Clean Slate (New Mafia Trilogy #2) (24 page)

The door to Jason’s
apartment swung in to reveal soothing beige walls. White molding lined the ceiling.
An overstuffed caramel-colored leather sofa and matching chair filled the
living room and were positioned to face a large entertainment center that had
bookshelves on each end. A flat screen TV sat in the middle.

Jason walked into the
kitchen, tossing his keys on the counter next to a stack of mail. With the
exception of a plate and a glass in the sink, the kitchen was spotless. Each
appliance looked brand new. The stainless steel refrigerator hummed in the
corner; its surface didn’t have one smudge.

           
“Is it always so clean?” I asked. Even with Chelsea’s
OCD, our place was filthy in comparison.

           
“No, our housekeeper came today.”

           
“You guys have a housekeeper?”
 
Must be nice, I thought to myself, looking
around at the gray slate counters that didn’t have one crumb marring their
surface.

           
“Marianne practically raised me. She was my nanny and
cook, she still keeps my dad’s house in order. She comes over once a week to
clean up.”

           
“I’m impressed.”

Jason laughed. “Don’t
be – by tomorrow this place will be trashed. Derek’s room always looks like a
hurricane blew through it.”

           
“That will change once he marries Chelsea. She’s the
queen of organization.”

           
“Opposites attract, I guess. Want a beer?” Jason asked,
opening the refrigerator door. I nodded and caught a glimpse of the inside
shelves. Each one was packed with beer, the brown bottles lined up with labels
facing out like they were on display at a grocery store. Apparently Chelsea
wasn’t the only one with OCD tendencies.

After Jason popped the
caps off, we walked back into the living room. I sat down on the sofa and
practically got swallowed up in the depths of the overstuffed cushions. The
leather creaked as I shifted into a more comfortable position, setting my beer
on the coffee table first.

           
“Jesus, this thing’s a beast.” The futon didn’t swallow
people whole, which I’d have to remember as a plus the next time I bitched
about sleeping on the hard, lumpy mattress.

Jason almost snorted
beer out of his nose. “I’ve never heard the sofa described as a beast before.”
He sat down next to me, close enough so our legs were touching. He stopped
laughing and his face morphed into a serious expression. He placed a hand on my
knee and I started to put some space between us. “Please, Nat. I won’t bite…unless
you want me too?” He wiggled his eyebrows again and I reached over to the
coffee table, grabbing a coaster made out of cork and chucking it at him. He
effortlessly deflected it, sending the cork flying over the back of the sofa.

           
“Okay, seriously though Nat. You know I like you and we
get along. Will you go out with me?” He rattled on before I could respond. “We
can take it slow and go out on a few dates… you know, see how it goes. No
pressure.”

           
“I like you too,” I started to say and Jason flinched
slightly as if he was preparing himself for the rejection. In hindsight, my
reasons for agreeing to go out with him weren’t the best. I was lonely and with
friends getting engaged left and right, it made sense to have someone in my
life. I was also horny and knew Jason could deliver in that department. While I
missed Dominic, he was across the country sleeping with God knows how many
bitches since I ended things with him. We weren’t together and Jason had proven
to be a worthy friend, just by putting up with my crazy ass. So I said, “Yes,
I’ll go out with you, but I’d like to take it slow. Okay?”

           
“Are you serious, you’ll go out with me?”

           
“Yes,” I said and moved in closer to prove that I was.
Jason placed a hand behind my head, crushing my hair against my neck and drew
me in for a kiss. His lips were soft and gentle as they moved against mine. I
leaned forward and his other hand slid down my side, stopping at my hip. Warmth
spread out from his fingertips through my shirt and sent shivers up my back. I
moaned and parted my mouth, giving his tongue access. Without breaking our
kiss, I climbed up onto his lap, straddling him. Using his hand on my head, he
took control and directed the angle, so it was tipped back: an offering. His
lips moved down my neck in a slow, tortuous pace that left me squirming on his
lap, which had grown considerably harder since I’d climbed on board.

When Jason moved his
hands to cup my ass and pull me tighter against his groin, I knew we had to
stop because what we were doing was the opposite of slow and it would have been
too easy to let him take me right there on the sofa. Setting my hands on his
chest, I pushed back, removing my neck from his lips. We were both out of
breath and parts of me felt hot and swollen.

           
“Too fast,” I panted, crawling off of his lap. He groaned
and swallowed hard, his eyes scanning my body before he got up to go to the
bathroom. Jason was in there a while and when he came out he wasn’t walking
like his jeans were too tight and he seemed more relaxed.
 

           
“Come on, I’ll show you my room so you can get ready for
bed, and don’t worry, I’m still sleeping out here. As much as I want you
underneath me, butt-ass naked, I’m honoring your wishes to take it slow.”

I gulped at the
intensity of his gaze and had to look away. He helped pull me up out of the
sofa and I gave him a chaste peck on his cheek, the fine blanket of blond
stubble tickling my face when I did.

Jason’s bedroom was
easily twice the size of Chelsea’s and had a platform bed with a grayish blue comforter
stretched tight over the mattress. Each pillow was smooth, without a single
crease and the corners of every pillow case stuck out straight like they had
been starched and ironed.

           
“Was Marianne in the military and did she specialize in
precision bed making?” This comment made Jason laugh out loud.

           
“I’m going to tell her you said that. She’ll love it.”
Jason crossed the room to a dresser that had a signed surf board suspended on
the wall above it.

           
“Nice board,” I said.

Jason shut a drawer and
turned around. “It’s Kelly Slater’s. My dad bought it at a charity auction.
It’s cool, huh?” He handed me one of his t-shirts to change into. I didn’t know
many surfers by name, but knew of Kelly Slater. He had won all sorts of
championships. According to Jason, Slater was his biggest idol.

           
“Very.” The rest of Jason’s room was very minimalist. He
had a smaller flat screen mounted on the wall in a corner by his closet. A
sliding glass door, leading to a small patio, was partially concealed behind a
storm-cloud gray linen curtain. The white walls were accented with pale gray
baseboards and molding. Jason’s room was masculine, bit not overtly in your
face manly. I found the same color scheme when I went into the bathroom to
change. The counter was slate like those in the kitchen.

I brushed my teeth with
my finger and washed the make-up off my face. I emerged wearing only underwear
and Jason’s t-shirt, which was longer than some dresses I’ve worn.
 
Jason was waiting for me and his eyes traveled
up my bare legs, pausing briefly at my breasts, which were obviously not
encased in a bra. He exhaled deeply and then met my gaze. Desire simmered in
his eyes so I knew to keep my distance.

           
“Good night,” I said and turned down the comforter on one
side of his bed before sliding in between the sheets, the cotton cool against
my skin.

He crossed the room and
knelt down beside the bed to give me a lingering kiss, teasing me by gently
tugging on my lower lip with his teeth. He slowly released it, leaving it
tingling and swollen.
 
“I love seeing you
in my bed, Natalie. You better get used to it,” he whispered in my ear before
leaving me alone in his dark bedroom. My heart skipped with anticipation of the
nights we would spend together. Why did I decide we needed to take it slow?
Maybe it was because I had actually learned something from my previous
relationships or my subconscious was sending me an internal message? For
whatever reason, I’m glad we did take it slow.
 

PHILADELPHIA

DOMINIC

           
“Are you ready?” Grant asked, walking into my kitchen
from the bathroom.

           
“Yeah.” I checked my phone one more time to see if
Natalie had responded to the picture of us I sent her the night before, but she
still hadn’t.
 
Slipping the phone in my
pocket, I grabbed my gun from the counter and reached around behind my back,
placing it in the holster. “Why isn’t Miranda here?” Dante was meeting us at
the warehouse, but we planned for Miranda to come with us.

           
“She’s sitting this one out.”

I paused and looked at
Grant trying to decipher more from his facial expression, but as usual he was
completely unreadable. I found it hard to believe that Miranda, who had butted
heads with the chauvinistic old Mafia and who was now a Capo, would sit out
this meeting. “Why?” I asked.

Grant’s jaw bulged out
when he clenched his jaw and then he ran a hand through his hair before
exhaling sharply, “Because I told her to stay home.”

           
“And how did that go?” I struggled to keep my laughter in
check imagining the epic fight that must have ensued. “You should know by now
that you can’t force Miranda to do anything.”

           
“Yeah, I know. She freaked out on me, but I left her ass
at home anyway.”

           
“Grant you want to protect her, I get it, but she is part
of the organization now and this is a big meeting. Besides, she can handle
herself.”

           
“She’s pregnant.”

           
“What?”

Grant leaned against
the granite counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “We haven’t told
anyone yet because she’s only six weeks along. I’ve always been overprotective,
Dom, I know this. Shit, it drove Natalie nuts. But this is on a whole different
level. I want to wrap Miranda in a bubble and keep her locked in the house.” He
started to pace and I listened, still absorbing the shock of his news. I
totally understood. If Natalie was pregnant, I’d want to lock her away
somewhere safe too, but she would hate every minute and would find a means to
escape. Miranda and Natalie were a lot alike; they didn’t want to be kept or
contained. I remembered the peaceful expression on Natalie’s face whenever she
came back from a long run. Any stress that hardened her eyes or made her frown
would melt away and she’d return looking visibly lighter.

           
“Grant,” I said, and he stopped pacing. “She’ll resent
you if keep her from being a Capo. She’s wanted this for a long time.”

           
“But what if she gets hurt?” He tightened his fists at
the thought.

           
“Then you’ll just have to do whatever you can to protect
her that does not involve keeping her prisoner.”

Grant smiled at that
and shook his head. “Fuck, I know you’re right, but…”

           
“You’re going to be a great dad.” I clapped him on the
shoulder and congratulated him. “Let’s go or we’re gonna be late.”

We weren’t on our way
to a PTA meeting or anything like that shit. We were getting ready to meet with
other major criminal players. Basically, we were having a summit for organized
crime in Philly and laying down some new terms that would improve profit
margins for all involved. An abandoned warehouse in North Philly was our
destination.

I drove past blocks of
burnt out and boarded up row homes. Crack vials with blue, red and yellow caps
littered the streets like confetti after a parade. New weeds grew up through
the cracks in the sidewalk, intermingling with the husk of dead weeds and
capturing debris like how spider webs caught insects.
 
A rusted chain-link fence that sagged in
places surrounded the warehouse. I pulled in through a gap where a gate used to
be, my tires rumbling over the cracked remains of the parking lot and I drove
around to the back by the loading docks. There were several cars already parked
in the shadow of the building: a chromed out Land Rover, a lowered lime green
vintage Chevelle with silver pin striping, a Mercedes, BMW, and a newer model
Camaro. Dante’s new pearl colored Jaguar was parked near the end so I drove
down and pulled in next to his car. Glancing over, I noticed Miranda in his
passenger seat. Grant swore when she opened the door, he was out of the car in
seconds.

           
“Miranda, what the fuck? We talked about this.” he
yelled, his voice echoing off the brick building.

           
“Grant!” I blocked his passage and held him in place.
“Rein it in.” The other gang leaders had exited their vehicles and were
watching the exchange.

           
“You talked about it and you decided, Grant, not me. It’s
important for me to be here,” she hissed. Her arms were crossed protectively
over her abdomen and I wondered if she was even aware of this maternal gesture.
“Gentleman, glad you made it,” Miranda turned to greet the other leaders with a
smile. Just like that her game face was on. Marco had the ability to switch on
the charm and it was obvious, watching Miranda in action, that she had
inherited the same gene.

Demetrius, who ran one
of the toughest street gangs in West Philly approached. He had a predatory
walk, but it didn’t disguise the limp. Three years earlier, he almost lost his
left leg after a drive-by shooting. His dreads were pulled back, revealing a
pockmarked face and steel gray eyes which moved over Miranda’s curves as he
shook her hand. She seemed not to notice, but Grant did because I felt him
tense up as he stood beside me. I shot him a warning glance because everything
had to go smoothly.

Ji of the Red Scorpions
was my age, making him one of the youngest leaders in his gang’s history. He
was leaning against the lowered Chevelle with his arms crossed. He was wearing
a Sixers tank and the tattoos on his arms, Asian characters and a circle of
scorpions, were visible. Ji acknowledged me by dipping his head in my direction
before pushing off of his car and disappearing into the warehouse. Egan from
the K&A Gang, or the Philly Irish Mob, had his second and another member
with him as extra muscle. They had a blue collar vibe to them and wore a
uniform of faded jeans and plain t-shirts. Egan was sporting a black eye and
his nose had been recently broken. I’d only been to one of his bare-knuckle
boxing tournaments that were held in an abandoned warehouse similar to the one we
were getting ready to enter, but it was enough to learn he was a skilled and
determined fighter. After Egan gave Miranda a once over, he and his boys
followed Ji in through the door that was propped open with a concrete block.

Chan, the head of the
TRGs came up to me last and shook my hand. “Dom, I hear you plan to set things
right. Your uncle fucked me over.” Chan was the exact opposite of his rival,
Ji. He was older with streaks of silver in his black hair and wore a tailored
gray suit, his shoes shined with fresh polish. He also wasn’t afraid to speak
his mind, obviously. Chan reminded me of Gio.

           
“That’s the plan as long as nobody gets trigger happy
today.” I had decided that we would all keep our weapons on us. In the past,
whenever Marco called a meeting like this, weapons were surrendered and people
were searched just shy of a cavity check. My thought, and Grant backed me on
this, was that to show trust we all went in armed. If someone did get stupid,
at least we’d be able to defend ourselves.

We were the last to go
in and Chan walked with us. He was of small build and looked more like an
executive than a gangster, but I knew better, especially after the scare he
orchestrated on Christmas Eve.

I kicked the block
propping the door open to the side and the door slammed shut, echoing
throughout the empty warehouse. The only light filtered in through windows
covered in a thick layer of grime. Dust motes danced in the beams of weak
sunlight. There wasn’t any furniture so we stood in a loose circle. The way our
eyes darted from one to another it certainly wasn’t a circle of trust.

Word had spread fast
about Marco’s death and it was crucial that this first meeting with me as the
new boss of Philly’s Le Cosa Nostra went well. Every faction represented here
had a stake in the heroin trade. Some expanded into other drugs; like cocaine,
meth and Molly. I knew for a fact that Egan, Chan and Demetrius had supply and
demand issues with heroin since one of their major suppliers was now sitting in
federal prison for thirty years to life.

I moved towards the
center of the circle and everyone made a move for their guns. “Whoa, chill the
fuck out,” I yelled with my hands away from my body so they could see I wasn’t
going for a weapon. I gestured to Grant and Dante for them to lower theirs.
“Jesus Christ.”

One by one, every one
stood down and focused their attention on me. “First of all, I want to formally
acknowledge that I have taken Marco’s place and want to assure you that any
business deals he had with you won’t change. I called you here because I think
we can help each other and it will be very profitable for all of us.”

Mentioning profit
changed the atmosphere to a less hostile environment. I outlined my plan to
increase the amount of heroin we imported for all of the gangs to distribute in
their territories and that they would retain twenty percent of the profits. I
knew this was more than any cut they were currently getting. It was a high
percentage, but it would guarantee we’d corner the market because their
territories combined spanned the Northeast, North Philly, Kensington,
Chinatown, West Philly and South Philly.

After I finished laying
the terms out, people went to their respective corners to discuss, but I knew I
had them. When I mentioned the profit share, every single one of the leaders
stood a little straighter and the gleam that only the prospect of making money
can create, surfaced in their eyes. I wasn’t presenting this opportunity for
financial gain. Sure, we’d lock down the market, but if all factions agreed, it
would create a level playing field and ultimately cut down on the violence. If
I was able to do that, it might convince Natalie to come back and stay. It
would also create a safer environment for future Grabanos. I looked over at
Miranda and she caught me staring at her belly, which was still flat.

           
“Let me guess, Grant told you?” Miranda asked, leaning in
close so Dante couldn’t hear.

           
“Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

She visibly relaxed
after that assurance. “Thanks. It’s too soon to say anything and I can’t
believe Grant did.”

           
“Don’t be pissed at him. I needed to know why tried to
sideline you. I’m glad you’re here. You did good.”

           
“So did you. I think they’re going to bite.”

           
“Me too.” I was glad when the conversation veered back to
something I was comfortable talking about.

Moments later there was
movement. Egan and his boys came forward, he shook my hand. “We’re in. Don’t
fuck us over.” He squeezed my hand in an attempt to intimidate and I looked
down at his battered knuckles. They were swollen and fresh scabs blanketed old
scars. I was easily three inches taller and had thirty pounds on him so I
didn’t even flinch.

           
“Good. You’ll get your product in two days.” We made
arrangements for one of my men to meet one of his.

Next, Demetrius came
over and agreed to the terms. Up close it was easy to differentiate the pock
marks from cigarette burns. I didn’t know a lot about Demetrius’ history, but
heard his dad was a mean motherfucker, which made Demetrius just as mean, if
not meaner. His gray eyes, the color of the Atlantic Ocean after a storm, stood
out against his dark skin and locked on mine when we shook hands. “Your uncle’s
ways were ancient and he was a racist prick, but you seem a’ight.”

The others followed,
all agreeing to the new arrangement. Ji was more than happy with the new terms
since Uncle Marco had him keeping only ten percent of the cut. Chan smiled when
he shook my hand. “Sorry about Christmas Eve, I heard your little sister was
there. It was just a warning.” Chan and Ji didn’t have accents like how most
Asian thugs in the movies are depicted; they were third or fourth generation
Americans.

           
“I know. Marco gave you the shaft. It’s business,” I
shrugged my shoulders.

Any of the previous
tension that filled the room was gone. Even Ji and Chan were talking civilly
and I looked over at Grant. He had his arm around Miranda’s waist, clearly
staking his claim. Dante walked over to me, clapping me on my back. “It fucking
worked, man.”

           
“Yeah, but it seems too easy.” That was the crux of it.
Everything had been going too smoothly. We made my dad and Uncle Al move
Marco’s body from The Speak and dump it by the airport. They did this without
protest. Of course we had guns trained on them the entire time. It had been
weeks since the leadership change and no one had tried anything. I’d expected
some blowback and the calm was unsettling. A part of me hoped everything
remained calm because I wanted to make a surprise trip to California to visit
Natalie, but couldn’t if there were problems and making an arrangement like
this was unprecedented. I anticipated some of the smaller gangs, like the
Polish Mafia in Port Richmond, and some of the MCs and Latino gangs might cause
some trouble or want in. Those negotiations would come later. Only the bigger
players mattered at this point and here we all were, chatting away like
friends.
 
It was too easy.