ROMANCING THE MOB BOSS (11 page)

wonderful.

Reno felt even more serene, as he

worked hard to make this feeling last as long as

he could, prodding slowly, careful y, moving in

and out, going deeper and deeper down every

time he moved back in. Tears were in his eyes

as he sexed her, because he was beginning to

love this woman with a love that was so beyond

his own understanding of what love was. And

because of it he was terrified of bringing her

into his world. A world that she may not want to

accept. A world where she may think less of

him. But he had to let her know who he was

now, before he got in any deeper than he

already was. Because he was already, if truth

be told, in way too deep.

And his family. She had to meet his

family in the raw, right smack in the middle of

family in the raw, right smack in the middle of

their latest crisis, whatever it was. Because he

knew his family, and he knew that their trouble

was not like everybody else’s trouble, but was

usual y a matter of life and death. Trina, his

woman, had to understand that and, in time he

hoped, come to accept it. That was why he kept

it relaxed with her right now, kept it slow and

serene and calm.

It would be the calm, he knew, before the

storm.

The Gabrini family compound was west of

the Las Vegas Strip on the outskirts of Spring

Val ey, Nevada. It was nearly three a.m. when

Reno drove his Bentley up to the manned

security gate. Within seconds the gate was

opened and they were driving up the steep hil

that led to the big, white, mansion-sized family

home.

“This your childhood home?” Trina

asked as the ful ness of the home came into

view.

“This is the place.”

“But Reno, it’s big as the PaLargio!”

Reno laughed. “Not quite,” he said as

he stopped in front of the massive steps that led

up to the home’s entrance. Another man,

Carmine Rossi, and Joey, were waiting for their

arrival. And as soon as Reno stepped out, and

held the door for Trina to step out, too, the

fireworks began.

“What you bring her here for?” Joey

wanted to know. “This about family, Reno. This

family business here.”

“I told you to remind me to kick your ass,

didn’t I?” Reno said to his chubbier, but younger

brother. Joey literal y backed up, and off, then.

Reno looked at Carmine. “Carmine,

what’s up?” he said as he and Carmine gave

one of those manly pat-on-the-back, half hug

with a handshake gestures. “This my cousin

Carmine Rossi, babe,” Reno said to Trina.

“Carmine, this my lady, Katrina Hathaway.”

“Oh, you struck it rich this time, Reno,”

Carmine said, kissing Trina’s extended hand.

“Solid gold lady you got right here.”

Trina smiled. Carmine was one of those

burly Italians, not chubby like Joey, but compact

and muscular. And almost as charming as

Reno.

“So where’s Pop,” Reno asked. “What’s

going on?”

“Trouble,” Carmine said. “Of the major

league variety. He’s inside, come on.”

They walked up the steep steps that led

They walked up the steep steps that led

to the double front doors, and entered a home

whose entrance could rival the PaLargio’s.

Cathedral ceilings, white marbled floors, Roman

columns, a spiral staircase. Trina could not

picture any child, let alone Reno and Joey,

running around a place like this. But it was a

stark reminder to Trina that she was a far cry

from Dale. Maybe, she began to wonder, too

far.

They entered another set of double

doors near the back of the front of the house,

and this led into a huge living room area, with

what Trina could only describe as comfort

furnishings. From big, Herculean couches, to

oversized ottomans, to wide, arched top chairs.

Inside the room was a man that had to be either

Reno’s brother or father, he favored Reno just

that much. Since Trina already knew Reno only

had the one brother, she assumed this tal , wel

built, handsome man with a ful head of salt and

pepper hair, was the patriarch. The man she

had seen described in an article on Jazz’s

Blackberry as a “reputed mob boss.”

He was standing at the curtained

window, but looking directly at them as they

entered, his suit coat gapped opened, revealing

a flat, ribbed stomach, his hands in both

pockets. Also in the room was an older woman,

two younger women who favored her, and

another man, this one tal and rail-thin. Trina felt

the tension in the room as soon as she stepped

into it.

Reno had his hand on the smal of

Trina’s back, which she was grateful for, but that

did little to ease her anxiety. Coming to

someone’s home at three in the morning during

a family crisis just didn’t seem right to her. But

Reno had insisted. He even said on the ride

coming over that if she planned to be with him,

which he added he prayed was the case, she

needed to meet his family. But this seemed

more like a trial by fire to Trina, than a meeting.

Reno handled the introductions and

Trina put on her best smile, although not one of

the ladies, not one of them, smiled back.

He first introduced the two younger

ladies, his “baby” sisters he said. There was

Marbeth, who was married to Carmine, and

Francine, who was married to Richie, better

known as Dirty, who was seated on the arm of

the couch beside her. Both of the young ladies

were pretty twenty-somethings, with long, jet-

black hair and smal , anxious-looking faces.

Although they spoke to Trina and were civil to

her, they almost seemed disinterested in her.

One of the sisters, MarBeth, even said, “what

happened to the other one,” after Reno had

introduced Trina.

Reno frowned. “What other one?” he

asked.

“You know.,”

MarBeth

said.

“Whatshername.”

“Stop making trouble, MarBeth,”

Carmine said.

“What trouble?” Marbeth wanted to

know.

“Don’t mind her,” Carmine said. “She

loves to stir up the pot, loves to make trouble.”

Reno then turned to the woman he said

was his mother. She was seated on the center

cushion of the sofa, sandwiched between her

two daughters. Her name was Bel e Gabrini

and “to know her is to love her,” according to

Reno, as he kissed his mother on the cheek.

When she spoke, she spoke with a

rough, heavy edge to her voice, a voice that

seemed ravaged by too many cigarettes and

too much screaming, hol ering, and possibly

crying. Although Reno’s father looked like an

Adonis of a man, this woman, who was on the

verge of plumpness, looked almost plain.

“Katrina,” she said. “Good, strong, solid name.

You part Italian?”

Trina smiled. “No ma’am.”

“Part what then?”

“No, I’m not part anything. I’m al black.

I’m African-American.”

“Then what’s with the hazel eyes?”

“My father has hazel eyes.”

“Then his father, or mother, is Italian?”

This was getting to be uncomfortable,

Trina thought. “No, ma’am. They were both

black, too.”

“You sure? Not Italian? But what’s with

the hazel eyes?”

the hazel eyes?”

“Hazel eyes,” the father yel ed out, his

impatience with his wife gone, “what hazel eyes

got to do with Italian? She’s black, damn you

woman! Black!”

And that one outcry shut up the mother.

Trina had jumped at the sound of the

father’s thundering voice, and Reno even

seemed to wince, his hand pinching into the

smal of her back. “And that,” he said, “is my

father. Paulo Gabrini. Pop, this is Katrina

Hathaway. My lady.”

Trina almost expected the father to say

something like, “she don’t look like a lady to

me,” he seemed just that mean, but he didn’t go

there. He, instead, walked toward them and

extended his hand.

“Hel o, Katrina,” he said as they shook.

No smile, but no frown, either. “You want

something to drink? Some hot chocolate or

something?”

Some in the room giggled. When Mr.

Gabrini and Reno looked at them, they

immediately turned stoned-faced. “What’s

funny?” Gabrini asked them. “Did I say

something funny here?”

Not a sound. He looked at Trina again.

“Have a seat, you and Dominic, sit down.”

They sat on the big sofa that was across

from the sofa occupied by the females in the

room and Gabrini took a seat in the flanking

chair. Carmine sat in the second chair, and

Joey sat beside Reno.

“I don’t know why they cal ed you here,”

Gabrini said to Reno. “There’s nothing nobody

can do. I told these knuckleheads that.”

“What’s the trouble?”

Gabrini hesitated. “Joey, why don’t you

take Katrina and show her around the place.”

“No,” Reno said, although Trina could

have used a break from this intense crowd.

“She stays with me. She hears what I hear. I

told you she’s my lady.”

“Your lady,” Joey said snidely. “You just

met this woman. She could be an FBI plant for

al you know.”

Trina looked at Joey. “An FBI plant?”

she asked, astounded that he would even think

such a thing.

“Who’s making trouble, Pop?” Reno

asked his father, ignoring Joey’s snide remark.

“Frank,” Gabrini said.

“Frank?” Reno asked. “As in Frank

Partanna? Please don’t tel me you’re talking

Frank Partanna.”

“I’m talking Frank Partanna.”

“Geez, Pop,” Reno said angrily, “how you

get mixed up with that character?”

“What you mean mixed up with him?” his

father roared. “I didn’t get mixed up with him.

He got mixed up with me. He has his territory

and I have mine. Now he wants mine, too.”

“But you’re east coast and he’s west.

He rules the west. Why he bothering you?”

“He wants to rule the east now, too.”

“But you only own a slice of the east.

Why he bothering you? Why he ain’t bothering

al those other wise guys?”

Gabrini looked at his oldest child with

what Trina detected was pure bitterness in his

eyes. “They start with the weakest link,” he said,

“why you think? I’m the only boss this side of

living with no back-up. It’s just me. My son,

who’s more than capable, wants to play hotel

magnet, riverboat gambler, while his father is

sinking over here! They get rid of me, my

empire crumbles, it’s as simple as that. And

they know it!”

Reno let out an exhale that Trina could

just tel was laced with his own bitterness. She

was terrified for him. It was a fact now. This

family was a mob family. But what was Reno’s

role?

“That’s nonsense, Pop,” Reno said, his

voice a little deflated. “You got back-up. You

got Carmine here, and Dirty. And Joey if you’re

kick his ass a little and straighten him up.”

“Hey,” Joey said, offended, “I’m sittin’

over here!”

“Dominic, do you hear yourself?” Gabrini

asked him. “Carmine and Dirty to run my

empire? Carmine and Dirty? With Joey thrown

in for the hel of it? No offense, boys, but al

three of them together won’t make half of you! I

need you, Dominic. You get in this game, they

leave me alone. I know this as a fact. You stay

leave me alone. I know this as a fact. You stay

out, I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that, Pop.”

“I’m dead. It’s the truth! We’re talking

Frank Partanna here! He don’t fuck around.

He’s been linked to that massacre in South

Central, tangling with the crips and bloods, the

Mexican mafia, al of it, geez. This man is

dangerous.” Then he exhaled, tried to calm

himself back down.

Trina looked at Reno. If he gets in the

game? What game? The mob? Her heart was

in her shoe.

Reno saw Trina’s stare through his

periphery, and he could just feel her fear. But he

dared not look at her. Not yet. This was the