Page 3 of Bite Marks

Nunzio sat in his car, the fine leather seat welcoming him like a warm hug. Still, he hung his head over Vanessa shooting him down. He glanced through the window at her once more before setting his coffee down and driving off.God! She was beautiful, connected, and Italian as gelato.She’d be the perfect wife for a man involved in thefamily business.

But she’d said it herself. She was an ice queen. Nunzio was not the first to be turned away.If only she’d give me a chance.His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. “We could have so much fun, little butterfly.”

He drove to Sinsations, a two-story gentlemen’s club used as a very effective front with an illegal poker den in the back. The last guy to run the joint was Lenny Fontana, but the idiot went and shot someone in front of witnesses, and even the family’s best lawyers could only get him a reduced sentence. A dime for icing somebody? Yeah, you’d be crazy not to take that deal. In the meantime, Nunzio and his crew took over the place, with the Moretti Don’s approval, of course.

Nunzio parked in his reserved spot at the entrance. Having the Roma out front not only helped make the joint look classy, but it also meant the bouncers could keep a close eye on it.

John “No Neck” Russo stood outside. The man was a little shorter than Nunzio, but he was built like a tank. His shoulders were so egregiously stacked that it was hard to say where they ended and where his neck began, so people stopped trying, and he got his moniker.

As Nunzio passed him with a nod, No Neck nodded back, a pair of sunglasses in one ham hock hand and a paper towel in the other.

“No Neck, tell me you aren’t about to clean those Trussardis with a damn paper towel.” Nunzio reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his microfiber wipe. “You should have one of these.”

The juggernaut shrugged, the lumps of muscles touching his ears. “I lost mine.”

“Hold on to this one. I got a whole extra pack. You keep that in your coat pocket at all times from now on. You hear me? You’re the first thing people see when they come here. They’ll think the rest of the club is just as scuffed if you're looking at them through scuffed-up glasses.”

“I got you, boss. Thanks.” He took the wipe and cleaned off his shades before sliding them on.

Inside, Antonio “Caps” Capella, a tall, lanky fella with a mustache thicker than his finger, waved at Nunzio before his nose turned bright red, and he sneezed.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Capella!” Nunzio walked to the bar, staring a hole through the man. “You can’t be sneezing behind the bar. You take that allergy pill like I told you?”

Caps frowned and hung his head. “No. I forgot it on the counter.”

“You … You forgot? Cap, if we get one customer who thinks you’re sick and it’s not just hay fever, we could be staring at an empty bar. Ain’t nobody wants to buy a drink from a sick barman.” He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out two pills. “You’re a goddamn pain in my ass, Cap. I outta pop you a good one. Take these, and don’t sneeze on my booze ever again.”

“Thanks, boss.” Cap stared at the pills for a moment before his dark brown eyes went back to Nunzio. “Why do you have these?”

“Conosco i miei polli.” Nunzio waved off the man as he made his way to the elevator. It was true. He did know his chickens all too well. And because of that, he’d found how to pick up on their shortcomings or prevent them altogether.

It was a short ride on the elevator, but it was more of a prestige factor of riding in a lift rather than taking the stairs. His club had an elevator. Few others could say the same.

In the main office, Tommaso “Ginger” De Luca sat at his small accountant’s desk while Nunzio took his seat behind the big oak desk. Ginger got his name by, well, being a ginger. At some point in his family’s history, a bright red-headed Irishman slipped in, and that fiery hair had popped up in his family line every once in a while.

Some considered it a sign that he was unlucky, but given that he stood six-foot-four, only two inches shorter than Nunzio, and his jaw was cut hard like his muscles, Nunzio didn’t see Tommaso as getting the short end of the stick when it came to genetics. No, it was certainly a sign of luck.

Not to mention that the day after he’d officially named Ginger as his right hand, Lenny went and shot that guy and set everything into motion for them to take over the club. Yeah, Ginger was as lucky as a rabbit’s foot.

Nunzio moved some papers around and found two faint lines of white powder on his desk. “God, what is it with today?” he shouted, throwing himself back in his plush, leather chair.

Ginger’s eyes darted for a moment before he slapped on a smile. “What do you mean, boss?”

“Coke? Onmydesk?” He leaned down and blew the remains at Ginger. “First, I hit every red light on my way to Craig’s. The damn barista doesn’t know how to use his mouth. Vanessa turns me down …”

“Vanessa?” Ginger jerked a thumb out toward the stage where two of the dancers moved in tandem, one of which went by Vanessa. “She really turnedyoudown? I thought you two hooked up last year.”

“NotthatVanessa. Vanessa Ciampa. You know, Alonzo’s daughter. We pulled security duty at her sweet sixteen party back when we were nobodies.”

“Oh, Alonzo’s little girl. Yeah. How old is she now?”

Nunzio shrugged. “It was eight years ago, you do the math. Fuckin’ accountant.”

“You sure it was eight?” Ginger rubbed his stubble. “I thought it was ten. We were both twenty-one.”

“That would make it nine if we were twenty-one, you mook. God, do I need to give the calculator to No Neck? Jesus Christ.” Nunzio made the sign of the cross. “Can’t wait to get audited with you, Ginger. No, it was eight. Alonzo got iced two weeks later. Shit was fucked up.” He did the sign of the cross again, this time meaning it.

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Ginger copied the sign of the cross but then shrugged. “Well, hey. No need to keep a bad day rolling when you’re here.” Ginger stood and waved for him to follow. “We got all the girls, booze, and coke a man could ask for.”

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