Indebted to the Mafia King
More Bad News

Tony

The cold glass touches my lips as I sip from my whiskey, my eyes watching Estella over the rim. She's dancing in front of a group of fucking loud guys who came here for a bachelor party. I'm in my usual booth at Aphrodite's Lounge, and even though she's a hell of a dancer, I can't seem to keep my focus on her for more than a few seconds tonight.

This is a clear sign that I'm losing interest in her, no matter how hot and good at sex she is. In all honesty, I'm getting bored of her.

And it's not like I should feel guilty about it since I know she only likes my money anyway-like all of them do. But as much as I like to have women keeping me company every once in a while-especially when I need to blow off some steam- Estella is not managing to entertain me any longer.

I rub my temples, trying to make this fucking headache that's been gwaning on me for the past three days go away. Estella's gaze finds mine from across the club, and I fight the urge to look away. I have no intention of indulging her tonight, but I don't want to be rude either.

A couple of patrons walk past my booth and wave at me, their drinks in hand as they head to the VIP section at the far end of the room. I greet them by raising my glass, recognizing them from a few other nights, but not bothering to give them an ounce of a smile.

Estella's dance is coming to an end. I can tell that by the way those fucking losers are waving their dollar bills at her, one of them attempting to slide one under her thong shorts hem. She smiles seductively at them, noticing the amount of money she'll be taking home.

If I want to escape her tonight, I need to get out of here before the song ends. I won't be able to tell her no if she approaches this booth and sits on my lap, no matter how bored I am of her.

I turn the remnants of my glass down my throat, feeling the liquid burning my windpipe, and stand up, heading toward the back door without looking back. I pop open the button on my suit jacket, feeling it too tight and uncomfortable all of a sudden.

My black SUV is in the club's private parking lot, and thankfully I don't bump into anyone on my way out. I ponder heading home, but there's still work to be done tonight that can't be postponed anymore. For the past four years, it has felt like my days are endless and filled with countless shit to handle. It's a fucking rollercoaster with no end in sight.

Whenever I come close to having a glimpse of peace, something happens to start it all over again.

Another problem to be solved; another business deal to close...

It never ends.

So, with that in mind, I go back to Lou's Deli instead.

No, I haven't gotten out of that hole yet. In fact, as much as I hated it when I took over from Dante as the new head of the Saints, the space kind of grew on me with time. I don't even gag at the smell of cold cuts anymore. I don't even feel it, to be fair, my nose already used to it by now.

It is spacious after all, and after looking over the entire city for a better place, nothing seemed to convince me to move our headquarters from there, so we simply stayed. It's been serving us right so far.

The street is dark and empty as I step out of the car and walk inside. It is too damn late, so I shouldn't be expecting the place to be on full function. It feels odd to find this place completely empty, with not a single soul around. As soon as I get to the deli's basement, I notice there is no one here either.

It is better this way anyway. I work better on my own; just utter silence keeping me company-and the voices in my head, reminding me of darker times and nightmares from the past. Seb's voice is one of them, still visiting me when I least expect it. My visions of him are not as frequent as they used to be, but I still see him.

I walk over to my office and round my wooden desk, finding it covered with stacks of paperwork. I shuffle through them, searching for what I need to work on tonight. The inventory being shipped out tomorrow has to be checked and approved by me before heading off the port, so I need to handle this before going home.

It's lost on me why I procrastinated so far to do that, but it's no one else's fault but my own. This file has been on my desk for at least a week now, so I can't put the blame on anyone else today.

When I finally find the document I need, I plop down in my chair, urging my brain to function properly so I make no mistakes. I fucking hate the detailed and thorough part of this job. But as much as I'd love to have one of the guys do it for me, there are things that require my eyes only. No one else's.

So, I lose myself on the endless list of numbers and names, papers in one hand and a pen in the other.

Footsteps echoing on porcelain tiles a few minutes later-or has it been hours?-make me snap my head up and crease my brows in confusion. I glance at my watch, which reads 3:00 AM.

Who the fuck is here at this hour?

"I figured I'd find you here." Armando's voice reaches me before I can even see him. My second steps into the doorway, his face hooded by shadows since I only have one lamp lit on my desk. I can tell he's tired by the way his dark circles are evident even from this distance, but he's looking sleek as always in his black suit.

"Aren't you supposed to be at home with your wife and kids?" I ask with a frown, leaning back in my chair, watching as he walks inside the room. His footsteps are heavy and loud, especially since I've been hearing nothing but the ticking of the clock and the shuffle of paper for the past two hours.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news that couldn't wait until tomorrow, Boss," he tells me, sitting on the chair across from me. "Couldn't you have called?"

Armando shakes his head, his jaw clenched slightly. "It's delicate news, so I thought you'd prefer that I delivered it personally."

He's right. Armando is extremely attentive to how I like things to be done, not to mention overly cautious, which is a good quality to have in this type of business.

"All right, just fucking tell me then. What happened?" I press, getting impatient with all his rambling and unnecessary suspense.

"I just got a call from Nicky Bertolucci," he starts gloomily. "Apparently, Carlo had a heart attack this afternoon and died at his house in Miami."

I stare blankly at him, taking in the news. Not that I cared too much about Carlo because I damn well know he didn't like me. When I took over the Saints, he didn't agree with me being the new boss. So, faster than lightning, he retired and moved to Miami with his wife and daughter.

He had worked with Dante's father for longer than I've been alive. He had good networking and good insight on how things were done, so it was a great loss to our businesses.

But if he didn't trust me, he was better off elsewhere. I couldn't risk having someone with me who might stab me in the back at any moment.

But I do feel sorry for his wife and daughter.

Nicky and Chloe Bertolucci.

Pale blonde, cornflower blue eyes Chloe.

Chloe, who I haven't seen since we met at a ferry going into the city and drunkenly ended up having sex with-Chloe.

"The Bertolucci family has a plot in the local cemetery and the mob wives are getting together in the morning to start planning the funeral," Armando continues, pulling me back from my trip down memory lane. "Nicky is having his body shipped back for the burial. I wasn't sure if you knew about it or not yet. That's why I came here to tell you."

Again, he did the right thing. It never hurts to be too careful.

It's not like our lives are a fucking fairy tale. One missed step and we're as good as dead.

I rub my neck, trying to think of what to do.

"Tell them I'll pay for the funeral," I tell him bluntly, not wanting to go further into details. I don't want to know about any of it now. I don't want to know about how Chloe is. It's been two fucking years since I heard from her, and it is better this way. "In fact, I'll charter a private jet for the Bertolucci women and Carlo."

I still find myself daydreaming about her, against my will, and I don't know if it's a good thing or not that I can barely remember the night we spent together. I still find myself wanting to remember the details of her lying naked in my bed, the soft feel of her skin under mine, the way her smooth blonde hair felt on my fingers, the way she moaned my name over and over until she was out of breath and wasted beneath me.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since, wondering how she is and if she ever thinks about me the same way. I feel like a fucking teenager fantasizing about having her again and again. Night after night.

No matter how many dancers I get in my bed, none of them makes me forget her. Her sweet, floral scent. That is one thing that I could never forget.

It hurt my ego to not have her reach out to me and come looking for me after that night, but I can't blame her for not wanting to have anything to do with this life anymore.

Moving away from this city-and from me-was the best thing she could have done.

Armando is looking at me with an enigmatic face, but he knows better than to ask me about whatever it is he's thinking.

"See that they have everything they need." I carry on, ignoring the way my stomach twists when I imagine Chloe's blue eyes filled with tears as she mourns her father. "And let me know when it's happening so I can be there to offer my condolences."

"You're going to be there?" Armando asks, his tone serious but wary. "Do you think that's wise? Who knows who might show up, Boss?"

It's not like I can miss the funeral of a former member of the Saints. Especially as their new boss.

I nod. "Carlo used to work for the Saints. I need to pay my respects. It's the right thing to do."

I don't tell him that I'm also secretly eager to see Chloe again, even if I have to watch her crying from afar, not able to do anything to comfort her.