Page 5 of The Associate

“We finished early,” Gio said, lifting the bag. “We made all the lights for once.” He wanted to shrink into the walls and disappear at that. What a stupid fucking thing to stay in front of one of the most powerful men in the country. Skipping Lonnegan’s had played a role in their truncated route, and Gio wasn’t ready to admit to a light take so he lied. Last thing he wanted was to embarrass his capo. Better to have simply saidyes, sirand let the man lead the conversation.

Yet Salvatore nodded and fixed his sharp gaze on Gio in a silent dare to break contact. Gio lasted to the count of ten before his attention wandered a few inches. He fixed on Salvatore’s hammy fist around Aldo’s cut crystal glass, in particular the many coarse black whiskers curling out from his fingers. It led him to think of how much more of the man’s body was covered in hair. Gio’s friends might have pointed out this trait as typical of a Mafia don, swarthy and shaggy everywhere but on top. To be sure, Salvatore sported a combover and grayed at the temples. Aldo, by comparison, was not as hirsute but blessed with a full head of dark, wavy hair. Maybe ten years separated the men in age, yet appearance wise, the gap seemed wider.

No fault to Salvatore San Gaetano, though. The responsibility of managing the family no doubt brought him great stress. Gio hoped never to count himself as a cause.

Aldo offered to make more drinks, fixing two of the same. Salvatore panned his gaze on Gio, from his high tops to the frayed neck of his T-shirt, his expression one of bemusement.This is how you dress when you represent us?is what he got from the silent appraisal. Normally no, but Gio figured the don wasn’t interested in hearing the circumstances that necessitated his casual state of dress today. It hardly helped his case, either, that Vic had on a nice polo under his blazer, which hid his holster.

“You are Giuseppe, yes?” Salvatore asked him.

“Joseph,” said Aldo, at the same time Gio answered, “Everybody calls me Gio.”

Salvatore then flicked his gaze to Vic, lowering his eyelids while turning his body in a blatant sign of dismissal. He didn’t outright tell Vic to get lost, but when Gloria announced dinner he edged forward, brushing closely past Gio and blocking Vic from view.

“You sit next to me,” he said. “I’m very interested in learning more about you.”

Gloria’s vealsaltimboccapaired well with the polenta and sauteed spinach served on the side. At least one icy stare accompanied Gio’s meal, coming from Vic, relegated to the far side of the table between the two Bertinelli boys. Gio focused on the sound of Salvatore’s voice to ignore it, and answered the don’s every question.

Yes, he finished high school. He played sports, but not well enough to earn a scholarship or go pro. Yes, the Bertinellis treated him well. He’d met Aldo through a cousin who worked for another of Salvatore’s captains. Yes, shame about what happened to him. It impressed Gio that Salvatore, who had well over a hundred people under him, knew almost every name attached to the family, even though he had trouble placing faces.

A bite of veal lodged in Gio’s throat after he heard the next question. He pressed his napkin to his mouth and willed his body to relax, then swallowed hard before a sip of wine.

“No, sir,” he said, licking his lips. “I am not married, nor do I have a girlfriend.” Gio would give away his bank account number before discussing his personal life. He’d been aware of his same-sex attraction well before high school. The young girls in their red plaid jumpers and shiny black shoes, jumping rope and hopscotching on the concrete playgrounds, had done absolutely nothing for him growing up. Anytime a friend or relative questioned his bachelor status this late in life, he offered the same explanation he gave Salvatore.

“I suppose the right one hasn’t come along yet.” Tall, slight figure, nice ass to fill his large hands, and a thick dick to fuck his hole for days on end. Gio had a type.

The old man’s shoulders shook with his quiet laughter. “Well, there’s plenty of time for you, but don’t keep a nice girl waiting if you want a family,” Salvatore told him. He nodded in Aggie’s direction. “They say the longer a woman waits, the greater the risk of birth defects. These kids now, they either have weird allergies or autism. All because women feel they have to have a career first. It’s nonsense.”

Gio fixed on his water glass, watching for the telltale ripple meant to warn of a coming shitstorm. He didn’t have to side-glance the Bertinelli girl or her mother to understand neither of them shared the don’s chauvinistic worldview. He figured Aldo had schooled his family to show respect to the don when he visited, and was therefore surprised when Aggie opened her mouth.

“Is it?” she asked, stirring her spinach and polenta. “We’ve always had autistic kids and severe nut allergies. We simply hear about them more now because it’s important to bring attention to people who require care, rather than feel ashamed of them.”

Gloria, in a clear attempt to restore diplomacy, pointed at her daughter with her fork. “Agatha, your veal is getting cold.”

Aggie ignored her food, laser-focused on Salvatore. “By the way, transgenderism isn’t a new phenomenon, either. Did you know during the Civil War—”

“Agatha.” Gloria raised her voice, firm without shouting. That one word silenced the table until Gloria scraped her chair backward. Rising, she lifted the empty glass pitcher and beckoned for her daughter to follow. “Come help me with the tiramisu.” When Aggie opened her mouth for a presumed protest, one sharp look from Gloria shut it all down and she obeyed.

Salvatore leaned closer to Gio and nudged him as if to say,Women, huh?Gio offered him and Aldo a tight smile and finished eating.

* * * *

After a tense dessert course, Gloria shooed the kids upstairs and handed Vic a takeaway container of leftovers. Gio locked gazes with his associate and transmitted a shared thought—that their bosses no longer required Vic’s presence for the evening.

“I got that rideshare app,” Gio said as he walked Vic to the door. “I can call you one.”

Vic declined. “I’m not getting in a car with some weirdo. There’s usually a cab driving past. I’ll flag one.” Halfway out of the door, he turned and flashed Gio a sympathetic smile. “I envy you and I don’t right now,” he said. “Call me at home later, maybe? Let me know you lived.”

Gio laughed to show he got the joke, but every step back to Aldo’s den took on weight. His heart pounded in his ears, speeding up when he rounded the entrance and saw the night’s take spread out on the coffee table, bills stacked by denomination. Salvatore and Aldo sat together on the couch, each with a nightcap.

“So you know,” Gio said, standing before them, “Lonnegan’s—”

Salvatore waved his hand. “We know about that. Hugh Malloy all but dropped dead a few days ago. He’s not there yet, but word is they’re setting up a home hospice so it’s only a matter of time.”

Gio bowed his head. The obligatory moment of sympathy soon passed in favor of business. Sorry for the family, but the man had debts, Gio learned. Hugh Malloy had been behind on protection payments and other favors owed to the San Gaetanos. Gio had worked for the family long enough to know that Malloy’s death wouldn’t cancel them.

“To compensate for Malloy’s financial negligence,” Salvatore said, “we’re taking possession of the building. My lawyer is working on it with the Malloys’ lawyer. We’re taking the estimated value of the business and subtracting what they owe, plus interest.”Of course.“The soon-to-be widow’s gonna need some money to bury the poor man.”

“Yes.” Gio thought of his own mother in that moment, and how she’d have to deal with tying up loose ends in such an event. He liked to think the San Gaetanos would step in and assist, so hearing that the don showed some sympathy for Mrs. Malloy heartened him. He figured once the family took the building’s deed, they’d sell it to a developer for a profit.

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