1. ROCCO
It was my job to know everything and everyone. It was also my job to keep an eye on the entire Bianchi family operation. The last thing I wanted was for some FBI agent to rock up in the position of a bartender, fishing for information.
Big yikes to that guy.
Not only because they wouldn’t find anything, but they’d probably end up fired for trying.
It really didn’t matter how I knew, all that mattered was that I did. Sometimes, it was like catching mice. All you needed to do was lay out a little bit of cheese and just a hint of blood in the water—i.e. my dad dying—to make the entire family appear weak.
Santo, my older brother was in charge now, but really, all three of us were in charge, just differently in the pecking order.
I’d been watching him. Theguy. The one I’d let Lorna hire. The one I smelled from a mile away. It was kinda funny, though, to think anyone or anything could get through me.
The new hire at Palazzo. He’d introduced himself as Kal with a K, and a smile that I feared might work on most people. But I knew this guy, he wasn’t Kal the bartender who thought a Long Island iced tea was an imported drink.
We were getting busier as Boston’s cold spring turned warm. It was perfect timing for them really, to try to take us down while we were otherwise occupied. My brain didn’t shut off, though, ever. It was a beast of my own making sometimes, and the only way to quiet it was with a shot of the good stuff, and my hand stretched out along the soft back of a submissive.
“Kal,” I said, calling out to him as he held two bottles in his hand, completely clueless. I gestured with two fingers for him to follow me into my office.
He was a foot shorter than me, bright eyes, a pep in his step like he was about to walk into a room where I was going to confess to every single crime I’d ever committed. “Yes, sir.” He walked inside the room, glancing around at the clutter of files and mess. “Anything I can get for you?”
“Close the door,” I said.
He closed it and continued to keep that thousand-watt smile. “Thank you for hiring me.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t hire you,” I told him. “But I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re in this room. And hopefully you’ll tell me the truth when I ask it of you.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
I stepped closer to him. He was dripping sweat from his forehead, and the smell of his cologne was stronger now. “You know, usually, when someone comes sniffing around, they—”
“Sniffing around?” he asked through a shallow breath. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
I lay my hand on the shoulder of the black shirt he wore. It was a good job it was black too, otherwise the sweat marks would’ve been visible. “You’re secretly so submissive,” I whispered. “You like being told what to do. Mhm.” I was teasing him, testing the depths of control that had been hammered into him by the Feds.
“Well, sir, I—”
“Relax,” I said. “You’re not going to find anything here. If anything, I’ll have Lorna work you harder than—what do you guys call it... theFarm,ever did.”
He knew he’d been made. And it had only been a handful of days. I knew it more or less when he came in. It was confirmed by a check of the ID he’d given me, mostly because I’d thought it was fake. Kalen O’Ryan, what type of name was that? I was a bloodhound trying to get information—I likened myself to a lot of things—since I was good at sniffing out moles, or peoplebefore they could become moles. And anyone who lived within our small operation in Boston knew we gave back, we rewarded good behavior.
“Please,” he whispered. “I don’t know what you’re—”
My finger sat against his lips. “I don’t care too much about any of that. I just wanted you to know that I know, and I would like you to stay.” The heat radiating off him was strong, and I chuckled a little. “Nobody’s going to hurt you here, we’re not that type of establishment.”
Once my finger came away, he licked his lips. “Should I get down on my knees now, then?” he asked, his big eyes full of pleading.
I frisked him for a wire or his phone. “You’re not getting me on solicitation.”
A slow drag of his tongue swept across his upper lip. “I’ve heard all about it. I just wanna know if the rumors are true.”
Maybe he’d got me mixed up with Santo. I’d heard those alarming rumors too. “Wrong brother.”
“You are Rocco Bianchi, and I really wanna know if it curves.”
“The only curve you’re getting is a learning curve,” I said. “Now, get your ass back out in the bar and work. We’re not paying you to mess up drinks. And anything you break comes out of your paycheck.”
He nodded. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said, trying to keep up the ruse. “I’m just Kal, and I need this job, but I can do other things. I really need the money.”
