Page 46 of Mafia Baby

Dom rolls onto his side, taking me with him. He starts to drift off to sleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. After all, he’s been driving all night.

I watch him dozing, my heart aching with love for him.

It’s just one more thing that I can’t tell him; one more secret that I have to guard and keep close to my chest. But I’ll do it, because I can’t imagine any kind of future that doesn’t include him in it.

Chapter Seventeen

Dominic

I’ve slowed down on my contract work lately as I’ve gotten busier at the club, and I think I’m starting to feel my age.

Gianna and I have been working the casino and nightclub circuit for a few days now, trying to dig up leads on The Cobra, but each night, all I want is to be back in my own bed as soon as possible.

The business associates here are all way too chatty for me, and no one seems to understand that our line of work is dangerous. The bathrooms are constantly filled with men talking about their target hits, what they had for lunch, or whose wife was pregnant.

No one in Chicago would ever be that upfront about their work. Maybe doing dangerous work at the beach makes people go soft.

I didn’t come here to make friends; I came to get a job done. And I’ve always worked better in silence.

“Find out anything new and exciting?” I ask Gianna as I escape from a gaggle of cigar-smoking old men who were boring me with their tall tales of their glory days.

“Actually, I might have,” she says to me, excusing herself by saying that she needs me to take her to the ladies' room.

I note that she’s drinking iced tea again. She hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in weeks, from what I can tell. At first, I thought she was just trying to remain clear-headed due to the job, but now I’m wondering if there’s something else going on.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” I ask her as I lead her dutifully to the bathroom.

She pats my forearm appeasingly. “Don’t you worry about little ‘ol me,” she says to me with a wink before heading into the bathroom.

When she’s gone, I check my phone to see if my business contacts in Chicago have anything new to offer me for my manhunt. I ignore some annoyed texts from Vince who apparently didn’t appreciate the cost of the little cottage I rented for Gi and I.

I don’t have time for his petty concerns. I’m working and he should be grateful after threatening me and Gianna on the day he realized we were hooking up.

“Okay, sorry,” Gianna says to me as she emerges from the bathroom. She smooths her silky dress over her curves, and I admire her by leaning back a little.

She seems to be getting curvier lately, and I am finding that I approve of the change wholeheartedly.

“So, what did you find out?” I ask her as we wander toward a quiet corner where we won’t be overheard.

I hear some men cheering as they win at the Roulette table, but I barely glance their way. No one who is here tonight is truly dangerous. These are all small-time criminals and not the type who would ever imagine trying to take out a man like me.

“One of those ladies over there told me that her husband knows The Cobra. I guess they do business together. She seems to think that it’s a silly nickname that doesn’t mean anything, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“What kind of business is her husband in?” Dom asks me, glancing back at the gaggle of youngish women who are giggling and ogling him.

I wave at them with a big grin and then look back at Dom. “She says they have a box-making factory in Chicago, but they live out here in Atlantic City. She said that her husband meets with ‘some guy named after a snake’ once a month.”

“Hmm,” I say thoughtfully. “What’s her last name?”

“,” Gianna tells me and rolls her eyes. “What a stereotypical mob name.”

I chuckle a little. She’s not wrong. Most of the people who live here in Atlantic City are old Italian money, but the trashy kind.

Jersey isn’t really the kind of area where top-tier mobsters spend their time. Chicago has always been the main headquarters of most of the active crime families who are still living in the US, but it is helpful that this woman seems to know something about our guy.

Moving business outside of Chicago would help to keep the other mob families from catching on. It’s something I might do myself if I was interested in businesses like prostitution or running drugs.

“A box factory is just as predictable as that name, but some old tricks still work,” I say to her. I pull out my phone and look up box factories near our location. There’s only one, and it’s called Gallo Boxes and Fabrication. Bingo.

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