Mobster's Gamble: Chicago Mob Series Book 1 (5 page)

No one comes.

Not one of the twenty-three other people in the house.

The last thing I remember is the heaving chest of Priest above me pummeling my naked body until I am gone.

The club is more crowded than usual tonight. The pulsing lights, music, and yelling voices crush into my own personal space. I sift through throngs of people watching for signs of trouble—drugs, fights, any unsavory behavior that might not be able to be detected on the surveillance cameras. Bobby is behind the bar working his ass off with some part-timers to keep up with the drink orders. I push aside a few people to reach him.

“How is it going?” I holler over the music. Bobby leans his ear toward me to hear. “Do you need more help?” He waves me away, telling me that he is good. I keep moving. Alex is in the corner keeping a sharp eye. I press the microphone on my earpiece as I maneuver my body through the mass of dancers spilling over the lip of the dance floor.

“Anything?” I ask.

“Nothing,” I watch him mouth into his speaker.

I let my shoulders relax.

“Hi!”  A perky blonde with a tight black dress pops into my view. She curves in, touching my arm. “I’m Sandy.”

“Carlo,” I return.

“Do you want to dance?”

“Sorry, I’m working.”

“Oh,” she responds with a tiny pout. “What time do you get off?” I know what she is getting at. I have been approached many times. She wants to hook up. I look her up and down.  She is pretty with a kick-ass body. Her long lashes blink as she waits for an answer. I am ready to nicely let her know that I’m not interested because a pair of unforgettable green doe-eyes flashes before me.

Dancers rocket into us and I hold Sandy upright so she doesn’t fall.  I spin my head; a fight has broken on the other side of the dance floor.

“Sorry, I have to go,” I say and release her.

*****

I can’t fucking sleep. It’s four o’clock in the morning, and I am supposed to be up in four hours. I don’t know what I would do with myself if we didn’t have the range in the basement. It is the only thing that helps me to let off steam the nights the club is open. The fights ratchet up my adrenaline and it takes forever for me to calm down. Club Bellissima had to be a fucking hit in Chicago. Another part of the business to tend to. Everything my father touches turns to gold.

Shooting in the range to get my frustrations out, not sitting by the monitors watching the skeleton-like gamblers that stay well past the hours of any normal closing time. I feel bad for those suckers; addiction is an ugly thing. The only places open at this time are diners, casinos, and the occasional twenty-four-hour McDonald’s. We are always making money. The club brings even more on Friday and Saturday nights, when it closes at two.

“Hey, Carlo.” Julius sticks his head around the corner into the firing range room. “Since you’re up, why don’t you head to the main floor. Take care of the guy stumbling around up there please.”

I reload my Glock, put the safety on, and stick it in the back of my waistband under my shirt. I take the elevator to the casino floor and sure enough a long-gray-bearded gentleman is toppling around near the slot machines by the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” I address him. “Let me call you a cab.” He twists towards me with glassy eyes, registering my question.

“Yeah, yeah.” He puts his hand to his forehead. “I gotta go. My wife… she’s gonna be angry with me…” He takes a step and practically falls so I grab him under the arm. Julius has already called a cab. We’ve taken care of this guy before. I help him out into the cool early morning air. “My wife,” he slurs again.

“Yeah, you need to get home to your wife,” I repeat for him, annoyance growing.

“I love her.” Tears well in his drunken eyes.

“That’s good,” I say, reaching for the door handle of the yellow cab starting to finally feel sleepy enough to head off to bed.

“Is your wife gonna be mad?” he asks out of the blue, stopping me from helping him in the cab, splaying his hands across the inside of the door.

“I don’t have a wife, sir.” And the sentence stops me cold.

I don’t have anything but the businesses. I have my pop, my sister, Clarissa, and my best friend, Alex. I’m lucky to have them. I have a roof over my head and food prepared for me every day.

I am in line for a multimillion-dollar inheritance built brick by brick by my pop. The biggest part of my inheritance is becoming the mob boss for the Caruso family. A huge responsibility and honor, not to mention a thriving casino and now a club that brings in a ton of additional income. But what is it all for if I don’t have anyone to share it with? Do I even want to share it with anyone? It’s a dangerous life. We have many people who hate us and would love to take down our family and take over our turf. What kind of life would that be for a woman?

I have friends in this life who have wives they love dearly and are still able to maintain their connections and work. For me, my life is even more complicated and busy than that. She would be stuck in the ivory tower like my sister was for so many years.

My mother never lived to see the empire my father has built. Life was more simple and then she was gone. The more my father built up, the more enemies came with it. We are the largest crime family in Chicago; we have numbers and loyalty. But there’s always one out there that wants to overthrow the kingdom and bring down the house.

“That’s too bad,” the drunken man comments, yanking me out of my own thoughts. “Every man needs a woman.”

He releases his hold on the cab’s frame and folds his body inside. I move to the open passenger cab window. I pull a hundred out of the front pocket of my jeans, handing it to the driver.

“Take this guy wherever he needs to go and make sure it’s his home.” I back away, step up onto the curb outside the main doors to the expansive casino that I call home. I turn on my heel to let the automatic doors slide open and then take the elevator to my apartment.

When I am finally in bed, I crash hard and the last thing I remember thinking about is scared green eyes staring back at me.

*****

A knock on my door wakes me and I glimpse to see the clock on my bed stand. It’s ten thirty. Holy shit, I overslept! I roll out of bed in my boxers.

“I’m coming!” I yell.

I open the door; it’s Alex. Immediately, I know something isn’t right.

“What’s up?” I asked cautiously.

“Get dressed. There’s something you need to see,”

“Why didn’t you wake me up? How come Pop didn’t come pounding on my door because I didn’t show up for breakfast?” I toss out while I grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

“He told us to let you sleep in. You’ve been putting in a lot of hours.” Alex’s voice is deeper than usual; he’s holding something back.

I pull the T-shirt over my head. “Just tell me what the fuck is going on this morning.”

He walks across my living room to the wall of windows. “That is what is going on this morning.” I look down to the sidewalk in front and there they are again, clad in their blue robes, the Anointed Heavens. “Holding hands like always,” Alex adds.

“Okay.” I turn to him. “Did you call Mike?” He nods, and his face is somber mixed with pissed off.

“Come on.” I follow Alex into the elevator and he presses the button for the main floor. We rocket down and the rear doors slide open revealing the kitchen. Jessie is there.

“Good luck, Carlo,” she says sarcastically, never looking up from chopping carrots.

Alex takes me through the back alley instead of going out the front door. He pulls his gun from the back of his pants and I follow suit. We creep around the side of the building meeting the edge of the corner. He points and I cannot believe my fucking eyes. Standing up front with Priest, wearing a crazy-ass blue robe, is Caesar, Capo to Frank Campuono, crime boss of the lower south end.

It erupts from deep within me and it’s uncontrollable. I laugh like I haven’t in a long time. Alex blinks at me and all heads whirl toward us; our guns are raised. Caesar and Priest step forward looking smug. But a weird thing happens. The rest of his group panics, and they take off in every direction. Rushes of sky blue robes fly by. They release their chained hands and run. It’s chaos. Priest is shocked, his face sharply angled in wrath before a slight panic lines his face. His followers are bolting on him.

“Nothing motivates more than fear…” Alex trails off, watching the melee with me.

Sirens whirl and two police cars skid to a stop in a triangle formation, almost hitting some of the cult members. I see a girl with dark hair and for a minute I think it may be
her
—Priest’s girl. I yank on her arm and she spins. It’s not her. Disappointment hits me in the gut, surprising me.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” I say low enough to only be heard by her and loud enough to be heard over the mob of screaming blue-robed cult members. She tries to pull away but Alex puts a hand on her shoulder, stilling her. She is visibly shaken, avoiding my gaze. “Hey…” I lower my weapon. “Look at me.” She sucks in her lower lip. “What’s your name?”

“Kylie,” she whispers, barely audible.

“Hi, Kylie. I’m Carlo and this is Alex.” I try to get her to relax, to diffuse her terror and maybe get somewhere with her. “We are not going to hurt you,” I reassure her. “Why do you and your
friends
keep coming here?” I nod my head, gesturing to the street. “There are other casinos only blocks away.” My peripheral vision follows the commotion going on.

The cops quickly diffuse the scene. Some are arrested, others just keep running. I see Pop standing in front, his arms folded over his chest as he watches this whole thing unfold. He is really, really, really pissed off. Shit! Other security from the casino come out, helping to clear the area around the main entrance. Priest and Caesar are in handcuffs, being tossed against the hood of a squad car, while others are being herded. Caesar swings his head slowly toward me, his lips curling into a smug grin with his glare. My eyes narrow at the cocksucker.
Game on, asshole!

It is a fucking shit show and a half, but I give my attention back to Kylie, breaking the predatory stare with Caesar. I’ve got my fingers wrapped around her forearm.

“Talk,” I order, not being nice anymore. I can’t cater to her; the police are going to make their way to us soon. Alex is more patient than I am, his hand holding her steady.

“What?” she cries, attempting to get away. “Please let me go!”

“Why are you here again? And why the fuck are you running around like the devil is chasing you?” She flinches at the tone of my voice and glances at my piece. “If pulling a gun out was going to run you out of here before, I would have done it sooner.” My voice is scathing now; my temper is flaring, intolerant.

I look up, searching the fleeing crowd, but I don’t see the girl I pinned against the wall a couple of days ago.

“Where is the girl with the thick wavy hair? The one Priest has got a hard-on for?”

Kylie flinches at my crass words and her face twists in alarm, and, if I am reading it right, guilt.

“Please let me go. Please?” She tugs with all her might, trying to slip from our hold. If we don’t let her go, we’ll hurt her. I give Alex the okay with my gaze to release her. Her robe swishes with her movement. She pauses and takes steps away from us. Her eyes dart around, and she chews on her bottom lip. “She is hurt. They locked her away,” Kylie tosses out before running.

Alex and I turn to each other.
What the fuck
?

Numbness wakes me. At first, I can’t feel anything then the pain sets in. Everything hurts as I stare into the darkness. Movement above is quiet. I attempt to swallow the urge to cry. I have never been beaten so cruelly. The image of Priest straddling me, his closed fists striking out again and again, churns my stomach, mixing with the realization of where I am being held.

The wooden boards I lay upon, covering the dirt floor of the cellar, creak. It smells like death down here. Twisting against the pain in my ribs, I hurl. The contents of my stomach retching out onto a ramshackle floor I can barely see. Tears leak out the sides of my eyes. I grip my torso. I don’t want to call out. But I need to get out of here. The excruciating throbbing makes me think of my mother and how she ended up.

I understand why she did it. My father took off, leaving my mother penniless. The Anointed Heavens offered food, shelter, and purpose, and most of all a place to have her baby. Priest’s father knew just what to say at a vulnerable time in her life.

As she followed blindly, I was born. A hot meal and a warm bed can be the difference that turns the tide and breaks you down emotionally. I never knew my father but I hate him. She never talked about him. And I really didn’t care to learn anything if she were to offer it. All I needed to know was that he left. A man with no responsibility or any kind of morals that can abandon a pregnant woman.

At times, I dream about her. Always in my dream she is silhouetted with a light behind her casting a shadow that blocks her face. Behind her, hovering large and looming, is a man. At some points in the dream I believe it’s the man I never met, my father, and other times I think it’s Priest’s father. Another man I hated.

I blink against the harsh light that shines down from the open doorway. A shadowy figure is outlined high atop the staircase. My heart pumps faster, pushing adrenaline through my body. I can’t take any more, and I send up a silent prayer that no one will hit me. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Kylie clomping down the stairs.

“Anya,” she whispers. “Are you down here?”

My eyes shoot to the ceiling of the basement when I hear feet jostling about, possibly even running, like the compound is in a panic.

“I’m here,” I rasp. “Over here.” I reach out my hand in vain. I don’t think she can see me but she can hear me.

Kylie comes toward me, kneeling down beside me. The faint light gives me a glimpse of her face with assorted emotions of worry and fear. Something is wrong besides what was done to me.

“Can you stand?”

“I’m not sure,” I mumble through a shockwave of pain in my ribs.

“Priest will be back soon.”

“He’s not here?” I push out. “What happened?”

“Oh, Anya,” she cries. “It was horrible. We all panicked. There were guns…” She trails off, holding back a sob. “We ran. We broke our chain; no one knew what to do.” I force myself to my feet. “You weren’t there.” Kylie stifles a sob. “Priest was arrested.”

“Arrested?” I ask, shocked.

She nods her head, wisps of her hair moving in the narrow rays of light.

“And the new member, Caesar.”

More feet sound on the stairs; I look up and Simon is racing down.

“Is she okay?” His speech wavers, unsure and scared.  “Let’s get her upstairs.” Both of them collect me under my arms. I suck in a breath through my teeth and let them help me up the staircase that is like a hundred steps but thankful to be out of the dank basement that holds horror stories I couldn’t make up in my imagination.

In the kitchen, they sit me down on a stool. Kylie takes in a sharp breath when she gets a good view of my face. Tears streak down from the corners of her eyes. Solemnly, she looks away from me, grabbing a cloth and filling it with ice from the freezer.

“Where is everyone?” I wonder, sucking in a breath from the cold pack Kylie holds to my eye. Simon rinses the cloth with warm water and uses it to wipe away the blood and dirt from the cuts on my arms. They tend to me. When they have cleaned me up the best that they can, they lead me to the room that I share with Missy. Kylie flips the lights switch on. Curled in a ball on her bed is Missy, staring at the wall.

I’m not sure what happened because I wasn’t there, I was locked in the basement, unconscious, but whatever it was has shaken the entire group. I hobble to the bed with help, using my arms to support myself to gingerly place my body upon my bed.

“She needs a doctor,” Kylie says to Simon.

“You know the rules.” He sighs, confused and helpless.

Kylie gets a determined look on her face. “I’m getting her to a hospital. There is some money in Priest’s room. I’ve seen it. I’m taking some and I’m going to use the phone in there to call a cab.” She walks to the doorway, ready to leave. She turns back around. “Get her into clean clothes.”

Tipping my head, I scan myself. I have on the nightgown I was wearing before I was attacked and it is bloodied and ripped. Priest must’ve put it on me before those men tossed me in the cellar. Their faces flash before me, cold and soulless.

“I can’t touch Anya! Priest will kill me.” Simon’s panic radiates, shaking his body.

“Just do it!” Kylie shoots a glance at Missy’s still, catatonic form, and walks away to fulfill her mission.

Simon goes to the closet, picking out a blouse and slacks. He comes back over to me, hesitant.

“I’m going to lift you and slip your nightgown over your head. Then I’m going to put this one on you.” He holds it in front of my face so I can see it. I nod, bracing for the pain. Once he’s gotten the torn article over my head, he slips a new one on with his eyes turned away. He reaches for the pants. “You’re going to have to lift up. Can you do that?” I nod again. I steady my forearms on the bed and lift my hips, helping him to slip them on. His brown eyes turn away again as if he is ashamed of what he is doing.

Kylie returns with a wad of bills crushed in her hand.

“Let’s go. I’d like to get her outside while we wait.”

Like they did earlier, each one of them grabs me under the arm, and I recoil at the stinging it sends through me but I push through it, wanting to get out of here. The physical pain is all encompassing but the emotional freedom outweighs the physicality. The three of us stumble for the front door. No one is in the kitchen or the meditation room as we pass. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought the entire compound was void of life. But I think everyone is hiding in their rooms like Missy.

The three of us make it two steps from reaching outside. I can taste liberation on my tongue but the door before us flies open. Standing directly in it is Priest. Simon perceptibly cringes and Kylie sucks in a harsh breath, knowing full well we’ve been caught and punishment imminent. I don’t have the strength even with the power of the two of them beside me to give us the will to fight past him.

Priest’s face is unreadable, unusual; I’ve always been able to get some sort of signal from him of what to expect.

I freeze, waiting for what’s coming. I picture another punch to my face causing all the sores on me to erupt with aches. I close my eyes and on a deep level wish to be dead than to endure another beating. I keep them shut, deciding that not seeing what’s coming is better. My heart races, leaving me immobile.

Very gently, arms wind around my waist and a head rests on my stomach. I peel my eyes open and glance down. Priest is kneeling before me, caressing me. It’s a surreal moment and when he looks up at me I see regret. Kylie and Simon move aside when Priest stands, scooping me up in his arms and cradling me to his body. He carries me through the compound to his chamber and slowly deposits me on top of the covers that have been neatly fixed on his bed.

Confused and hurting, I don’t speak. He leaves me, going into the bathroom. I hear rushing water. He’s turned it on, filling the tub. After a few moments, he returns and I flinch when he reaches down to pick me up again. The room spins as a wave of dizziness wins over my senses. He carries me to the bathroom, shutting the door with his foot. He strips me naked, removing the clean clothes that were just put on me. I let him. I take the opportunity to really examine my body. I am bruised all over—legs, thighs, stomach, breasts, arms.

The mirror is above the porcelain sink. I stare at myself, unrecognizable with puffy eyes, cheeks, and lips. I look like I went three rounds in a boxing ring. Horror rips through me at my own reflection. Priest steers me away and faces me toward the tub instead. I stand unassisted on my favorite rug while he checks the temperature, dipping his hand into the water.

Neither one of us has spoken. I don’t have the energy to say anything. And the only thing I could say would involve letting him know how much I hate him.

Taking my hand, he guides me into the warm water and I sit down. Waves and ripples of water envelop me. I close my eyes at the relief that just a simple tepid bath offers on the throbbing parts of my body.

Grabbing a cloth off the shelf behind the toilet, Priest kneels again, this time outside the tub by my side. In all the years I’ve known him, he has never knelt before me in such a submissive way. Two times in an hour; his guilt must be heavy.

Wetting the cloth, he gently rubs all of the areas of my body, cleaning me. Is this an apology? Is this his conscience rising to the surface?  Is the boy I knew as a child coming forth through the callous man’s body?

My head slumps back against the tub and I let him clean me with feather-light touches. I’m so tired, my body so worn, that I allow myself to drift into a semi-sleep. It isn’t contented like it should be, my mind running rampant with what is to come next. My head reels with all the things I can’t forgive him for and for all the things I can’t change. For so many years, I let him control me just like the others here who are hiding in their rooms afraid. If we were just a minute or two earlier, Kylie may have been able to get me to a hospital. But in a twisted sadistic way Priest always prevails no matter what form he comes in, friend or foe. The master always wins.