Page 4 of Married With Lies

Not too long ago, Carmine Connelly made me an offer.

And, as the saying goes, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER…

1

CALE

My uncle makes it a point to keep people waiting. I’m no different.

For twenty minutes I’ve been kicking back in this stiff leather armchair. The room is filled with hand carved dark wood furniture made by some hundred-year-old guy guy in a Sicilian village.

All this shit could come from IKEA for all I care but Uncle Richie likes to point out his good taste on a regular basis. He tends to think of himself as a renaissance man, channeling the dapper mafia dons who were figments of Hollywood’s imagination.

What a fucking laugh. There’s nothing moral or wise about my uncle. I would know. After all, I’m the one who carries out a lot of his dirty work.

The chime of a grandfather clock echoes from somewhere on the other side of the house. I might feel impatient if six p.m. on Christmas Eve meant something to me but it doesn’t. I quit going through the motions years ago. The only person who might change my mind is my kid brother but he’s spending the holidays down in Miami with friends.

Anyway, I’ve grown used to not making plans. They tend to get cancelled whenever my uncle snaps his fingers. Comes with the territory when you’re the most trusted henchman of Richie Amato.

Heavy footsteps shuffle closer and my eyes stay trained on the closed door. It’s pure reflex when my hand goes to the holstered weapon on my belt even though I know there’s no threat. My uncle would never risk dirtying his designer office with the contents of my skull. Besides, he’s convinced of my unwavering loyalty.

The door cracks open. My uncle’s sweaty head, newly accessorized with spotty hair plugs, peers inside. He nods to me, waves off whichever of his goons stands in the hall, and drags the door closed behind him.

I rise from the chair. That kind of respect is required when the boss enters the room.

“Merry Christmas, nipotino.” Uncle Richie folds me into a warm embrace and thumps my back.

Nipotino. I think it means nephew. Recently my uncle has begun speckling his language with Italian words. Funny, because he doesn’t even speak the language and nobody around here was born in Italy.

“Merry Christmas to you too,” I answer even though I’ve seen far too much to be fooled by the many moods of Richie Amato.

Richie makes his way to the other side of the desk and takes his chair with a grunt. He’s slowed down lately. Only those of us in his most trusted inner circle know the reason is a minor heart attack two years ago.

The chair squeaks as my uncle shifts his weight. With a wave of his hand he motions that I ought to be seated. A glint of light catches the gold of his thick pinky ring.

He folds his hands over his broad gut and gives me a shrewd appraisal before his gravelly voice fills the room. “That business in Atlantic City all squared away?”

The ‘business in Atlantic City’ involved a double-crossing casino owner who was begging for investors a decade ago. He got greedy, started cooking the books to avoid paying my uncle. When given a chance to change course, he threatened to inform to the feds. I almost felt sorry for him for being such a raging dumbass. If he hadn’t made the informant threat I might have argued on his behalf but I have no patience for traitors.

“His partner is taking over,” I say. “He intends to be more cooperative.”

There’s a lot of unspoken meaning stuffed into that sentence. After all, watching your business associate get his throat slit and then bleed out while tied to a metal folding chair tends to shift the goalposts.

Richie mulls this over with a grunt. “Hope it’s clear to him that I don’t like repeating myself.”

“He knows. He’ll be adding another five percent to compensate us for all the trouble.”

An ugly grin splits Richie’s face. “Your idea?”

“Of course.”

“Good work.” He tilts his head and looks me over more carefully. “I thought Luca would visit for the holidays.”

My wariness rises, as it always does when Richie mentions my younger brother. But no one watching would ever guess what goes on inside my head. The biggest reason why I’m sitting in this chair and why I’ll nod along with whatever orders come next is to keep the focus off my brother.

I keep my tone light to stay in character. “Can you blame him for choosing the Florida beaches over the New York deep freeze? Forecast says there will be twelve inches of the white stuff coming this weekend.”

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