Mobster's Gamble: Chicago Mob Series Book 1 (6 page)

“The house always wins,” I mutter to the lanky guy I’m dragging out of the casino. He was counting cards. Gilly caught him on the bank of monitors in the lower level. He attempts to slip out of my hold. Now he is in front of me. My fist is full of his orange shirt.

“I didn’t do anything!” He’s stumbling out because he can’t keep up with me. “You can’t do this!” He tries to steal a glance behind him to talk to me face-to-face but I shove him forward, knocking him into the sliding doors. Out on the sidewalk, I take hold of his shirt, again spinning him around, his blond curls flopping forward on his head.

“Do I look fucking stupid to you?” I accuse. “Do you think we’ve never had a
counter
here before? We didn’t get to where we are by letting pieces of shit like you run our tables down. Go find another casino to cheat. Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops!”

Stupid son of a bitch!
I walk back inside shaking my head. Same shit, different day.

I see Alex, his long legs stretched out to the side as he drinks a beer from the bar.

“So?” he asks.

“So what?” I wonder.

“What about what happened today? Mike is coming by to take a statement from your pop.”

I shrug my shoulders.  I really don’t know what to think about what happened this morning. Caesar is a sicko or fucking brilliant. He got the cult fuckers arrested… and himself.

“Caesar will pay off a cop. He’s probably already out.”

“He looked fucking ridiculous in that get-up. All blue and shit, like he is some saint.” Alex lifts his beer to his lips, chuckling. I put my hand on his forearm, stopping him. A light bulb goes off in my head.

“Jesus Christ! This isn’t about getting those idiots off his street corner and cock-blocking his business. It’s about us…” My blood flows, ripping through me. “That fucking piece of shit! He wants to start a turf war!”

“No. He’d be stupid. He doesn’t have the backing.”

“He doesn’t give a shit because he’s too full of himself. That shit with Ricco… He was sending a message.”

Alex begins piecing it together too. “It helps his cause to get the cult on his side. Get them away from his business and fuck up ours.” He taps the granite with each word.

“But why did they run? Why did the cult flee like that?”

“They saw our guns drawn. It freaked them out,” Alex surmises.

“No. It has to be more than that.” I rack my brain. “Something was off beside Caesar being there.” I snap my fingers. “The girl!” I lock eyes with Alex. “His girl wasn’t there.”

“The chick we stopped. Lily, no, Kylie.” He wonders. “That isn’t his girl. You’re right. You asked about her and she said she was hurt.”

“What did that mean?” I ask, not expecting Alex to really know the answer. “Did she sprain her ankle on one of their crusades? Did she break a fingernail? What the fuck?”

“Who knows?” Alex shakes his head, stumped. “Whatever the hell goes on in their world is a mystery I want no fucking part of. Today was enough to keep them away for a while, if not permanently.”

I am not as convinced as Alex and to top it off Kylie’s words are gnawing at me.

“Anything is possible if we stay together!” Priest preaches to the Anointed Heavens.

We have been summoned to gather in his personal meditation room. This morning an odd conversation occurred when I woke up stiff and groggy. I had to find an exact way to lie down so that each injury didn’t hurt so badly that I could not sleep. I was back in his bed.

“I know you are not feeling well.” Priest was lying beside me, his head resting on his forearm. “But I need you. I am assembling the group.”

Not feeling well! Was this a sick joke? Going to sleep last night, I was afraid I would never wake up either from a concussion or him smothering me with a pillow because his guilt can so quickly change to revenge. Even though it took effort, I had faced away from him on my side, keeping my mouth shut. Small beaded tears welled in my eyes, despair being replaced with empowerment, at least on the inside. I envisioned my hands wrapped around his throat squeezing, watching him turn blue as I straddled him, choking him to death.

“You are like their mother,” he cooed. “You represent a maternal comfort. We’re a team, you and me.”

Nothing he says could make up for this. I’m like a rubber band that has snapped from overuse. My only option until I figure a way out of this is to play his game. But I’m not playing the same way I have all these years. And Priest isn’t going to like it. What more can he take from me?

“Their guns! Their scare tactics! Those things should unite us. Not frighten us!” Then he quotes scripture. It is his way of pulling the group together. A round-about chastise for breaking the chain and running while demonstrating at the casino.

“
I appeal to you, brothers, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment
. First Corinthians chapter one verse ten!” Priest’s hands sway, imploring the followers to remember what we stand for as he warps the teachings of the Bible to suit his needs.

A soft “Amen” comes from the crowd, lacking its usual enthusiasm. I can read the group; they are ashamed.

“
Pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock, in which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to care for the church of God, which he obtained with his own blood.
Acts chapter twenty, verse twenty-eight.”

“Amen,” the Anointed Heavens members say more forcefully, gaining back their strength and letting the words wash over their beliefs.

“Acts! The book is called Acts! Why?” Priest pauses dramatically. “Because God calls us to act, not to stand by and watch the world fall apart but to make it right in God’s eyes! They can’t hold us! They can’t persecute us for our convictions!” Priest is on fire and ready to say more when a voice calls out from the hallway before a form turns the corner.

“Amen, Brother!” Caesar appears in the doorway.

I reel back as fear tears through me. In my pain, suffering, and worry about what Priest may do to me, Caesar had slipped to the back of my mind. Seeing him again made the brutal beating he and his goons allowed rise even closer to the surface. My brows furrow and my eyes narrow at him, the action a painful reminder of my injuries. I want to smack the smug look off his face. Why is he here? The farce of his connections to the Anointed Heavens I thought was revealed yesterday at the scene at the casino. His arrest must have been temporary like Priest’s. The pent-up resentment I have appears to be taking hold of my dread, stuffing it down. Seeing him standing there in the periphery digs up feelings that are stronger than fear.

I do the unthinkable. I leave. In the middle of Priest’s sermon, I leave the room, touching my shoulder purposely and roughly against Caesar’s shoulder, another big no-no—I touched a man. Not just holding a man’s hand of the Anointed Heavens at a demonstration, which is allowable. I deliberately brush my body against his. The simple act is sending a two-fold message. And the message is for Priest and Caesar.

Breaths are sucked through teeth and murmurs break out amongst the group, but I don’t care. I stomp to the room I share with Missy. I’ve spent my last night in Priest’s chamber. He’s going to have to drag me back kicking and screaming. And with any luck, I’ll get a good hit on him. Hate is too light of a word. I loathe Priest and his new friend Caesar with every part of myself.

I lie down on the bed, falling asleep quickly, which is surprising with the anger I am carrying, but my body is still in the early stages of recovering from the beating I took forty-eight hours ago.

I’m startled for a brief second, thinking those men are back to rip me from my bed.

“Anya?” A light hand rocks my side back and forth. “Anya, wake up.” My eyes flitter open, and Kylie is standing above me, concern etched in her features. “How are you feeling?”

I lift up, supporting my head on my arm. “A little better.”

“The swelling on your face is going down.” She smiles, looking hopeful that I will heal well. “It’s time to prepare the evening meal.”

“You go. I’m not coming.”

Kylie’s face contorts in horror. “Do you think that is wise?”

“Nothing I’ve done in the past ten years has been wise.”

Kylie shifts on her feet, hesitant to leave. “Are you sure?”

“I am more than sure. Go. I’m sorry but I won’t be helping.” I turn my head away and lay it back down to rest. Priest can do whatever he wants but I won’t be cooking. I enjoy it but he’s not walking all over me anymore. I’ll keep his secret but I won’t keep his house or his bed.

Again! I can’t fucking sleep! I let the pistol in my hand fire off three rounds, and I hit the target dead center in the heart, straight through the black outline of a man with circles around the heart area. Maybe, I should talk to Doc Howie. Why have a mob doctor if you don’t use him?  He could probably prescribe something for me. I lift my hand again, aiming, and pull the trigger three more times. Dead center again. We need to get moving targets. This shit is getting boring. I place the gun down on the counter and set my ear protection beside it. I scrub my hands down my face, the onset of sleep coming but knowing when I finally lie down I’ll be wide awake.

“Carlo! Carlo!” Julius is on duty watching the cameras. I can hear him calling me all the way from the control room with the door closed.

“Now what?” I mumble.

I push the door open and Julius is crouched up close to one of the screens.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

He points to the camera facing the back alley.

“I can’t maneuver these things like Gilly but doesn’t that look like a woman stumbling?” I move in to take a better look myself. “Maybe she’s a prostitute or a homeless person?” he guesses.

I toggle the switch and zoom in. It’s dark out but she’s in the wake of a floodlight on the building across the street.

“What is she wearing? A blanket?” He is still guessing. “You want me to call the cops?”

I stare at the screen, struggling to get a good look, and my blood runs ice cold.

“Don’t call the cops!” I shout, running to the elevator. “Wake up Doc Howie!” The elevator doors slide open. “Now!” I yell before the doors close, sealing me in.

I swipe my card and stab L Rear and it is forever before the door slides open revealing the main kitchen, which is dark and vacant for the night. I rush through, dodging all of the stainless counters until I reach the door to the alley. I grab a wooden spoon from a container and wedge it in the door. I take out my gun from the back of my belt. I hold it high, checking the area before stepping out into the night. This could be a trap to lure me out here.

Across the street, I see her. She has fallen onto the ground. This could totally be a set-up for a hit. This is too coincidental. I stay low, jogging over to her. I reach my hand out, twisting the naked body toward me for a better look.  I wouldn’t even know it was her she is beaten so badly, but I recognize her hair. What the fuck? Who would do this to a woman? A red haze of fury blinds me in an instant. I put my fingers to her neck checking for a pulse and release a stalled breath when I feel it. Thank God!

“Carlo.” Alex is crossing the street with his gun drawn. “What the fuck is going on? Julius called me and told me to come to the alley. He said you needed help…” His words trail off as he looks down and sees the girl from the cult—Priest’s girl. “Holy fucking shit! What rat bastard would do this?
Mannegia?
”

I shove my gun back into my waistband and dig my hands underneath her and the dirty blanket she is wearing—no clothes, no shoes.

“I don’t know, but we need to get her inside. Stay sharp.” I don’t want this to be a blood bath so I let Alex cover me as I carry her inside to the kitchen. Alex releases the wooden spoon doorstop and closes it, letting it lock. “Where is the doc?”

“Take her right to his room,” Alex informs me.

We ride in the elevator to the floor below the family apartments and I have her cradled in my arms. Doc Howie’s room is right beside the elevators.  His door is wide open ready for us.

“Carlo, this way!” the doc calls to me. A hospital bed has been pulled out of a closet and placed in his living room. I lay her down gently and Alex helps me position her. Doc Howie leans in with a light, lifting each of her eyelids that are black and blue and swollen.

“Concussion, Doc?”

He nods. “I think so, mild by the look of her pupils.” Rushing to the other room he comes back with a blood pressure cuff. He takes it and her pulse. “Blood pressure and pulse are okay.” He pulls back the blanket, revealing her naked body. Immediately, a strike of protectiveness and jealousy pierces me. I shove Alex back.

“Give her some privacy,” I chastise.

“Me? What about you?” he argues, giving me a violent shove right back. Our anger at the situation takes over our reason.

“Why don’t you both stand in the hallway?” Doc Howie suggests but gives us pointed looks. We leave, obeying, and stand on each side of his door frame.

Doc Howie mumbles and it definitely sounds like the word shit.

“What? What’s the matter?” My heart rate spikes with worry. I move to go back in and a hand shoots out, stopping me.

“He said to wait out here.” Alex thrusts his finger toward the floor, and I glower down at the gold and wine carpet knowing he is right. “Let the doc handle this.”

Standing in one spot doesn’t work for me, so I pace the hallway. I go up and down observing the floor but not seeing it. Eyes are on me. Alex is watching me.

“What’s your problem?” I ask, irritated.

“I don’t have a problem,” he counters. His jaws are clamped when he answers me.

I keep walking back and forth. I can’t take it anymore.

“Doc, what’s going on?” I call into his apartment.

“You can come in.”

Alex and I storm back into the room. Draped over her is a crisp white clean sheet. In this light I can see the bruising on her arms running up and down from her shoulders to wrists. The tender skin of her wrists is raw and red. I clench my fists. Her eyes are closed. She’s not awake yet.

“I tended to what I could.” Doc Howie rubs a hand over his eyes. “From what I can tell she has a few broken ribs, and a lot of bruising all over her body. I need to rouse her to make sure she has a mild concussion and has not slipped into a coma.”

“Okay. Do it,” I say harshly. I’m not mad at the doc but I am pissed as shit at whoever did this.

The doc opens a small vial and runs it along the bottom of her nostrils. In quick jerky movements, she tries to get away from the smell by shoving her head side to side. Her eyes peel open as far as they can with the swollen tissue around them.

“I’m Doc Howie. Do you know your name?”

“Where am I?” she asks. The sound of her tiny voice ignites something inside me. I creep closer.

“I’m Doc Howie,” he repeats. You are at La Bella Regale in Chicago. Can you tell me your name?”

“Anya,” she rasps. A cough consumes her. Doc Howie purses his lips when she wheezes too.

He puts a stethoscope to her chest. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

“Breath in slowly please.”

She follows his direction but says, “It hurts.” Her words hit me right in the gut.

“I believe that is from your ribs.” He rests his hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “Go back to sleep if you can. I’ll wake you in a few hours.” The doc turns to me and Alex. “I gave her a sedative so it is kicking in now. I would like her to have an MRI in the morning. I want to make sure there is no unchecked damage.”

“We need to take her out of here for that?” I wonder, oddly not wanting her to leave the premises.

“Yeah, I’ll call a friend and get her in immediately. Eight a.m. is the earliest he gets into the office.” The doc checks his phone. “It’s only a few hours away. But I will need to wake her in one to two hours to make sure there isn’t any swelling.” The doc checks her pulse again. “I will stay up with her. You two go get some sleep. You have work in the morning.”

Alex yawns. “Let me know if you need me. I’m going back to bed. But I’m serious, Doc, you wake me if you need anything.  This is some fucked up shit!”

I gaze down at her, helpless and a complete banged up mess. “I can stay.”

“Carlo, go to your room. I will take care of her, then first thing I will get her into an MRI.”

My feet are rooted to the floor by her bed. I don’t want to leave. “If anything happens in the next three hours and forty-five minutes, I will call you,” I say. “Go. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

“I’m the doctor, Carlo. I need to be here if she goes into duress.”

“Fuck, I’m not leaving, and I sign your paycheck.”

Doc sighs, understanding it’s a losing battle. I go to the other side of the room, grabbing an armchair and dragging it toward the hospital bed. The screech of the protesting legs echoes in the cavernous space of his apartment. I drop my ass into the seat and lean my chin on my palm, settling in to keep watch over her. I’ve seen friends beaten this badly, I’ve watched bare-knuckled fistfights, and never during my hard upbringing have I seen anything this fucking sick. To beat a woman so badly is the worst crime in the mafia code. I may be a lot of things and I may know a lot of seedy people, but even the lowest of the low in my experience would never treat a woman this way. Pop would never allow it and would kill anyone he ran into that did shit like this. I shake my head and Doc Howie catches the movement.

“This isn’t her first time. She has other injuries that look older and were in the process of healing. If I were to guess, over the past week she has been beaten on at least twice.” Doc Howie’s face is grim. “Do you know where she is from? I’ve examined her and she doesn’t have any injuries indicating prostitution.”

“I know exactly where she is from. It is taking every ounce of my self-control not go put a hit out right now or personally do the deed myself.  She is part of that fucking cult.”

“Oh.” He pauses, thinking, then Doc Howie draws out his response, taking in the information.  “Why bring her to me? A hospital could meet her needs better.”

Words get stuck in my throat. Why didn’t I? She needed immediate attention. I swallow hard.

“I trust you…” I stutter, my emotions rising to the surface, and add, “She is now under the protection of the Caruso family.”

“I see.” I know what he is thinking. I hate that telling tone. He thinks I have some kind of connection with this girl.  It’s not that. This is a shitty thing that happened to her.

“I want the upper hand. She is Priest’s.”

“I see.” He doesn’t believe me. To bring someone to the family floors is rare and needs to be approved by Pop unless there is a cloth bag over the visitor’s head. Pop takes no chances. “You know best. I just hope you know what you are getting yourself into.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I flex forward in the chair, annoyed.

“It means a lot.”

“Why do doctors have to be so fucking cryptic sometimes?” I sulk back down, letting my feet jut out in front of me.

“It’s what we do.”

I jab my finger down, tapping on the armrest. “I know what I am doing.”

“I’m going to check her pressure again.” The doc dismisses me by getting the cuff and wrapping it around the top of her arm, which is bluish green where she has been hit or held down. He puts the earpieces of his stethoscope in his ears and counts out her pulse. I notice the ratty blanket on the floor by the bed. I get up, taking the sickening thing and throwing it in the doc’s trashcan in the corner. Clothes—she is going to need them.