Mick Sinatra 3: His Lady, His Children, and Sal (8 page)

Roz was all too familiar with Mick’s way.
 
He was not the kind of man who asked a lot of
questions.
 
He was the kind of man who
knew how to patiently wait for explanations.
 
“He wants me to take him on,” Roz said, accommodating him.
 
“He wants my agency to represent him.
 
His own agent dumped him after he had an
affair with this famous director’s wife.
 
Tony Bellamy is the director, but you probably never heard of him
either.
 
But Tony’s a big deal on
Broadway.
 
He makes and breaks
careers.
 
He broke Hamilton’s.”

Mick waited for more.
 
But no more came.
 
Roz was too hesitant.
 
“You’re telling me this why?” he finally
asked.

Roz remained hesitant, but she knew she had to say
it.
 
“I’m telling you because Hamp and I
slept together before.”

Mick’s fingers remained inside of her, but they
suddenly stopped all movement.
 
They went
still.
 
His massage stopped too, although
his hand remained on her butt.
 
“You
slept together?” he asked.
 
Then he
looked at her.
 
“You had sex?”

Roz nodded.
 
“Long before I met you, but yes.
 
I felt you should know.”

Mick lifted her chin, so that they were eyeball to
eyeball.
 
His greatest fear besides
failing to protect her from harm, was failing to protect her from a wonderfully
normal, unburdened guy taking her away from him.
  
He also knew it wasn’t just that she had had
sex with the guy.
 
They’d just spent
their evening with three women he had had sex with in the past.
 
But it was the feelings behind the sex that
would be more telling.
 
“Were you in love
with him?” he asked bluntly.

Roz thought about it.
 
It was a long time ago.
 
She was so over Hamp it wasn’t even
funny.
 
But she couldn’t lie to Mick.
 
“Yes,” she said.
 
“But he told me going in that our
relationship would go nowhere.
 
Falling
for him was my mistake, not his.
 
But
that was a long time ago.”

Mick continued to stare at her.
 
Something wasn’t adding up for him.
 
“Why would he suddenly show up here?” he
asked.
 
“The two of you had been in
touch?”

“No.
 
Not at
all.
 
But his circumstance has
changed.
 
They blacklisted him on
Broadway.
 
Tony made sure of that.
 
Now he needs somebody to fight for him.
 
Since all I do all day long is fight for my
clients, I believe we could really help him.
 
And to have an actor on our client list of his prominence would be a
fantastic addition to the Graham Agency.”

Mick was calculating.
 
He was thinking.
 
Roz could tell, by the movement of his eyes
alone, that his mind was in overdrive.
 
Then he reached a conclusion.
 
He
looked at Roz.
 
“You want him as a
client?”

“Very much so, yes.
 
If I can get him back on Broadway, and that will take time, but if I can
pull it off, he can take the agency to the next level.”

Mick stared at Roz, and rubbed her hair.
 
He knew he shouldn’t interfere in her business
decisions.
 
He wouldn’t tolerate it in
his business.
 
But he had a
responsibility he was never going to shirk when it came to her.
 
He was never going to ignore a situation that
all of his instincts were telling him to pay attention to.
 
“I want to meet him before you sign him up,”
he said.
 
“I’ll give you my opinion after
I meet him.”

Roz smiled.
 
“Are you telling me just by looking at him you can tell if he’s up to no
good?”

Mick smiled, and didn’t answer.
 
But yes.
 
He could tell.

But he wasn’t about to let some two-bit actor ruin
his night.
 
Not when he had been looking
forward to being with her all day.
 
He
began to massage and finger her again.
 
And suddenly she was the one moaning.
 
He began to kiss her luscious lips, and suddenly both of them were
moaning.

“Give me some juice,” he said to her, and she knew
what that meant without giving it a second thought.
 
She moved her lithe body further up on his
hard, muscle-tight body until her nipple was rubbing against his mouth.
 
And then he was licking it.
 
And sucking it.
 
And suddenly, between the ass massage, the
vaginal fingering, and the nipple sucks, Roz was on the verge of an orgasm.

And then Mick told her to give him more.
 
“More juice,” he said, and she moved further
up, until her pussy was on his mouth.
 
She began to ride his mouth, moving the lips of her vagina up and down
along his tongue as he licked her and sucked her and began to eat her.
 
And that climax that had been on the verge,
spilled out.
 
Roz had a tongue orgasm to
end all tongue orgasms.
 
She came with a
hard squeeze as his tongue did not relent and he licked her even harder, sucked
and ate her even more vigorously, in rhythm with her ride.

But it was just the beginning for Mick.
 
Just the warm up act for their brand of
lovemaking.
 
Because after she had
climaxed, he put her on her back.
 
“That’s not all I’ve got for you, baby,” he said as his body straddled
hers, and his fully aroused dick hovered over her.
 
“Not by a long shot.”

He guided his cock between her legs and shoved it in
with a thrust that sent Roz reeling again.
 
She arched up against him as an orgasm that she thought was receding,
found its second wind.
 
He began to fuck
her.
 
He began to stroke her with
movements that were nothing short of perfection, where he was adroitly hitting
her spot just right, over and over again, until she became so immersed in his
love that she wrapped her arms around his body and climaxed again.

But Mick still would not relent.
 
He continued to stroke her.
 
He continued to make the kind of love to her
that was bordering on a branding.
 
He
knew it too.
 
Because yet another man was
on the horizon.
 
Yet another asshole had
his sights set on getting some of this ass.
 
And he wasn’t having it.
 
Rosalind
was his and his alone.
 
And with every
stroke; and with every time his cock pushed so deep inside of her that she was
on the verge of yet another orgasm, he wanted to remind her of that very fact.
 
He stared at her as he fucked her.
 
He watched her lips tremble as the bed shook
with every thrust of his hips and every push of his cock.
 
He was riding her wave of cum.
 
He had one of her legs in the air, with his
hand resting on the back of her thigh, as he put on her a pounding that he knew
she wasn’t going to soon forget.

He even licked her toes.
 
Not because it was his thing.
 
But to remind her that he loved and cherished
every part of her.
 
He worked out on her.
Her eyes were closed, but he knew his baby.
 
She was arching and pulsating and behaving as if she couldn’t possibly
take any more of this kind of intensity.
 
But she took it.
 
His baby took
it.
 
And was loving every minute of it.

And when Mick came, it changed the game again.
 
Because as soon as Roz felt that hot liquid
shoot inside of her; as soon as he saturated her to a point that seared her,
she arched her hips high with a euphoric orgasm.
 
And suddenly Mick was the one who could not
bear the intensity. Mick was the one who clenched down hard as his cock pushed
so far inside of her that the only thing not inside of her were his balls.
 
He began to throb like a rapid heartbeat deep
inside of her.
 
And his cum kept
coming.
 
His cum kept shooting out
against her pussy until she was drenched in his cum.
 
And they both were emasculated.
 
But wonderfully so.

Early that next morning, when Roz woke up, Mick was
inside of her again, fucking her again.
 
He was lying behind her in the spoon position.
 
His hands were squeezing her breasts in that
sensual way she loved, as he did her.
 
And she began to poke out her butt, to give him even greater access, as
she closed her eyes, muffled a cry of elation, and climaxed yet again.

Their big, beautiful home was as quiet as a field of
dreams.
 
Except for the bed shaking, body
trembling, lovemaking that Mick Sinatra was indisputably putting on his wife.

Mick arrived at Sinatra Industries later that
morning.
 
He arrived like a man
rejuvenated.
 
Even the workers in his
corporation, who all feared him and avoided even riding the elevator with him,
didn’t get him down.
 
It wasn’t until he
made it to his suite of offices on the top floor, and saw his youngest son Joey
waiting for him, did he realize just how ephemeral happiness could be.

Joey, who was slouched down in the chair against the
wall of his secretary’s office, with gold chains hanging down in front of his
oversized jersey, with his sagging, hip-hop style jeans, stood up.
 
“How could you do that, though?” he asked his
father with a look of grave disappointment on his face.

Mick was well aware of his surroundings.
  
His executive assistant, along with four
other assistants, comprised his secretarial staff.
 
They all were hard at work at their desks.
 
But they didn’t fool him.
 
They were all listening with rapt attention.

He kept walking toward his office.
 
“Come with me,” he said to his son.

“But how could you do it, though?” Joey asked again.

Mick stopped his walk and looked at his son with a
hardness that stopped Joey cold.
 
Mick’s
entire secretarial staff, who themselves had been on the receiving end of
Mick’s wrath before, were now looking too.

Mick didn’t tell Joey to come with him again, as if
his son was deaf.
 
He simply gave him
that look.
 
And it was enough.
 
Mick began walking again, and Joey,
sufficiently assured of his own demise if he did not comply, closed his mouth
and followed.

Mick entered his office, which was as large as an
average apartment, and headed behind his desk.
 
He put his briefcase on the desk, sat down, and motioned for Joey to
take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

But Joey wasn’t interested in sitting down.
 
He knew his father was not the man to trifle
with.
 
He knew his father could be as
cold as a winter night.
 
But he also knew
what happened was wrong.
 
Nobody mistreated
his mother.

“How could you kick her out of her own house?” he
asked Mick.

“It’s not her house,” Mick responded in a measured
tone.

“But it is her house!” Joey wasn’t trying to be
measured.
 
He was animated.
 
“It’s our house,” he added.
 
“You bought it for her so she could raise me
there and keep me out of your hair.
 
You
bought it for her so you wouldn’t feel guilty about being the lousy father you
are.
 
It is her house!”

Mick continued to sit there and watch Joey speak his
mind.
 
He was a young man, barely twenty,
who had been heading down the absolute wrong path.
 
Mick brought him into his company and, by all
accounts, Joey had turned his life around and was serious about their
partnership.
 
But he wasn’t taking this
like a man.

“I know you don’t give a damn about my mother,” Joey
continued.
 
“I know you think we’re all
dispensable.
 
But she’s my mother, she’s
the only person in this world who has always been there for me, and I care
about her.
 
And nobody’s treating her
like this!
 
Not even you!”

Mick continued to watch his son with an intensity
that could have been construed as rage.
 
But it wasn’t rage.
 
And it wasn’t
because Mick was buying the crap Joey was talking.
 
But Mick wanted to see if he had it in
him.
 
He wanted to see if he had what it
took.
 
Because of all of his children,
Joey, his youngest, was the most like him.

“I told her,” Joey finally said, “to stay right
where she is.
 
I told her to stay
put.
 
I told her I would take care of it
and she’s not going anywhere.
 
She’s not
going anywhere, Dad.”
 
The brazenness of
his pronouncement wasn’t lost on Joey.
 
He knew he was being brazen, dumb, and crazy to confront his father like
this.
 
But right was right.

Mick broke his stare, and nodded his head.
 
“I’m happy to see your loyalty to your mother.
 
That is always commendable.
 
You’re a good son to her.”

Joey felt relieved.
 
“So that means she can stay?” he asked.

“No,” Mick said.
 
“She will be leaving my home either voluntarily, or I’ll have her kicked
out.
 
But that doesn’t diminish you.
  
Nor your loyalty to her.”

But his response angered Joey even more.
 
“Fuck loyalty, man!” he yelled.
 
“I don’t give a fuck about loyalty!
 
That’s my mom.
 
That’s my heart.
 
And you aren’t going to treat her like this!”

Mick gave his son a hard look.
 
“What do you propose to do about it?” he
asked.

“I’m going to not let anybody kick her out of her
home, that’s what I’m going to do about it.”

“How, Joey?” Mick asked.
 
“Are you going to sit shotgun at the front
door and prevent entry?
 
Are you going to
barricade her inside and prevent entry? When I show up to finalize the removal,
are you going to attempt to fight me?”

Joey stood there dumbfounded.
 
He didn’t know what to say.

“None of those options make sense, do they?” Mick
asked.
 
“They make no sense because they
are temporary measures at best that only heighten the stakes and will put, not
only your own life at risk, but your beloved mother’s.
 
Yet you just stood up here and put her in
that position.
 
You just stood up here
and backed your ass into a corner you cannot free yourself from.
 
That’s what fools do!”

Mick stood to his feet.
 
“Why do you think Alexander Pope wrote how
fools rush in where angels fear to tread?
 
Because they don’t think it through.
 
They don’t weigh the options of inaction versus action.
 
They don’t realize that fighting a man is
considerably more difficult than fighting a boy.
 
Because a man isn’t going to let your ass
stand there and fight him.”

Mick tried to calm back down.
 
“That’s the difference, son.
 
If you want your beloved mother in a house
worthy of her, then you put her in one and stop expecting another man to do it
for you.
 
That’s what a real man
does.
 
But a boy comes in here demanding
that a man take care of the problem for him.
 
As if that makes him a man when all it does is solidifies just how
childish and absurd he really is.
 
Now
get the fuck out of my face, take your ass back to that mailroom, and get back
to work!”

Mick stared at his son, expecting a prolonged
staring contest or some equally troubling dissention.
 
But he was wrong.
 
Joey knew when he was beat.
 
He knew when he had to eat crow and wait it
out.
 
His father was the big man on
campus now.
 
But that would change.
 
One of these days, Joey just knew that would
change.
 
Then he would be the big man.
 
And his father would be depending on him.

He left.
 
He
wanted to slam the door.
 
He wanted to
leave emphatically.
 
But he knew his
father.
 
He stood a better chance getting
to the top faster with him than against him.
 
He closed the door so gingerly it barely connected.
 
A statement of a different kind.
 
He just left.
 

Mick sat back down.
 
Joey was young, and he had a long way to go, but Mick still believed in
him.
 
Of all of his children, he was the
one most like him.
 
Of all of his
children, he would be the one who carried his legacy forward, or into the
ground.

His desk intercom buzzed.
 
Mr. Bianchi and Mr. Stefani were there to see
him, his assistant announced.
 
Mick knew
that wasn’t good.
 
They knew never to
come to S.I., unless it was vital.

“Send them in,” he responded.

And within seconds, Carp Bianchi and Yank Stefani
entered his office, said their greetings to their ultimate boss, and Mick
motioned for them to sit down too.

“This is most improper,” Mick said in that
on-the-verge-of-true-anger tone they were well familiar with.
 
“If you have no business with S.I., you have
no business here.”

Yank was ready to leave now.
 
He knew how quickly Mick could go from zero
to a hundred.
 
But Carp was older, wiser,
and had been with Mick too long.
 
“We
fully understand, Michello,” Carp said.
 
“But this is delicate.”

Mick sat there.
 
He didn’t ask what this
delicate
matter
was about.
 
He waited for them to tell
him.

“We’ve had another intercept,” Carp said.

An intercept of cargo was bad, but it hardly rose to
the
delicate
level.
 
“Where?” Mick asked.

“Memphis,” Carp said.
 
“That makes four intercepts so far,
Mick.
 
Something’s going down.
 
This ain’t no random shit.
 
Something big is going down.”

Mick had already worked that much out.

“Have your men uncovered any leads?” Yank asked.

“Have yours?” Mick asked.

Yank shook his head.
 
“Nothing.”

“Hardly delicate stuff,” Mick said.

Yank looked at Carp.

“Then there’s this other matter,” Carp said.
 
“We’ve got another problem.”

Now the meat, Mick thought.
 
“What?” he asked.

“Mo DeLuca was shot and killed last night.”

Momar DeLuca was the third Don in the trio of Dons
who ran Mick’s syndicate.
 
Momar, like
Yank, were the sons of one of his original heads of families.
 
When Mo and Yank’s fathers fell in that safe
house in New York, they took over.
 
They
both were half the men their fathers were, but that didn’t mean Mick wasn’t
sorry about the loss.

“Anybody claiming responsibility?” Mick asked.

“Are they claiming it?
 
No,” Carp said.
 
“But Mo’s men knows who carried out the hit.”

Mick stared at Carp.
 
The name, he decided, was apparently the delicate part.
 
“Who?” Mick asked.

Carp didn’t hesitate.
 
“Mick, they say it was Adrian.
 
They say it was your son.
 
Your oldest boy.”

Mick’s heart almost stopped beating.
 
He knew Adrian wasn’t at the dinner last
night, but not showing up was a stock and trade for Adrian.
 
Mick even figured he might be involved in
some stupid shit.
 
But he never would
have guessed in this direction.

“What happened?” Mick asked.

“They say he owed Mo some money.”

“For what?”

“They don’t know what for.
 
He came to the restaurant to talk with Mo, Mo
called him back, and they didn’t think anything of it.
 
He’s your kid, after all.
 
What are they going to think?
  
Then several minutes later they heard a
gunshot, and then Adrian’s running out the back door just as they’re running
through the front door.
 
And their boss
is dead.”

Mick usually never let anyone see him sweat, but
this time he ran his hand across his face in a way that Carp and Yank both knew
meant he was sweating like a motherfuck.
 
He didn’t see this one coming.

“Where’s Adrian now? Does anyone know?”

“No-one knows,” Yank said.

“But Mo’s men want his scalp, Mick,” Carp said.
 
“They’re going after him and they’re going
hard.
 
They want him.”

“Order them to stand down,” Mick said to Carp.