Mob Boss Eleven- The Wrong One (The Mob Boss Series Book 11) Page 4

  Val nodded, but Trina could tell she wasn’t anywhere near any points of understanding yet.

  “Come on,” Trina said, taking Val by the hand. “Let’s go see Sophia, and show her these beautiful clothes.”

  Val put on the best smile she could, but even Trina could see how fake it was.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Is he in?” Lee Jones asked the secretary as he entered the outer sanctum of Reno’s office suite.

  “Yes, sir,” the secretary said. “I’ll see if he can see you.”

  “He can see me,” Lee said, and headed into the office.

  It was a circus, as it usually was, as nearly a dozen of Reno’s aides were at the conference table, standing in the back of the office, sitting on the office sofa, calling people, texting people, emailing people on behalf of Reno. It was always chaotic to Lee. But to Reno, it was the best way to get things done.

  Three different managers surrounded Reno’s desk when Lee walked in. Reno was seated behind the desk, listening to each one of them, but he still had the wherewithal to motion Lee over.

  “No,” Reno said to one of those managers.

  “It’s the best deal we’re going to get, boss. I say we should take it.”

  “No,” Reno said again. “My bottom line is my bottom line. His camp can either take it, or leave it.”

  “And if they leave it?”

  “Fuck-em!” Reno said angrily. “Find somebody else, shit. We don’t have to kiss his ass. Find somebody else.”

  Lee could see the frustration in the manager’s face. He was there once too. Reno was the most demanding man he’d ever worked for in his entire life bar none.

  “What’s up, Leonard?” Reno asked as Lee made his way up to the desk.

  “We need to talk,” Lee said.

  Reno saw the seriousness on his face. “What is it?”

  Lee looked at the men around Reno’s desk. “Give us a minute, guys,” he said.

  Although Lee was the Chief Operating Officer of the PaLargio, an imposing black man that garnered instant respect, everybody looked at Reno first, as if he would overrule Lee. Reno frowned. “What are you looking at me for? He’s your fucking boss. When he tells you to get out, you get the hell out!”

  They quickly responded this time, and gave Lee the time he requested.

  Lee walked around the desk, and leaned against the front side of the desk. The two men were now side by side: Reno facing toward the office door, Lee’s back to the office door. Reno leaned back in his swivel chair. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Brice Montana is threatening to walk,” Lee responded.

  Reno frowned. “To walk? Why? We met every one of his demands.”

  “It has nothing to do with that. He’s upset.”

  “What about?”

  “Jimmy Mack upset him.”

  Now Reno was really confused. “Jimmy? My son? What would Jimmy have to do with Brice Montana? He doesn’t work that contract.”

  “Montana apparently saw Jimmy in the casino last night,” Lee explained. “Later that night he called him up to his room. As you know, that’s not unusual around here. Sometimes the performers want to get preferential treatment at one of the tables and will talk privately to one of the pit bosses. So Jimmy went up there. Apparently Montana got a little fresh with Jimmy, and Jimmy didn’t like it.”

  Reno hesitated. “Wait a minute,” he said. “He got fresh with him? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “He came onto Jimmy, Reno. He came on to Jimmy sexually. And Jimmy didn’t like it.”

  “So Jimmy didn’t like it. So what?”

  “Jimmy told him he didn’t like it. One thing led to another thing. And there was an altercation.”

  Reno couldn’t believe it. “What kind of altercation? Are you telling me that Jimmy got in a fight with one of my contract performers?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you,” Lee said with a nod. “And Montana is hot. He wants out.”

  Reno stood up and hurried from around his desk, grabbing his suit coat from the back of his chair. “Where’s Montana now? In his suite?”

  “Yes. I told him not to do anything rash until you’ve had a chance to meet with him.”

  But Reno had to talk to Jimmy first. He hurried onto the elevator, made his way downstairs, and made his way into the casino. When he saw Jimmy, at his station as a pit boss, he hurried to him.

  Jimmy Mack Gabrini was sitting on a stool talking with two blackjack dealers. They all were waiting for the morning activity to pick up. They were laughing and having a ball. But as soon as Jimmy saw his father coming his way, he began to get worried. He already knew why he was coming his way.

  The dealers, too, stopped laughing and stood to their feet when the owner approached.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gabrini,” one of them said.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gabrini,” said the other one.

  “So what’s this about?” Reno asked the threesome. “Some kind of convention? Everybody on break at the same time?”

  “Ah, no, sir,” one of the dealers responded.

  “Then get to your stations. I’m not paying you to flap your chops, I’m paying you to work.”

  “Yes, sir.” The two dealers hurried back to their respective tables.

  “It’s not like they had people waiting, Pop,” Jimmy said, defending them. “There’s nobody at their tables.”

  “You worry about yourself,” Reno said.

  “Did you see Val this morning?” Jimmy asked, attempting to change the subject.

  Reno hesitated. “Yeah, I saw her.” Reno also remembered what Val saw of him. “Why?”

  “Ma talked to her?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Nothing,” Jimmy said.

  But Reno could see the concern in his eyes. “What is it?” he asked him.

  Jimmy exhaled. “She’s still . . . she hasn’t . . . She won’t . . .” Jimmy looked at his father.

  “She’s still what?” he asked.

  “She hasn’t snapped out of it yet, Pop. And I’m not saying it’s easy to do. I know we had that . . . thing to happen.”

  “What thing happened? Call it what it is, son. Your unborn baby died.” It still was painful to Reno too.

  Jimmy swallowed hard. “But it’s been enough time, it seems to me, that . . . I know she’s still grieving. I am too! But she’s . . . It seems like she’s going backwards, not forward.”

  Reno could see that too. Val hadn’t been straight since the night of her miscarriage, but lately she seemed even more distant, and unfocused, and sad. “So what do you want me to do about it?” he asked his son.

  “Nothing. Nothing to be done, I guess.”

  “Give it more time, son. She’ll come around. She has to.”

  Jimmy nodded.

  Reno, however, still had business on his mind. He had moved on already and was back where he started from. “Tell me what happened with Montana,” he said to Jimmy.

  Jimmy looked at his father. He hated the idea of discussing something like that with a man like Reno. Before Jimmy got married, Reno used to wonder if he was gay. Now this.

  “Well?” Reno asked. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?” Jimmy asked.

  Reno let out a harsh exhale. “Do I look like your fucking playmate? Tell me what happened, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy looked around, to make sure that the few patrons in the casino this time of morning weren’t in earshot. “There was an altercation,” he said.

  “A fight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Between you and Brice Montana?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What was it about?”

  Jimmy was so uncomfortable he could feel beads come onto his forehead.

  “What about, James? Stop fucking around. What was the fight about?”

  “Stupid stuff.”

  “Such as?”

  “Pop---”

  “Tell me!”

  Jimmy an
grily leaned toward his father. “He wanted me to suck his dick, alright?”

  Jimmy looked at Reno. Reno’s jaw tightened, but he otherwise remained unmoved. “What did you do when he asked?”

  “What did I do?” Jimmy was surprised to be asked such a thing. “What do you mean what did I do? I beat his ass, Pop. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You were supposed to say ‘no, thank-you, Mr. Montana. I don’t go down like that. Is there anything else I can do for you of a non-sexual nature?’”

  Jimmy couldn’t believe it. “Did you hear what I said, Pop? He wanted me to--”

  “I know what he wanted you to do. But I also know he’s one of our headliners who packs them in every night. This is a business, Jimmy, and he’s great for business. So let’s go.” Reno grabbed Jimmy by the shirt and began to tug him along.

  “Go where?” Jimmy asked as he allowed the tug.

  “To his suite,” Reno said. “Where the fuck you think? You’re going to apologize to him.”

  Jimmy jerked away from his father’s grasp. “Apologize?” He couldn’t believe it. “Are you serious, Pop? You’ve got life bent if you think I’m apologizing to that cocksucker!”

  Reno looked at his handsome son with a look so chilling no words were going to be needed. Jimmy swallowed hard, but then followed his father toward the elevators.

  But once they were on Reno’s private elevator, Jimmy once again complained. “You wouldn’t apologize,” he said. Then looked at his father. “Would you?”

  Reno hesitated. “No,” he admitted.

  Jimmy was floored. “Then why are you making me apologize, Pop, if you won’t?”

  “Because I would not have gotten into a fight with one of our performers in the first place! I wouldn’t have anything to apologize for! You don’t think I’ve been propositioned before? Hell, I own a fucking hotel and casino in Vegas. Every single day of the week somebody’s asking me for dick. But I don’t beat them up. I smile, I play it off, and I get the hell away from them. But you don’t beat up our bread and butter like some thug in the street! You’re my son. You’re a Gabrini. And every Gabrini knows there’s a time and a place for everything.”

  Jimmy shook his head. His father was always giving him contradictory advice. Fight back, don’t fight back. Do this, don’t do that. It was getting crazy to Jimmy. Then he looked at Reno. “Uncle Sal said I did the right thing,” he said.

  Reno looked at his son. “You called Sal?” Sal Gabrini was Reno’s first cousin. Although he was technically Jimmy’s cousin, he was affectionately referred to as his uncle. He was also Reno’s least favorite relative.

  “I called him,” Jimmy responded.

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to know if I did the right thing. And Uncle Sal said I did.”

  “Oh, really?” Reno asked. “Does Uncle Sal run the PaLargio and have contracts he has to fulfill with performers? Does Uncle Sal have lines around the block to see Brice Montana and the PaLargio has to deliver? Does Uncle Sal have blue-haired old ladies, who live paycheck-to-paycheck, saving what they can to make this trip to Vegas just to see Brice Montana, and, by the way, they fully expect to see him when they get here? Does Uncle Sal have any of that to worry about?”

  Jimmy looked down. “No, sir,” he admitted.

  “Then stop asking for advice from somebody who don’t know what the fuck their talking about! It’s easy to sit on the sidelines with that would of should of could of bullshit. The PaLargio is our family business. This is what we do. And you will not mess that up because some prick came on to you! You suck it up, refuse his advances, and move the hell on! You don’t beat him down and cause your old man to have to beat back a multimillion dollar law suit!”

  Jimmy looked at Reno. “He’s going to sue?”

  “He threatened to! Lee calmed him down, but we don’t know how long that’ll last. That’s why your ass better step to that man right, you hear me, James? No bullshit. Just apologize. You understand?”

  Jimmy didn’t like it, but he knew, businesswise, his father was right. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  When the elevator stopped, and the doors opened, Reno and Jimmy headed to Brice Montana’s suite. Reno hated that Jimmy was in this position, but this was a matter of business. And when it came to his business, Reno did not play. Not even with his son involved.

  “Enter,” a male’s voice said after Reno knocked on the door and he and Jimmy entered the spacious suite.

  Brice Montana, a sixty-year-old singer with that gaudy, over-the-top Liberace look and style, was sitting on the sofa sipping coffee. He was also getting a manicure and he and the male manicurist were laughing. Jimmy wanted to turn around and get the hell out of there right then and there. But his father was behind him. There was no backing out when his father was the driving force.

  “Mr. Gabrini,” Montana said to Reno. “So good to see you.”

  Reno and Jimmy walked toward him.

  “Have a seat. Please.”

  “We’re okay,” Reno said. “I understand there was a disagreement downstairs last night.”

  Montana smiled. “Is that what it’s called? I don’t know. I think the police officers would call it an assault.” He looked at Jimmy. “A vicious assault.”

  “You asked my son to suck your dick,” Reno said pointblank.

  Montana attempted to smile it off, but Jimmy could see his embarrassment. “I didn’t ask him to do any such thing. I asked to suck his. But that’s neither here nor there. I asked the young man a question, and he became violent. That’s the full extent of our encounter. And I won’t allow that mistreatment. I tell you I won’t!”

  Reno looked at Jimmy. Jimmy sucked it up. No bullshit. “I apologize for hitting you,” he said.

  Montana looked at him. And then he smiled. “These old ladies who come to my shows? The biddies as your generation would call them? They all come because they have a monster crush on me. They all come because they think I love them, and would love to marry them someday. That’s how sheltered they are.” Then he looked at Reno. “I will tell you right now that if I’m not adequately compensated, I will not only come out of that closet, I will fly out, and turn my mistreatment into the rallying cry for gay rights across the breath and width of this entire nation!”

  Reno frowned. “Gay rights?”

  “If I am not adequately compensated, I will speak loudly and I will speak often about how the PaLargio, and one Gabrini in particular, treats their guests of a gay persuasion. If I am not adequately compensated, I will bring this establishment to its knees.”

  Reno stared at Montana. Montana waited for a response, and Jimmy did too, but none came.

  Montana smiled, but it was a shaky smile now. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Mr. Gabrini?”

  Reno nodded. “I understand loud and clear,” he said. “I’m a man of the streets. I know a shakedown when I see one.”

  Montana laughed. “A shakedown? Are you serious?”

  “My son apologized for hitting you. And he was wrong to handle it that way. But that’s all you’re getting from the Gabrinis. He won’t grovel. He won’t kiss your ass. He won’t give you a dime. But what he will do is kick your ass again if you so much as attempt to defame the PaLargio or any member of this family. And I’ll join in the kicking.”

  Montana stared at him.

  “So proceed with your big plans, Brice. Fly out of that closet like Tinker Bell herself and proclaim how the PaLargio mistreats homosexuals. Go on. Give it a whirl. Bring that knife to a gunfight. Because we Gabrinis, we’re gunslingers. You’ll be on our turf then. And you will find out really quickly that you don’t want to fuck with us.”

  Montana swallowed hard. He’d heard about Reno Gabrini, but he didn’t believe it. How could such a charming man, a man who owns one of the premier hotels and casinos in the modern world, be a mob boss? But he certainly was talking like one now.

  “If I were you, Mr. Montana,” Jimmy chimed in, “I’d keep my co
ck in the closet and continue to mesmerize the old ladies. Because if you thought you were going to retire on Gabrini money, you’re sadly mistaken. You heard my father. You won’t get a dime out of us. Not one red penny.”

  Montana’s smile was gone. He began to breathe heavily. Then he tried to smile. He was nobody’s fool. Just as Reno knew a shakedown when he saw one, Montana knew a defeat when he saw one. “Apology accepted,” he said.

  Jimmy almost laughed. What a joke, he thought. But he didn’t so much as crack a smile. He was learning from his father that you take victory in whatever form it came, and get the hell away from there.

  They got the hell away from there.

  When they were in the elevator, they high-fived.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “That’s why I’m naming them the PaLargio South,” Reno said as he and Trina stood behind his desk. “It’s going to be the working man’s version of our brand. Marriott has Courtyard. Hilton has Hilton Garden Inn. The PaLargio will have the PaLargio South.”

  Trina swiped through the photos on his IPad. “Valdosta, Georgia,” she said as she checked out the photos of his latest site. Every photo contained snapshots of the property itself, and the buildings that were to be bulldozed. Some photos showed Reno surveying the property. “Have you signed the contract yet?”

  “The initial contract, yes,” Reno responded. “I’m going to go to Georgia and meet with my people over the weekend to iron out some last minute details. If all goes well, I’ll sign the final paperwork next Monday.”

  “And the PaLargio South in Valdosta, Georgia will represent which number?”

  “Hotel number eight. And every one of our new hotels will be located in small towns across the south. If this works, then I’ll consider bigger cities. But we’re in the first phase, the test phase now.”

  “Ah,” Trina said, looking at one picture in particular, “you’re going to have competition in Valdosta.”

  “What competition?” Reno asked. He looked at the photo. It was a snapshot of Reno standing in the middle of the Valdosta property. In the background was a busy street, and across the street was a Bed and Breakfast, with a man standing at the door. “Oh, that place? No, babe. Courtyard by Marriott and the Hilton Garden Inn: those will be our competition.”