Tommy Di Pozzo had accompanied his father, Tommy ‘The Horns’ Di Pozzo Senior, to a meeting at our mansion a few years back. I remembered them both and the picture in Alexei’s report matched my memory. Taken from a distance with a deep zoom, Tommy walked down a snowy street, flanked by thugs. He wore a large coat on top of a tracksuit, stretched out by his gut. Sunglasses hid his eyes and a greying goatee covered his weak chin, but not how badly it doubled.
The picture caught my eyes, but the rest of file held the real meat. Bullet points broke down Tommy’s vitals: 45, widower with no children and heir to his father’s family. That, I knew, the rest not so much. Alexei had compiled his banking information, never a full accounting of a Mafioso’s net worth, but telling and distinctly lacking in Tommy’s case – but it didn’t stop there.
“He visits a dominatrix every other week for CBT?” I lowered the folder and glared at my captor. “What the hell is CBT?”
“Cock and ball torture,” he replied, unable to hide a shiver.
“Are guys into that?” I asked before I dropped the folder. Heat came to my cheeks.
“I’m not.” Alexei chuckled and another shiver took him. “I made the mistake of Googling it after I got the report. Think of the up side. If your father chooses him, maybe he’d want you to stomp on him. It’d let you get some aggression out though I doubt your father would pick him.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked, already knowing the answer myself. Would Alexei come to the same conclusion?
“The Buffalo family has been withering on the vine for decades now,” he replied, pointing to the bank information on the file I’d dropped. “Your father wants to rebuild the Commission. Buffalo doesn’t even deserve a seat now. My money would be on the Chicago Outfit, and that brings us to Luca Ceci.”
Alexei opened the next folder. He tilted his head and nodded with a shrug. I knew the name but couldn’t place the man’s face. The Chicago Outfit held a lot more independence from the New York Families than the Di Pozzos upstate.
“I have to admit, he’s probably your best bet,” he said, eyes remaining on the file. “Thirty-one, just a year older than me, bottom line looks promising, there’s a future in Chicago. The family cleans up in the background, smart. He even keeps himself fit. The wedding pictures would be grand, though I’d imagine it would be an awkward wedding night.”
Once again, he held out the file. I’d already shown how interested I was in the information he’d compiled. Not looking offered me no advantages so I snatched it up and held it open.
The headshot in the corner of the page had been professionally done. Luca Ceci stood in an expensive pinstriped suit in front of a bookshelf of law books. His fake smile displayed two rows of perfectly white teeth but didn’t reach his eyes. Every hair had been meticulously gelled into place and his olive skin looked as smooth as a baby’s.
The picture below it had my eyes becoming saucers. It was a candid shot, taken in a night club. Luca, dressed in painted-on black pants and a loud silk shirt pressed himself up against a dark-skinned man in the middle of a dance floor surrounded by other men. Their lips were locked in an R-rated kiss.
It was the 21st century and love was love. I had no issue with a guy who preferred other guys. Hell, Alexei might have been right. I’d rather be forced to marry someone who’d leave me alone than one who’d want me to kick them in the balls or who knew what else.
The Mafia wasn’t so enlightened when it came to the LGBT+ community. Hell, my marriage predicament showed just how unenlightened they could be when it came to gender. This single picture was blackmail gold. Luca would do anything and everything to keep the information away from his Family.
“You appear to be surprisingly well informed, Mr. Lebedev,” I said, feigning disinterest as I pushed the folder back toward him.
“Come on, I think we’re on a first name basis by now, Gianna,” he quipped, closing the folder and slipping it back with the others. “Scientia potentia est. Knowledge is power. Sun Tzu said it best. If you know your enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”
“I’ve readThe Art of War,” I snapped. My father might not have considered me his heir, but I studied as if he had. Plus, it was required reading in one of my business classes. Those ancient Chinese strategies for war apparently translated to the boardroom well.
Beyond showing off his fancy Latin, Alexei laid bare our current unequal situation. He had all the information while I held virtually none. His intelligence network had delved deep into my potential suitors. He’d been tracking me. There was no other way for him to have found me at that bar.
Knowledge was only one type of power. Strength and wealth were the others. I’d done well in my self-defense courses but there was no contest between me and Alexei. If he’d been as thin as the boat’s captain, I’d have had a good chance, but not with him. If the thug returned, I’d be at an even worse disadvantage.
Given the yacht, how he dressed and carried himself, Alexei held a lot of the third type of power. He, or at least his family, had wealth at their disposal. More than my father? I’d leave the dick measuring contest to the boys but when it came down to it, all my wealth sprang from my father. He’d made that abundantly clear. In all three, Alexei had me beaten.
The longer I remained here, the worse that imbalance would become. The man already knew just where to tighten the screws by forcing me to consider the future I’d chosen through my unwillingness to say no to my father and fend for myself.
He moved on to the third name, Roberto Cristallo of the St. Louis Family, but the words rolled over me unheard as I brainstormed my exit. As civilized a kidnapping as it had been, he had no plans to let me go… not unless I gave him what he wanted. But that just might work.
“Really, Gianna?” My captor’s use of my name pulled me from my thoughts and plots. I looked up to find him staring, brows furrowed with a frown on his face, “I figured a New Yorker like you would have scoffed at St. Louis pizza. They cut it in squares, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You smiled when I brought up potential suitor number three and all the fun you can have in St. Louis,” he said, shaking the file in his hands. “Good barbecue, at least that’s what I’m told. I’ve never actually been.”
“I think I’ve seen enough.” My voice wavered. Could I go through with it? “I believe you promised me a tour of your little boat after dinner?”
Alexei frowned and stayed seated when I stood and held out my hand. His eyes dropped to it, then back to my own. He hadn’t expected this. The gears in his head turned, trying to puzzle out where I was taking this like a chess grand master planning his own moves well ahead. All too quickly he recovered, flashed his confident and oh-so-slappable smile and rose to his feet.
“Of course, if you want the tour, you can have the tour,” he said, grasping my hand, firmly but surprisingly gently.
6
