Page 3 of Checkmate

For the last two years, I’ve shown my face beside Leo’s as his right-hand man all around town. A certain impression has become synonymous with my face and name that only being Leo’s right-hand man could bring me. No one except the two of us really knew what was going on behind the charade. I had climbed through the ranks of the Giordano mafia empire and found myself immersed in their world. I had to admit, I admired the way that Gio ran his mafia. It was completely discreet. Cleaner than some. No one stepped out of line, and no one uttered a word of disrespect. It was admirable to an extent.

Three nights ago, I had received an urgent text from Leo to meet him in the back of the casino his family owned. We usually didn’t do shady alley business, but something about the way he had typed the message told me not to question it. I hurried from my apartment down to the Vegas strip. It was loaded with people as normal. After I managed to find a parking space in a garage, I pulled my over-the-top, Bugatti Veyron, into the space. A gift from the Giordano family for my services and loyalty. The car costs more than I make in a year on the undercover force. Hell, probably more than I’d ever make on the force, but I couldn’t exactly tell them that. Besides, money was no object to the Giordano family.

I locked the car up, tipped the guy at the turn stall to keep an extra eye on it, before making my way down the strip. The lights are bright. Performers sing on one corner and the dancing on the next. Sellers approach trying to make a little extra money. Homeless loiter around near business entrances in hopes of someone taking pity on them. A group of drunken girls stumble down the street, barely dressed, giggling and oblivious to the dangers of this town. Living this secret life within my life was starting to become blurry. I looked down at my overly expensive Italian three-piece suit, yet another thing I had become accustomed to while being in this world. Buttoning the middle button of my jacket, I make my way to the casino. My handgun heavy, tucked inside the band of my pants behind me, concealed by the jacket.

My phone rings and I slip it out of my pocket. When I look at the number I’m certain I’ve read it wrong, but sure enough it continues to flash on the screen. Suddenly, the Vegas strip seems empty, still, and dark, because if the number calling me on this phone means anything… it means the Las Vegas as we know it is about to change. I’m reluctant to answer, but finally do. “Ratliff, you know you shouldn’t be calling this phone.”

“Kid, we have a problem. A tip just came through… in Italian so it took us a minute to translate it,” Ratliff replies. Ratliff is the sergeant over me. He’s a good guy with the best of intentions and smart as a whip. Years of experience under his belt makes him someone to look up to, not to mention the connections he’s made throughout the years.

“And…” I say, when he doesn’t continue.

He sighs. “It’s probably fake, but it said that tonight the Giordanos fall.”

“Well, that’s vague and not at all helpful. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” I ask. Frustration causing my muscles to pull taught in my body.

Ratliff sighs on the other end of the phone. “My guess would be that someone has ordered a hit on either Lorenzo or Leo. Since Lorenzo is basically untouchable, my guess would be Leo,” Ratliff explains. My heart drops into my stomach. I’m sure it’s just a false tip but then again we rarely, if ever, get a tip concerning the local mafia’s illegal activities or whereabouts.

The urgent text and the odd place to meet, was this why? Had he heard about a hit being ordered? Did he know this was coming? “Shit, I got to go,” I tell Ratliff. My feet are already beating against the sidewalk as I break out into a run. Bumping into people as I pass them.

“Be careful kid and for god’s sake, turn your damn GPS back on,” he barks into the phone. I barely hear him as my breathing accelerates from the run towards the casino—the crowded sidewalks making it impossible to maintain a decent speed. I see the sign for Gio Grand Casino. I run around the corner and into the alley before I come to a stop. The sick stench of sewer and trash causes bile to rise up in my throat. It’s shocking how everyone misses the stench in their excited or drunken stupor. I hide in the shadows of the wall as I creep forward toward the back of the building where Leo wanted to meet. As I near the end of the alley, I peek around the corner and see the last thing I expected. Leonardo Giordano, lying on the ground, blood surrounding him, two fatal bullet wounds visible on his body.

My feet freeze. Everything freezes. I stand there, motionless for a moment before rushing forward and dropping to my knees next to him. I check for a pulse and find nothing. My heart breaks a little. He had become my best friend. He could always make me laugh and was reliable without a fault. Leo’s dedication and love for his sister was something I would never be able to understand coming from no family at all.

I grab my cell phone and dial Matteo Gigante. Aside from me, he was the only other person Leo trusted, yet he wasn’t in on our little secret. I remember telling him when I needed help. He showed up in no time, shock evident on his face. It felt like it was in the blink of an eye when Leo’s body was taken away, Matteo and I met with Gio in the back room of the casino where the security guards should have been watching the cameras.

The room was dark except for the wall of TV’s giving you every angle of the three-story casino as well as the outside areas. There was a chill in the room occupied by the stench of stale fast food and blood. Whoever had killed Leo, made sure to kill the guards so they couldn’t alert anyone quickly. Giodidn’t show any emotions, come to think of it, I had only ever seen him smile when it was for a show of some sort. The man always held a look of stern distaste. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, his beard trimmed neatly to his face, suit pristine without a wrinkle in sight, and shoes shined as if they had just been pulled out of the box. His gold Rolex watch glistened when it caught the light. He oozed wealth, superiority, and fear. You knew that whatever he said you would do. His emotions were tucked away, but I could tell by the look in his dark eyes that he was angry.

That look was the look that I knew would end the Vegas that we knew. It would be flooded in the blood of those that Lorenzo Giordano considered an enemy and I feared I’d be one of them.

Four

Vivianna

The plane trip from New York City to Las Vegas seems to go at lightning speed, even though I know better. That sinking feeling of grief has been my constant friend since I spoke to Matteo. I think the dread that has taken over my body in the last forty-eight hours has made time fly by. My morning routines have flown out the window since I got the news about Leo. My world has been shaken to its very core. I sigh at just the thought of him being gone. I don’t think I’ve fully accepted that he’s gone for good. Some part of me expects him to be at the airport waiting for me when I get off the plane. All tall, dark and handsome. Polished from the world we grew up in. Expensive suit, shoes shined to perfection and hair completely in place. Eyes alight with mischief and his signature smirk of a smile. I don’t think it’ll really sink in until I see his absence in the place we grew up.

Time is a funny thing when you think about it. When you’re excited for something or waiting in anticipation then time seems to move at a snail’s pace, inching slowly toward the finish line. However, when you are dreading something then it’s as if time speeds up, someone has pressed fast forward on the remote of your life. You can’t seem to slow it down no matter how hard you try. This day is one of those fast forward moments. If I could I’d greedily snatch the remote away and rewind or even hit pause. I’d settle for a pause right now.

My life has been moving at a blazing pace ever since I got that fateful phone call from Matteo. The reminder of that phone call causes chills to course through my body once again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget those words Matteo said to me. I shake my head as the flight attendant comes over the speaker, telling us we are preparing for the landing and to please make sure that we are buckled up.

I kind of wish I had requested a window seat now. I had this crazy idea that if I didn’t have to see Las Vegas from the window of the plane, then I could pretend this wasn’t all happening—but that was a foolish idea. The dread within my body grows tenfold. I can’t believe I’m actually here. When I left this place behind, the idea was to never come back. I had a good run for four years, but that was done now.

I hated Las Vegas and everything it represented. I hated that I was going to be in the same town as my father and every enemy that he had aquired through his years as ruler of corruption—the enemies that had killed both my mother and now my brother. My stomach knotted with a sick dread that I could not shake. I was one of the last to leave the plane, trying to hold off the inevitable. Finally, I took a deep breath and braced myself to face the city and father I had run away from.

As I made it into the airport itself, I scanned the people mingling around to see if I noticed any familiar faces. Every instinct I had was going on high alert. Everything Leo and I had been taught growing up, in the forefront of my mind. I didn’t recognize anyone from my past, but that didn’t give me the stamp of safety. Just stepping back in Las Vegas meant that constant need to look over my shoulder. I had been out of the game, so I was certain that new enemies, new faces, and new problems had occurred since. While growing up, it was dinner time conversation for my father to come in with a stack of mugshot or surveillance photos of the newest enemies. Our father would sit at the head of the extravagantly large dining table. It was one of those tables tucked away in a formal dining room that you only see people use for holidays and special occasions, but for us, it was a nightly ritual that you could not escape. Even my father would arrive at home every night, dressed in his high-priced three-piece suit with gold cufflinks, a stack of photos tucked securely under his arm, at exactly six in the evening. No matter what business he had going, he made sure he was home for dinner. As children, we never missed dinner unless we had a school function or something of that sort going on.

Every night my mother would sit at the first chair to the right of my father, Leo on the left, and myself beside Leo. We would be seated when my father got home. The sharp sound of his footsteps from his expensive Italian leather shoes echoed throughout the house, announcing his arrival. He’d enter the dining room, stop to press a kiss to the top of Mother’s head, then take his seat, laying the stack of photos beside him. We’d say our thanks before we ate then he’d start to pass around the photos of our enemies, to protect us, so that we were prepared for any and all threats against our family.

After my mother’s death, this ritual of family dinner continued, but he wasn’t always home at exactly six—sometimes it was much later. Leo and I learned to bring our homework to the dinner table while we’d wait for his arrival. Once I was old enough, I joined every possible extracurricular activity and club just to avoid these dinners. I’d come home long after family dinner to find the stack of photos lying on my neatly made bed. I’d sigh and avoid them, until I finally decided to call it a night. That’s when I’d give in and actually look at the photos, memorizing everything I could about each and every one of them.

I knew every one of our enemies then, but it’s been four years and now I know none. I’m vulnerable and at a time when our enemies are ready to strike. They already took out my brother and it would be easy to assume that I would return home for his death. They probably anticipated my arrival to an extent. My only saving grace, and it’s a small one, is that no one aside from Leo knew where I have been living since I left Las Vegas, so they wouldn’t be able to pinpoint what flights I might take. Not that it would stop them, the other families would just place some of the guys to watch out for me twenty-four-seven, until I was spotted.

An icy chill washes over me as I make my way toward the baggage claim. Maybe I should have called my father and told him I was coming home. We may not get along, but he wouldn’t have left me stranded and unprotected in the airport. As I’m standing with a group of people waiting to catch a glimpse of myLouis Vuittonluggage to appear on the carousel, that feeling of being watched comes over me, and I immediately start to scan the area, but there are far too many faces and none that I recognize, until my eyes lock on a pair of dark eyes. These eyes I don’t fear, I know them well, or at least I used to. Matteo. My body sags in relief as he makes his way toward me. He bypasses me though and heads to the carousel, grabbing my luggage, before turning to me and motioning me to follow him. For once, I don’t argue I just fall into step beside him.

It may have been four years since I’ve seen Matteo, but the years have been good to him. The boy I once knew has grown into a man at some point. His body has filled out, if the way his suit hugs his body is any indication. His hair is slicked down and pulled into a low ponytail, his beard trimmed neatly to his face. His dark olive skin tone, true one hundred percent Italian, is still as flawless as I remember.

As we head out of the airport, two more guys follow behind us, dressed in suits as well. As if I didn’t feel underdressed next to Matteo. My jeans, olive green cami, and black leather jacket and boots might look chic, but they look cheap compared to the three men I’m walking with. Matteo leads us to a blacked-out Cadillac Escalade. Another guy hops out of the passenger side door and opens the door behind his own for me. I look over at Matteo and he nods his head, while going around and placing my luggage in the back. Once I’m securely in the SUV, the door is shut and moments later Matteo joins me.

An identical SUV pulls past us, and we fall in line behind it. I turn around in my seat and notice two more identical SUVs behind us. When I turn back around to face Matteo, I already have my eyebrows raised, the question fixing to fall off my tongue, but Matteo beats me to it. “Yes, this is all very necessary. Someone is clearly making moves and I refuse to let you be one of those, as does your father.”

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