MASSIMO
Walking into the small dry cleaner, I wonder why I didn’t get in on a business like this as an investment. It seems like an easy cash flow industry. People come in and out all day long. A fucking shitload of them. It would be a great way to personally launder money, too.
“Can I help you?” a woman asks from behind the counter.
She’s about ten years older than me, her dark brown hair pulled up into a messy bun, her face without makeup, worn and tired, but you can tell she was a beauty once. Probably could be again with just a touch of effort.
“Is Mr. Gallo around?” I ask, keeping my voice calm, low, even.
She arches a brow, her eyes roaming over me suspiciously. “Who wants to know?” she barks, sounding like a hard-ass.
My lips twitch and I take a step toward her. “A friend. Tell him Massimo Ferrucci is here to speak to him. Somewhere private preferably.”
Her body jerks and her eyes widen. Apparently, she knows who I am. Good. Maybe she won’t be a bitch to me anymore.
She dips her chin, then spins around and marches off toward the back. I don’t take offense, though it would be easy to do so. Instead, I take in the little cleaners. There are millions of clothes hung up one by one, neatly and sheathed in plastic bags.
“Mr. Ferrucci,” a man’s voice timidly calls out.
He’s the opposite personality of his harsh wife and I wonder how that works between them. I figure she is in complete control of their lives and he just lets it happen because it’s much easier than attempting to fight her about any of it.
Shifting my gaze to him, I take a step forward. “Mr. Gallo. Can we talk?”
He nods, then lifts his hand to call me toward the back. Following behind him, we walk into a small room that is decorated as a plain office. There is a small desk, a chair and a computer that looks as though he’s had it since the late nineties.
“How can I help you?”
“Luca tells me you refused to pay?”
He gulps, his eyes rounding. “You’re not shaking more out of me. I have been paying you people since I opened up my cleaners forty years ago. You don’t own my building, you don’t own anything. You come in here and demand money. It isn’t right. Maybe I call the police and let them know what you’re doing?”
I could blow up. Yell at him. I could threaten to kill him, but that isn’t the way Gavino operates. No, he wants people to agree to give him money, to offer it as if they are doing us a favor.
“Arnie, you already know that the police won’t do anything. Why would you threaten me that way? It’s insulting really,” I say.
Gallo inhales a deep breath. I can see his body tremble as he places his hand against the desk. “I don’t have this month’s plus another two percent. I cannot swing it.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Why?”
I don’t bother asking him again. Maybe I should, but I’m not that man. He’ll tell me and he won’t continue to insult me by forcing me to continue to ask the same questions over and over. Inhaling a deep breath, I cross my arms over my chest and I wait.
“My daughter is graduating high school. All of our extra has gone to her. Proms, graduation dresses, parties, all of it goes to her.”
I feel for him. I truly do. Except this expense is nothing new to him. It also isn’t unreasonable. He’s been paying us for forty years.
“She spoiled?” I ask.
Gallo shakes his head. “She’s a good girl. She’s our only child. My wife, she wants to give her everything. It adds up and I couldn’t tell her no.”
“You’re a good man, Gallo. I know that you are. How many times have you been late?” I ask.
“Never,” he says, jerking his chin up.
Nodding my head once. “You pay me next month, I’ll knock off this month’s added two percent, as long as I’m paid in full next month. Does that work for you?”
“Next month I pay my regular fee for this month, then next month’s plus the new two percent?” he asks. Nodding my head once, I confirm his words. “Thank you, Massimo. Thank you so much. What can I do to make this up to you?”
“Two things.”
“Anything.”
Taking a step closer to him, I dip my chin. “One. You never fucking threaten me with the cops again. Two. You owe me. I don’t know what that looks like right now, but when I do, you don’t deny me.”
Gallo’s jaw tightens and I watch as a muscle jumps in his cheek. Begrudgingly, he jerks his chin in a nod. Turning around, I stop at the office door. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes find his.
“Don’t fuck with me, Gallo. I’ll be by personally to pick up your payment in a month.”
Walking away, I ignore the bitch who glares at me as I pass by her. Heading toward my car, I slide into the driver’s seat. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I see that I have a missed call from Enrico. There’s a voicemail so I play that and let his voice fill my speakers.
“Your woman is a good one. She knows her place. She is young and insecure. She is fearful of her future with a stranger. I like her. She will make a good mafia wife.”
I don’t know whether to be pissed off that he’s calling me to tell me about my woman, or if I should puff my chest up with pride that Pippa is impressing the famiglia already. I choose the latter.
Chapter Seven
MASSIMO
Two weeks have passed. There will be no honeymoon, I honestly don’t have the time, not with Gavino’s demands. I am okay with that. A weekend in bed with my new wife is all that I need. I’ll take her on a vacation, but now is not the time. I’m still solidifying my position beneath Gavino. I still have much to prove to him.
Walking into the private party room of the casino, I’m not surprised to see the man himself, along with Arlo, Luca, Benicio, Salvatore, Dante, along with heads and first sons from other famiglias.
It’s my bachelor party tonight.
“Cugino,” Gavino calls out.
Walking toward him, we shake hands. He pulls me in for a hug, kissing each of my cheeks. I’m passed around from man to man. Laughs, backslaps, and cheers soon following. Enrico makes his way toward me, a smile on his face.
“You did good, Massimo,” he chuckles. “I like her.” Arching a brow, I frown. “For the woman that she is, for the woman she is about to become—yours,” he says, clarifying his words.
“Mine. Don’t forget, yeah?”
Enrico snorts. “Not my type,” he mutters.
“Yeah?”
“You’re more my type than she is.”
My eyes widen, my lips twitch and I shake my head. “Noted,” I snort.
Walking over to the bar, I ask for a couple of shots. I honestly don’t give a fuck what they are. I’m getting married in two days. Married. The thought consumes and freaks me out all at the same time.
I can’t help but think that Pippa will be disappointed in who is about to become her husband. I hear a man yell, another shouts out a catcall. Slowly, I turn around. My head is swimming from the shots that I’ve consumed.
Widening my eyes. I gulp at the sight in front of me. It’s my blonde Irish girl. I don’t know her name, never bothered to learn it, but I’ve been inside of her body more times than I can count. She smiles at someone next to her as she walks toward me.