the screen and hands it over. “You should probably make it quick if you don’t want to cause trouble.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t want to risk giving any of them direct access to Sabrina. And Luca doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this when he’s doing his best to keep his family away from the mafia. Nico is the only one I can call.

My brother answers right away, his “Hello” sounding cautious and perplexed at the unfamiliar number.

“It’s me,” I say. “Lost my phone and I’ll need to make this short.”

“Finally! What the fuck happened?”

“Never mind. I’ll get you caught up when I’m out of here. For now I need you to call Sabrina and tell her everything is fine and I’ll be on my way back to her tomorrow.”

“She’s here,” he says.

“Where? New York?”

“Yeah, she flew out the other day and she’s staying with Daisy. She’s worried like crazy, Monte. She was making plans to fly out there to find out what the hell is going on.”

“Don’t let her. I’m coming home to her. Tell her that right away.”

“I will,” he promises, then pauses. “I take it you can’t talk right now?”

“Not really.” I look at Fort and can’t tell if he’s listening or not. “Nico, please tell her that I love her.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful, big brother.”

Fort says nothing when I hand his phone back. He simply pushes it into his pocket and continues his chores.

“Can I help you with the horses?” I ask because I’ve got nothing else to do and quite a few hours to kill.

“Sure,” he says and finally looks directly at me. “Grab a brush.”