MOB RULES (James Harris Book 2) Page 19

  “Yeah,” she returned the smile. “But it made me realize a few things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as,” Christi paused and took a deep breath. She exhaled and plunged forward. “I’m in love with you.”

  Harris said nothing. He simply stared into her face. He examined her cheekbones, her lips and her green eyes. He saw her strength, her humor. He saw her intellect and the fact that she did not need him. She did not need anybody. This was a strong and capable woman. She was loving, funny and always truthful. He gave her hand another squeeze.

  “I care for you too, kiddo,” he said with gentle sincerity. Christi saw him struggle for the next sentence, to choose the right words. “But it’s a very….difficult time.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry to lay this on you while everything else in your world is so crazy. It’s just that…I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “I know.”

  “No,” she said. “You don’t. But I promised myself that if I ever did get to see you again, I would stop being such a chicken shit and tell you how I feel.”

  “You’re about as far from a chicken shit as any woman I’ve ever known.”

  “So I’m not looking for some big love scene. I’m wasn’t hoping we’d fall into each other’s arms and kiss for an hour.”

  She paused and Harris gave her a tight lipped smile of understanding.

  “Okay…so maybe I was hoping for that,” she said as she laughed. The sound lit up the room. “But I’m not expecting it. I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

  “Thank you, Christi,” Harris said tenderly. “It means a lot to me. It really does.”

  “I know that you want to make your marriage work and I would never do anything to get in the way of that.”

  “Bonnie is filing for divorce,” Harris said bluntly.

  Christi felt the air rush out of her. She hadn’t expected that.

  “Oh my God,” she blurted as she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She pulled her hand from his. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I mean, how could I have known? I promise you that if I had known that I would never have -”

  “Christi.”

  She stopped.

  “It’s okay,” Harris reassured her.

  She looked down at him with sorrow filled eyes.

  “I am sorry, Jimmy. I don’t ever want to see you in pain.”

  Harris reached back out to her with his right hand. Christi smiled and took hold of it once again. He gave a playful squeeze which made her smile.

  “There ya go,” Harris grinned. “There it is.”

  “Stop,” she said with mock annoyance.

  The two looked at each other without speaking.

  Harris was happy that she was here. He had to admit that just being in the same room with her was something that brightened whatever mood he was in. Somehow, she had crept her way into his subconscious and it felt good. Traveling right behind that warm feeling was guilt. He was still married and he still loved his wife. But he knew that it was over. Bonnie was not the same woman any more. Maybe it was he who had done that to her. Maybe just a combination of things. But in the end all he wanted was for her to be happy again. Maybe without him she could become that carefree, beautiful woman that he’d met all those years ago? Maybe that’s what it would take? To be free of him.

  He looked tenderly at the young woman by his side.

  “I just need some time, Christi. You know? I’ve got to finish dealing with this and then I plan on doing a whole lot of nothing for a while, just being by myself. Can you understand that?”

  “Of course, I do. You’ve been through hell the last few months. Both with your job and with Bonnie.”

  She paused, smiling down at him.

  “Just don’t forget about me, huh? I will be waiting for you to call, but I ain’t gonna wait forever. Got it?” She narrowed her eyes and gave him a good stern look.

  “How could I possibly forget about you?” He replied.

  She nodded her head. “Good answer, pal.”

  The two laughed.

  “But I’m going to ask you for just one more thing. Is that okay?” She asked.

  “Sure thing. What?”

  Christi stepped closer to the bed. She leaned down slowly. Harris did not attempt to move. Placing a hand softly on the side of his face, Christi placed her lips upon his. It was not a passionate kiss, but it was heartfelt and she let it linger for just a second longer. Finally she straightened.

  “Thanks. I guess that’ll have to hold me for a while.”

  Harris took in a deep breath and let it out.

  “Damn,” he said quietly.

  “Damn is right,” she said as her face flushed again. She backed away from the bed. “I’m going to go find Sylvia and then maybe get some fresh air. Might even ask a nurse if I can go find an empty room and take a cold shower.”

  They both laughed and Christi turned for the door.

  “See you soon,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

  Harris nodded to her and she left the room.

  Mob Rules

  52

  It was almost a cliché.

  The three men sat in the darkened, back corner of an old, Italian restaurant in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. Antonio Franco, boss of the Franco crime family sat with his back to the wall. Seated to his right was Anthony Scalaro, underboss and second in command of the family. To Franco’s left was Carmine Lucci, consigliore, or counselor, of the organization. Enjoying pasta and sipping red wine, were the three top men of the largest crime family in America.

  There were two bodyguards stationed at the front of the restaurant, two in the back room just off the kitchen and another pair seated just two tables over. Although the families had not been at war in several years, Antonio Franco always took precautions. It was how he’d stayed on top for so long.

  Franco was an almost forgotten throwback to the old school mobsters. His uncle, Paul Franco, had formed the family during the early thirties when the infamous Lucky Luciano created the commission making up the five New York families. His father, Paul Franco’s brother, ran a bakery and never approved of his older brother’s life choice. And he was particularly horrified when his only son decided to follow the same path as his outlaw uncle. Regardless of his father’s objections, Antonio made his bones in the fifties and quickly became a bona fide member of the family. He worked his way up the ranks as a soldier before making captain. In 1967 he was made family consigliore and when his uncle Paul died in 1984, he bypassed the underboss of the family and took over the reins as boss.

  Franco came up before the movie The Godfather sensationalized and glamorized the mob. He went to great pains to remain a low profile boss, avoiding the spotlight as much as possible. While younger, high ranking mobsters drank, womanized and lived in expensive homes, Franco still kept a small home in Brooklyn and spent his time tending the garden in the back of the house. He was a bosses boss in the traditional, old country sense of the word.

  “Tell me again, Anthony,” the old man spoke slowly as was his way. “What makes you think we can trust this policeman?”

  “Don Franco,” Scalaro began with the courtesy he always afforded the older boss. “When we were first approached with this contract, of course I would have no part in it. And the people who reached out to us were made to understand that they were very wrong coming to us with such a request.”

  “Molto irrispettoso,” Lucci interjected, using the old language to voice his displeasure over the lack of respect.

  “These Colombians are animals,” Scalaro continued. “They make hundreds of millions selling powders and then spend the rest of their time at war and cutting each other’s throats.”

  “But this does not answer my question,” Franco spoke softly.

  “Scusami, Don Franco. I am working my way to the police officer.”

  Scalaro shifted in his chair and leaned in a bit closer to the old man.

  “Captain Harris killed a
Colombian drug lord named Salvador Castillo late last year. The man was in America on a vendetta personale. Here we have a boss who left his own country in order to torture and kill the daughter of an enemy.”

  Franco straightened upon hearing this, his weathered face a mask of disgust. “This man went after the family of his enemy? A daughter no less?”

  “Schifoso,” Lucci spat with a sour look.

  “He did, Don Franco. But this police officer saved the girl and killed him.”

  “Bene,” Franco spoke with a slight nod of his head.

  “Yes, I agree, Don Franco. Good. But in doing so he made an enemy of this man’s cousin who is now in control of his drug empire in Bogota. This man is the one who came to us wanting the police officer’s family killed.”

  “He came to you directly?” Franco asked.

  “He sent a man, a consigliore of sorts.”

  “Please continue.”

  “Captain Harris is a man of action. He is no fantoccio. He will not wait for the authorites to save his family. He will take action.”

  “And he came to you because he was tipped off about the contract? From one of our friends?”

  “Yes. He was very direct, Don Franco. He says we have a problem. We have a ratto who is cooperating with the police.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “Yes, Don Franco. He speaks the truth.”

  “But you were smart enough not to tell him who contacted us,” Franco smiled and pat his underbosses arm.

  “Grazie, Don Franco,” Scalaro said acknowledging the compliment.. “I had to make sure this man was in our debt. He is the type of man who will honor such a thing.”

  “And that would explain all of this nonsense in The Bronx?”

  “Yes, Don Franco. Everything I have done is for the family. It was necessary.”

  “Sono d'accordo,” Carmine Lucci said, nodding his head in agreement.

  “It worked out even better than I had hoped,” Scalaro continued, “Because we were able to save this man from a horrible death. In turn, we have also saved his family.”

  Franco hesitated, giving thought to Scalaro’s last statement. He looked upon his underboss with concern.

  “It is a very strange matter for us to be involved helping police, but I understand that it was more in the aid of this particular man. This man can help us solve our problems, no?”

  “Yes, Don Franco. That is exactly what I was thinking.”

  “What will you do now?” Franco asked.

  “Captain Harris will find out that it is this Colombian who is after him. But he will have no way to deal with it himself.”

  “So he will come to us,” Franco interjected as he understood and smiled.

  “He will, Don Franco. He will ask that we help him.”

  “You are certain of this?”

  “I am. But it will mean getting involved in South America.”

  “And what does my consigliore think of this?” Franco turned his head to address Lucci.

  “It is risky, Don Franco,” Carmine answered. “The last thing we need is a war with the Colombians. However, this man in Bogota has many enemies who would be very happy to see a change. They would not ask questions or be concerned with retribution if suddenly they were in power.”

  “Could we make it appear as if it was the work of a rival?”

  “Absolutely, Don Franco,” Scalaro answered. “I already have a team in place who assure me it would be quite easy.”

  “You sent men down there already?”

  “Only to report the situation to me. I would never move forward without your blessing, Don Franco.”

  The three men sat in silence as Franco stared off into the distance. He weighed his options and made his decision. It did not take long.

  “Very well, Anthony,” he said with a smile and another pat on the forearm of his underboss. “The greater risk is an informant discussing our business with the police. If we can solve this problem, the other risk is acceptable.”

  “Grazie, Don Franco. I will take care of it.”

  “Si,” Lucci added.

  “Just one thing, Anthony,” the old man added, a sudden look of concern on his face. “What will you do if this policeman double crosses us?”

  Scalaro paused. He looked to Lucci, who shrugged with nonchalance. Scalaro then looked back to his boss.

  “Then he goes.”

  Franco considered this for a brief moment. Finally he nodded.

  “Those are the rules,” Scalaro said.

  “Le regole,” Lucci repeated in Italian.

  “Okay, now that this business is decided, we eat. Before the food gets cold,” the aging boss spoke with a cheery smile as he reached for his wine glass. “Buon Appetito.”

  “Buon appetito,” both Scalaro and Lucci replied as the three touched glasses.

  Mob Rules

  53

  The large, iron gate swung open slowly and Harris pulled into the Oyster Bay complex. He drove his Camaro up the long drive and parked it under the porte-cochere. It had been almost three months since he’d been to Sylvia’s mansion. So much had changed, so much had stayed the same. He killed the engine and swung his tall frame out of the car. Before he’d taken three steps, the front door opened and Sylvia hurried out to greet him. She threw her arms around his waist and squeezed for all she was worth. Harris placed his uninjured hand softly on the woman’s back.

  Releasing him, she took a step backwards and looked at him with genuine affection and concern.

  “How is the hand, Jimmy?”

  “Honestly, Sylvia I barely feel it. I guess I have too much on my mind.”

  “What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until you’d had a chance to recover a bit?”

  “We have to talk,” Harris spoke in a somber tone. He did not smile.

  Sylvia noticed the grim look and her expression changed to match it.

  “Okay,” she replied.

  Turning on her heel, Sylvia turned and walked back into the house as Harris followed.

  “Do you want to grab some coffee?” She asked as they passed through the foyer.

  “No thank you. I just need to talk. Can we go in the study?”

  “Of course,” Sylvia answered as she walked towards the French doors of her office.

  Once inside the study, Sylvia walked behind her desk and took a seat. She motioned for Harris to sit in one of the two, overstuffed chairs facing her.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll stand,” Harris spoke. His demeanor was unlike anything Sylvia had ever seen from him. She shifted in her seat uneasily.

  “What’s going on Jimmy, what’s happened?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Okay. What do you need?”

  “I need the name of the informant in the Franco family.”

  “Whoa,” Sylvia said it quickly as she slumped back in her chair. Her face seemed to suggest that Harris was kidding. She raised her eyebrows.

  Harris simply glared across the desk. The two were silent.

  “Jimmy,” she finally spoke, realizing that he was not going to say anything further. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Harris said bluntly.

  “Excuse me, Jimmy, but you don’t have to approach the subject in this manner.”

  “I’m sorry, Sylvia, but I have neither the time nor the patience for pleasantries. I’m trying to save my wife and child. Perhaps you can remember what that feels like?”

  Sylvia bit her tongue. She stifled a response and breathed. Harris was under a tremendous amount of stress and she could see that he was running on fumes. She also took into account what he had just experienced in the last forty-eight hours. She nodded and offered a sympathetic smile.

  “You got the bastards, Jimmy. It’s over.”

  “Come on Sylvia, you know damn well that it’s not over until I take care of the person who put out the contract.”

  “I assumed you got that information, didn’t you?�
��

  “Officially no. No I did not. But off the record,” Harris hesitated briefly. “Yes.”

  “Well that’s good right? So go get them. Get Blake Shannon involved, he can help you.”

  “No Sylvia, he can’t. And to go a step further, I don’t want him to know that I know. I don’t want any of this to be official.”

  “Why in the world not?”

  Harris hesitated.

  “Because the hit was ordered by Rafael Castillo.”

  Sylvia gasped. Wide-eyed, she threw a hand over her mouth.

  “Yes,” Harris added somberly. “His cousin.”

  Harris allowed her to sit silently. He could see that all of the implications of this information were running through her mind. He studied her face and watched as she connected the dots.

  “I need your help, Sylvia,” he repeated.

  “And how will the identity of our Franco informant help you?”

  “I’m going to give it to Tony Scalaro.”

  “Why in the hell would you do that?”

  Harris once again remained silent and simply stared at her with the steel gaze for which he was known. He set his jaw, his own private tell that he couldn’t be any more serious, and waited, knowing that she would reach her own conclusion any second.

  “Dear God, Jimmy,” she said in shock as she finally grasped it. “You can’t possibly expect me to allow that! Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”

  “Of course I do,” he answered, ice in his voice.

  Sylvia rose from her seat. She stood in front of her desk and stared into his face.

  “Where do I even begin to tell you what’s wrong with that idea?” She asked indignantly. Sylvia was truly upset and made no effort to mask it. “I-I can’t even say it out loud. It’s too terrible!”

  “Really,” Harris replied. “Well I have no problem with it. People will die. I will be responsible.”

  “Jimmy!” Sylvia almost shrieked. “You are a police officer!”

  “Oh spare me, Madame District Attorney. You had no compunction when it was your child’s life on the line.”

  “How dare you!?” Sylvia yelled, her face turning crimson. “How dare you say such a thing to me?!”