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MONTE

T here’s never a shortage of people pissing and moaning about ‘summer in the city’ but I’ll always pick this place no matter the season. After spending a week in the soupy humidity of central Florida, a heave wave in Manhattan doesn’t feel half bad.

However, living two floors above the family business can be inconvenient at times. My father notices everything. This time I was lucky enough to hustle upstairs and get cleaned up before facing the judgement of Salvatore Castelli. My dad’s frown of disappointment can be more powerful than a bomb.

I still look like I’ve been through some shit. And I have been through some shit. But after showering and holding a bag of frozen peas to my swollen cheek for twenty minutes I’m borderline presentable.

Many of these old tenement buildings have been gutted on the inside and remodeled but this one probably looks about the same as it looked in the year 1920. The stairwell is dim, grimy and narrow. And there’s new artwork. Some asshole spray painted the words FUCK ME CANDY in three-foot-tall dripping white letters at the top of the landing. All that’s missing is a horror movie soundtrack as I jog down the steps.

The sense that I’m deep in a cave disappears when I push open the door that leads straight out to Orchard Street. I’m greeted by a blast of sunlight, a flurry of honking horns, and some old guy wearing only a filthy loincloth while screeching the lyrics of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star at passing traffic.

God, I fucking love New York.

The Lower East Side may not be the most trendy corner of the city but it’s my favorite. Just a short walk away from here is the fabled Little Italy, which has shrunk over the years but still exists.

The lore of this neighborhood is built into my soul. The street I’m walking on might look ordinary now, but at the dawn of the twentieth century it was smack in the middle of the most densely populated square mile on earth.

Though my home address as a kid was a small three bedroom house in a scrappy Queens neighborhood, I feel as if I grew up here instead. The building where my family has owned a pizzeria for three generations will forever be my home base. Gino’s Pizzeria is best known for its hefty calzones and outstanding thin crust pies. The place has scraped by through the decades and is now regarded as a neighborhood landmark.

Only a few people are aware of the more shadowy customer base that comes here for other reasons. The basement mafia card games are a long tradition. One of my earliest memories is seeing a guy take a blade to the throat two seconds after being accused of stuffing an Ace up his sleeve. The blood gushed everywhere and he was dragged outside in a hurry. Nobody ever talked about it again. If I were to mention the incident to my father, he’d say the whole thing never happened.

But it did happen. I watched my dad help my grandfather mop up the blood with dishtowels and then burn the evidence in a can in the back alley.

As for the guy, a low tier associate from one of the New Jersey families, he lived. He just never talked again thanks to the throat slash and had to carry a pencil and spiral notepad everywhere.

“Hey, Monte. How ya doin’?”

The man who steps into my path balances two pizza boxes on one meaty palm. A trio of foil-wrapped heroes sits on top. His broad face breaks into a grin and I have no choice but to stop for a chat.

“Trying to keep cool, how about you?” I say to Chris Gianni as he thumps my back with his free hand.

“No complaints. I was in the neighborhood and never pass up an excuse to grab your dad’s food.” He jerks his chin at me. “The word is you’ll be coming up in the world any day now.”

“Is that right?” It’s a chore to keep my face from showing what I think, which is that I’d rather lose an eyeball than get shackled to any of the upstart idiots who have spent the last year clawing at each other for a chance at the New York mafia crown.

Gianni’s shrewd black eyes glitter. “And well deserved. You’re earning quite a name. You’ll be a captain in no time.”

“Nice to hear but I’m not too good to pay my dues.”

He nods with approval. “Your Uncle Vinny was the same way, rest his soul.”

“Yup.” I’m trying not to clench my teeth. The adrenaline still hasn’t worn off after the Florida job and the less said right now, the better.

Gianni leans in close enough to share his garlic breath. “And I’m just saying, if you’re ever unhappy under Silvio’s banner, give me a call. In my crew, you’d be a made man tomorrow.”

I don’t have much interest in becoming a permanent member of either one of their crews. After last year’s war hollowed out the high level ranks of New York’s two largest mafia families, there’s been competition to regroup and take the reins. Once faithful captains of the Amato family, Gianni and Silvio are scheming to be big bosses. The last thing I want is to get in the middle of their fucking tug of war.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.

I won’t. For now, my options will stay open.

Gianni winks. “See ya, kid.” He waddles off with his tower of food.

I watch him disappear around the corner before turning back to Gino’s.

The orange neon ‘PIZZA’ sign blinks in the window. The narrow red brick building is sandwiched between two other buildings with a deli on the left and a locksmith on the right. It’s not unusual to see a line out the door but this is a weekday in the lull between lunch and dinner so customer traffic is light.

Sal Castelli is behind the counter when I walk in. My father appraises me with a raised eyebrow, throws a white towel over his shoulder and comes around to crush me in a bear hug.

“Didn’t know you were back,” he says and pulls away to take a more critical look at the bruises on my face. “Looks like you’ve been up to no good.”

“Never,” I say. “And I just rolled over the bridge an hour ago.”

“Care to explain the shiner?”

I shrug. “Collided with a foul ball while I was sitting behind the dugout at a minor league game.”

No lies detected. That did happen. It happened three years ago but it did happen.

My dad crosses his beefy arms and sizes me up. “So how was Florida?”

“Hot.”

And that’s all I’m going to say about the job I did in Tampa. I got what I wanted out of it and I cleaned up the mess. No one around here needs to know more.

He snorts and gestures to the cluster of tables. “Guess you and your brother made a pact to keep me in the dark.”

Nico’s sitting down at a table with a couple of girls. I recognize them both. We all went to high school together. They are cackling their silly faces off but my brother ignores them. He intently listens to the exchange I’m having with our father.

There is no pact. While my brother knows more about me than anyone else, he’s still my kid brother. When I need to bypass his questions to protect him, then that’s what I do, whether he likes it or not.

But my dad doesn’t expect an answer to his remark and his attention has already moved on.

“Can you believe this shit?” He flails an arm at the mounted screen in the corner where some pale dude in a blue suit is giving a somber address over a dire red and white headline.

“GLOBAL AIR TRAVEL AT A STANDSTILL, MULTIPLE BANKS AFFECTED BY CYBERATTACK…”

The news alert popped up on my phone while I was still driving through northern Jersey but I didn’t pay much attention. As I take a closer look, this whole cyberattack thing appears to be a really big deal. Good thing I drove back from Florida. There must be a lot of poor suckers sitting in airports right now and wringing their hands.

“How’d this happen?” I ask, partly because I’m glad the conversation has shifted.

My dad shrugs. “Who cares? Probably some teenage hacker with a laptop and a lot of time on his hands. The world is too damn plugged in now. Makes it easier to wreak havoc.” He shakes his head and turns away from the screen. “Listen, I need to take a drive to Bay Ridge to pick up a supply order. Got a good deal on some Locatelli pecorino and I want to save the delivery fee.”

“I don’t mind making the trip for you.”

“Nah, I need to get away from the oven for an hour.” He tosses the towel on the counter and points to the man assembling a stack of pizza boxes. “You’re in charge, Stevie.”

“Take your time, boss,” says the man who has worked for my father for ages. A pepperoni pie is handed over from the kitchen and Stevie starts slicing it up.

“Will you still be here later?” my dad asks me as he yanks off his red apron.

“Yeah, I’ll be around.”

He grins. “Good. Eat a meal, would ya? The Florida food must be shit. You look skinny.”

That’s hilarious.

And he’s been using that same line since I was a kid.

Nowadays I’m as solid as an ox. All the hours I spend in the weight room isn’t just for vanity. People fuck with you less and obey more if you look like you can crush bones into powder with one hand. A handy asset in my line of work.

The first notes of Steely Dan’s Do It Again kick on as the door swings closed. The soundtrack of Gino’s vintage jukebox hasn’t changed since my grandfather’s day. At this point it feels like a sacrilege to make a change, especially since my grandfather’s emphysema got the best of him two years ago.

Stevie Mancini, who started working here as a teenager, then served three years at Rikers for dealing and has since kept a vow to stay straight, gives me a friendly nod as he adds the pepperoni pie to the display case running the length of the counter.

“What’ll you have, Monte? The kitchen has got some calzones cooking if you want to wait five minutes. Sausage and peppers.”

“Thanks, maybe later,” I say as I help myself to a beer from the fridge.

Standing behind the counter at Gino’s is as familiar as standing in my own bedroom. I was working here every summer and vacation before it was legal for me to work anywhere.

Since I’ve got the fridge open, I grab a cannoli to go with my beer. Over at Nico’s table, more laughter breaks out. The girl sitting beside him is a cute redhead named Livy. She was a couple of years younger, in Nico’s class, and I never knew her well. She brushes his forearm with her tits and then slides a hand through his hair.

There’s nothing unusual about seeing my brother getting slobbered on. Girls have always worshiped Nico. Almost as much as they worship me.

The other girl is a lot more familiar, although she’s become a bottled blonde since I saw her last. Rochelle Rossi graduated the same year I did and was always an attention-seeking pain in the ass. Once she cornered me under the bleachers after a football game and insisted on dropping down to her knees for a sloppy blow job. I was drunk out of my mind and barely remember it.

Last I heard, she’s with Derek Bianco and I’ve hated that fucker since he ratted me out back in middle school for breaking into the gymnasium on Halloween night. I don’t always hold a grudge but when I do it’s against two-faced weasels. Since then, he’s always hanging around the sidelines of the underground gambling scene and trying to steal everyone else’s business. It wouldn’t bother me to get a little revenge by bending his girl over a table.

Rochelle quits laughing and sits up straighter while giving me the eye. I’ll get to that in a minute.

First, I polish off the cannoli while my eyes linger on the framed photos nailed to the wall. My dad calls it the Memory Wall. His father called it that first, long before he earned a place of honor there.

In the center photo, my grandfather smiles from a faded scene that probably happened when the song playing on the jukebox was brand new. His wife sits beside him. I never knew my grandmother. She died of cancer when my dad was in high school. The two of them are young in the photo. They’re holding hands. They look happy.

I raise my beer as a toast of appreciation to my grandparents and slide my gaze over to Vinny Tello’s picture. Uncle Vinny is scowling, like maybe the photographer surprised him when he wasn’t expecting it. The air looks smoky and Vinny’s gold-ringed fingers clutch a hand of cards.

Uncle Vinny and my dad used to be the best of friends. They married two sisters and remained tight through the years while Vinny rose in the ranks of the Amato family. The tension between them started when Vinny took my brother and me under his wing. My dad has always lived on the fringe of the mafia, never a member. He’s disappointed that his sons are in the thick of this shit and no matter how hard Nico and I try to keep him out of the loop, he hears things anyway.

As for Uncle Vinny, the story handed out to the civilians is that he was the victim of a carjacking while driving around Newark. The real deal is that he was on a hit job for the big boss and took a fatal shot to the chest in a dirty old warehouse.

That was three years ago and no one could have predicted the thunderous changes since then. New York’s two biggest crime families remain in disarray after they both lost their bosses.

And the struggle for the city’s mafia throne remains.

Richie Amato’s picture is on the wall too, mostly because certain people would have a fit if it wasn’t. When the alliance between the Amato and Barone families ruptured, this territory stayed loyal to the Amato factions. It’s unwise to talk shit about the big boss, even long after he’s worm food, so I keep my thoughts about Richie Amato to myself and refrain from flipping him off.

That last cannoli bite sticks in my throat and I chase it with a swallow of beer before making my way over to Nico’s table.

“Welcome home,” my brother says as I sink into the last empty chair. “How was Disney World?”

“No different than what I expected,” I reply and toss my keys on the table.

Nico’s shoulders are tense, his eyes serious. “Did you get to do everything you planned on your vacation?”

“Sure.” I lean back in my chair and get comfortable. “Don’t I always?”

Meanwhile, the two girls are completely oblivious that this whole exchange between me and my brother is taking place in code. I wasn’t even in the same fucking part of the state as Disney World. I was sent to mop up someone else’s disaster. It’s a dirty job, but it pays damn well.

Nico doesn’t blink as he holds my gaze. “I would have gone with you.”

I stare right back at him. “It was a last minute trip.”

He grunts and turns his head to stare moodily at the door. “Next time,” he promises in a dark tone.

Nope. But I say nothing.

I’ve already seen my brother get shot once. It was a flesh wound to the arm but it shook me up like nothing else.

“You went to Disney?” Livy says. She’s now petting my brother’s muscled forearm like it’s a kitten. “How fun. The Small World ride is my favorite. Or maybe the pirate ride. The one with the boats.”

“I love all the rides,” pipes up Rochelle. There’s a diamond glittering on the fourth finger of her left hand. Which is funny because her other hand just landed on my knee. “What was your favorite, Monte?”

“I’m not always picky when it comes to jumping on a ride,” I say. “Sometimes it’s just good enough to be in motion.”

Nico gets the double meaning and snorts with laughter.

Rochelle gets it too and her hand travels north on my thigh.

Livy understands nothing and gives me a glassy, vacant smile.

“You know what?” Rochelle says as her fingers stray closer to my dick. “I’ve always wanted to see what the basement looks like here. Can I get a tour?”

Nothing about this girl is impressive. She looks cheap and back in high school she was boring, dumb and kind of mean. But she’s wearing the ring of a guy I hate and it’s been a hell of a while since I fucked anything more exciting than my hand. I’ve been busy and didn’t want any distractions but eight months without a fuck is ridiculous. Time to break the streak.

“Sure.” I push back from the table. “One tour of the basement coming right up.”

“Oh, can I come too?” says the clueless Livy. She starts to stand up.

Nico pulls her into his lap. “I think you’d be happier staying here and keeping me company.”

Livy giggles and nuzzles his neck as I lead Rochelle down the hall, past the restroom and down the creaky staircase. All the while, Rochelle keeps one finger hooked in a belt loop of my jeans.

Down in the basement, I pull the chain on the ceiling lamp for an explosion of brash yellow light. The walls of the windowless room are still covered in wood paneling installed by my grandfather before the internet was invented. Boxes of restaurant supplies are stacked up along the far wall. An old pool table is pushed under the staircase and the green felt-covered card table sitting in the middle of the room has hosted countless mobster card games. The place probably looks kind of shabby to most people but every time I come down here I feel like I’m visiting an old friend.

Rochelle takes a look around and her nose wrinkles with distaste. What was she expecting, a palace? It’s a freaking basement in a hundred year old city building.

Speaking of distaste, the perfume she’s wearing is powerful enough to choke a bear. At least my cock doesn’t seem to mind.

Her palm brushes across the front of my jeans and she clucks her tongue over the bulge. “What will you show me next?”

“Don’t know. Let’s get creative.” I reach behind my neck, pull my t-shirt over my head and toss it on the card table.

Rochelle’s eyes light up at the sight of my chest. She bats her false eyelashes.

“You want to hear the truth, Monte?”

Probably not, but I say, “Go for it.”

She licks her lips and giggles. “I’ve had a gigantic crush on you since, like, seventh grade. Did you know that it never really went away?”

Didn’t know. And don’t care.

“When Livy and I were in the neighborhood and she said we ought to stop by, I only agreed because I was hoping to run into you. I’m always hoping to run into you.”

This isn’t going to happen at all if she doesn’t stop talking. I don’t have the time or the interest in anything more than quick exercise so I might as well cut to the chase. I pull a condom out of my wallet.

Rochelle’s face puckers into a frown. “I’m on birth control,” she complains. “I mean, we’ve known each other since elementary school.”

Oh, HELL no.

My face turns to stone and my tone becomes harsh. “Listen, it makes no difference if we shared the same fucking sandbox twenty years ago or if I just met you yesterday. I don’t ever march into battle without a shield. Got it?”

She huffs out her annoyance. “Fine.”

But she also slithers out of her tank top so things are at least moving along.

All of a sudden my phone starts buzzing. Out of habit, I haul it out of my back pocket, with no intention of answering.

Until I see the name flashing on the screen.

GAMER GIRL

Huh. That’s unexpected.

Last year, the death of mob boss Albie Barone sent his widow running back to her Sicilian roots. She was joined by the youngest Barone daughter, the one with the sweet face of an angel, the ripe body of a porn queen and the bizarre brain of a tech geek.

Sabrina.

As the echo of her name runs through my mind, the effect is both strong and instant.

“Back up,” I say to Rochelle. “I’ve got to take this.”

Her eyes go flat and her lower lip pokes out. If she thinks pouting moves the needle then she’s got another thing coming. Go ahead and throw a fucking fit for all I care.

I turn my back to Rochelle so I don’t need to watch her sulk while I answer the phone. “Sabrina?”

“Hi, Monte. Um, how are you?”

Hearing her voice again is a jolt. Wherever she’s calling from, it’s loud. Over the blend of noises, a calm voice bleats unclear instructions from a loudspeaker.

“I’m all right,” I say. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

After all, it’s not every day that Sabrina Barone calls me out of the blue.

“Well,” she says, then pauses.

I wait. She blows out a loud breath and then explodes into a monologue.

“I should be on a plane to Colorado to see Anni and the baby but instead I’m here at JFK Airport in the middle of this cyberattack madness and Daisy is in Atlanta making white truffle burgers and apparently whoever turned on the cyberattack also turned off all access to my money so can you please come here and save me from airport hell if you’re not doing anything?”

I need a few seconds to process the jumble of words that were just dumped into my ear. Most are unimportant details. The only thing that matters is that Sabrina is here in New York.

And she needs me.

She takes my silence as a bad sign and panics. “Monte? Hello?”

“I’m here. And no, I’m not doing anything at all. Sit tight. I’m leaving right now and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The second the call ends, I get to turn around and face the fury of Rochelle Rossi. Her eyes are bulging and her lips are pressed into an irate line as she stands there gawking in her red lace push up bra.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” I say and shove my phone back into my pocket.

She sticks her hands on her bony hips. “So you’re just gonna bail on me to chase after this Sabrina slut?”

I highly doubt she’s even met Sabrina before. But hearing her talk trash like that still makes me want to growl.

“Shut up,” I mutter and grab my shirt. “Go cry about it to your future husband.”

She tosses her hair and puffs out her chest. “Just so you know, you won’t get another chance at this.”

“What a bummer. Where will I ever find more toxic pussy with the personality of acid?”

“Fuck you, Monte!” She flails around in search of something to throw and only finds a pool cue. She hurls it and the stick bounces off the card table before hitting her in the leg.

I pull my shirt on and head for the stairs. “Tell Stevie to give you a free slice of pepperoni on me for your trouble.”

“Fuck youuuuuu!” she howls again. The sound of her shriek chases me up the stairs. A crash soon follows, a sign she’s found something more substantial to throw.

My keys are right where I left them on the table. Nico is still there too, but now he’s busy sucking face with Livy. He removes his tongue from her mouth long enough to ask, “Where the hell are you going?”

“Airport pickup,” I say and snatch my keys just as there’s another distant bang. “Watch out if you go in the basement. A troll is on the loose.”

“What troll?” Livy asks with pink lipstick smeared on her chin. Nico cuts off more of her stupid questions with his mouth and I’m free to escape out the front door.

My car is parked two blocks away so this leaves me a few minutes sort through the complicated nature of my relationship with the damsel in distress.

In the era before the Barone and Amato mafia wars broke out, the two families had joined forces. One of my assignments was to shuttle Sabrina Barone around the city and keep throngs of horny men from drooling all over her.

In private, I constantly wrestled with the urge to jerk off to her. She never had a clue. I kept my thoughts to myself and my dick in my pants. The fact that Sabrina was the daughter of the spiteful mafia titan who called himself the Baron of Brooklyn would have been reason enough to behave, but I had other reasons too.

Luca Connelly is my best friend and he’s married to her sister. They are both very protective of Sabrina. Anyway, it always felt sort of sleazy to even think about corrupting her while I was supposed to be protecting her.

Yet I still wanted that girl something fierce and the temptation alone might have been enough to persuade me to take my chances.

If only Sabrina hadn’t been…Sabrina.