Page 2 of Mafia Captor

Everyone else in my life calls me Boss.

“It’s annual. I’ve got it on my calendar,” I say. “Same as every other year.”

I count down, knowing exactly what question she’ll ask next.Five… four… three… two… one…

“Boston, do you think you’ll be bringing anyone with you? Maybe a special date? It is Valentine’s Day, after all.” She pauses only long enough to suck down some more wine. “I mean, you are at a wedding, right this minute. There must be dozens of beautiful, single women there.”

And there it is.

My mom’s always been desperate for me to meet “the one,” but since my dad passed away, she’s been contemplating her own death. She’s only in her late fifties, works out four times a week, and eats well, her only vice being red wine—for the antioxidants, she says.

She’s not going down anytime soon.

My dad, on the other hand, smoked like a chimney and drank hard liquor like Prohibition was about to make a comeback. As irrational as her thinking is, she’s gone into overdrive, wanting me to marry and come home to take over the family estate as the eldest of her five sons.

And finally give her the daughter-in-law she’s been yearning for.

“I don’t know, Ma.” I eye Ashely. She’s moved over to the champagne tower, standing beside Tess. Tess has her “boss woman” look on her face, one hand on her hip, the other one using her champagne glass to punctuate her words. Tess’s voice rises as she speaks, clearly passionate about whatever she’s saying. I catch something about a job, Ashely working in the Village.

Ma gives an exasperated sigh. “It would just be nice. You haven’t brought anyone since”—my mom’s voice dips down, dripping with disdain—“her,and that was five years ago. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”

Leave it to Ma to bring up the she-devil of whom we do not speak, to pressure me to bring a date. “I have moved on. I’m just busy with work.”

“I know. I know. The Bachmans are your new family now. The Sullivans forgotten.” My mom’s still bitter about me changing my last name after being initiated into the Bachman Brotherhood, an elusive mafia family based out of the city. “I’ve seen the women in New York. Surely there’s one single girl who’s caught your eye.”

My said eye travels back to Ashely. She’s hugging Tess. She must have taken the job. Which means I’ll be seeing her Monday morning when I head in to work. “Maybe. This might be the year you get your wish.”

Her voice floods with hope. “Really? Hmm…” She pauses. “Tell you what. You bring the girl and I’ll finally give you what you’ve been begging me for over the past year.”

I know exactly what she’s talking about. I feel a tug in my chest. I want it so damn bad I can feel it in my hand. Is that all I have to do? Show up with a date and she’ll finally make it mine?

I clear my throat, steady my voice. “You always did drive a hard bargain.”

“No, I just know how to get what I want. So do you.” She laughs. “You get that from me.”

“I thought that came from my Taurus stubborn streak,” I say, knowing full well my bullheadedness comes from her. “You told me that when you made me do that ridiculous moon chart.”

“Natal chart. It was a natal chart.” My mother is way into astrology and personality traits. “And yes, my Boston Bull, you are both. Which means double trouble when you’re trying to get your way.”

“Okay, Ma. You calling me your Boston Bull is my cue to hang up and go find my male friends. I need a shot of whiskey and a dose of testosterone.”

“Well, think about what I said, please. You get something you want, and I get something I need. To see you at least try to have one healthy, intimate relationship. That woman, she who must not be named, God, she did a number on you—”

“Got to go.” Bringing up the she-devil a second time in one call is grounds for dismissal. “Bye, Ma. Love you. See you soon.”

I hang up before she can start in on her, the woman she claims wrecked me for all other women. She’s wrong. I’ve only had one relationship that lasted longer than six months. That was five years ago. Everyone assumes I was crushed and haven’t moved on. I keep telling them the truth. I’m a cold-hearted bastard who gets bored with women after a few days. I prefer to keep them around short-term, then move on. The day I know it’s time to have the “see other people” chat is when she leaves a toothbrush in my bathroom.

That’s my cue to kick said girl to the curb.

My family doesn’t know that I did the dumping in my last relationship. Or why I let her go. No one but she and I know what really happened between us. And I’d like to keep it that way.

Booker, the youngest of my four brothers, sends me a text. I’d ignore it, being at a wedding and all, but he’s house-sitting my dogs for me while I’m here for the gala. I glance down at my screen, trying to be discreet. No one likes the guest who’s on their phone.

big bro

hook a little brother up

let me drive the Rover tonight

---