The restaurant served its patrons under the stars. It was overrun with customers. The waiters bumped into each other delivering trays of food and carafes of wine. She had thought to tell him she wasn’t hungry, but soon learned the Italian eatery wasn’t their final destination. Along the side of the establishment was a narrow stairwell that descended down. Carlo glanced back at her and she nodded she would stay close. She did. She gripped the cool metal rail. She measured each step. Slender cinderblocks smoothed over from age and weather felt slippery under her feet. There was no way she could drink and climb her way back up. He’d have to be her hero. Shae smiled at the thought of him carrying her like some gladiator into his arena.
“Where are we going?” she shouted to his back.
He didn’t respond. Music blared and possibly drowned out her words. His tall frame blocked her view. Carlo stepped down and reached to make sure she did so with grace.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said to him.
“Prego, bella,”
he replied.
Several tall and very dark skinned men were outside the doors of the dance club. One of them appeared to be the bouncer. He looked directly into Shae’s eyes when he spoke to Carlo in Italian. A few words were exchanged and the door was opened. Outwardly she ignored the stares of these men. Inside she was turning to jelly with nervous energy. Carlo’s long arm dropped over her shoulder and she was pulled in closer to him. Initially darkness was all she could see. But the smoky atmosphere opened up the scene under the flashing glare of strobe lights. The place was hot with excitement. There was something fast, rhythmic, and thrilling about the DJ’s choice in music. Vibrant drumbeats mixed in with acoustic instrumentals, gave the song a reggae dance hall semblance. And the partygoers were mostly black. Confused, Shae’s gaze swept beautiful dark skinned men and women gyrating, dancing at the bar, or on the dance floors. At home she might have mistaken the music for something Caribbean, but the language and harmony was clearly African.
“Keep close,
cara
,” Carlo whispered against her ear. “You’re mine tonight.”
He removed his arm from around her neck and took her hand. Due to the overcrowding, he took the lead and parted the way as he pulled her behind him. They walked to the back of the club toward black doors guarded by two giant African men in dark suits. Both looked at her and then each other before seeking an explanation from Carlo. She noticed Carlo was one of three men in the entire place she’d seen so far that wasn’t black.
Again he replied in Italian. The doors opened for him. Inside was a very posh and more exclusive arrangement. The walls must have been sound proofed. She could no longer hear the African music out front. The musician was a solo saxophonist serenading the crowd with a small band behind him, and a woman in beautiful African green and gold regalia, including head wrap, harmonizing on a microphone. Again they were all black.
A hostess greeted Carlo. A short woman with a shaved head and very curvy figure led them to an elevated booth. There were only four of them posted in different corners of the club. To the left Shae noticed a group of men with hardened glares that rivaled the men out front. They watched Carlo. Gangsters? They had to be by their silent intimidating behavior. Carlo didn’t blink in their direction. Why had he chosen this place? The other three booths were all occupied. The one they approached was being cleared for them. The men and women were forced to give up their seats, and did so with grumbled complaints. Carlo waited a beat for drinks and plates to be removed before helping her to step up into the reserved seat.
Shae couldn’t hold back her curiosity any further. “I’m confused. Why did you bring me here?”
Carlo scooted in next to her. “Do you not like it?”
“I’m expecting to experience Italy. This looks more like home.”
Carlo laughed. “The
rione
has a long history with immigration in Italia. Milan’s casbah is a mix of Africans, Asians, and South Americans. They eat, party, shop for whores, fashion, and drugs here. You wanted to know where the fun and good times are in Milan, and I bring you to it.”
“Oh gee thanks?” Shae replied. “Here it is I thought you brought me to this place because I was black.”
He stroked his chin. “That too.”
It was her turn to laugh. Shae wasn’t easily insulted, but she did expect the finer things in life. Romeo would have to step up his game if he thought she’d be his. She picked up the menu and it was all in Italian. She put it down.
“I’ll order for you,” he said.
“I’ve already eaten,” she replied.
“You’ll like this. It’ll go good with the drinks,” he replied. He scanned the menu. “Have some chicken suya, and fried yams.” Carlo told the waitress. He gave the rest of his request for them in Italian.
“So you’ve been here before?” Shae couldn’t help but glance across the club to the men who watched them.
“No,” he answered. Shae noticed he spoke with his hand on her knee. She didn’t object to his forward touch. And typically she would so early into the night.
“Why are those men staring at you like that?” she asked.
Carlo glanced in the direction she referenced. It was as if he saw them for the first time. He smiled. “They don’t like me very much.”
“Am I safe here?”
His gaze shifted to her. “You are always safe with me.”
“I hope you don’t have to prove it tonight,” she half-joked.
The saxophonist ended his solo and the songbird took over. Again, she appreciated the lovely harmony. It felt oddly comfortable for her. Since she landed she couldn’t keep up with everyone speaking a different language, and all the excitement focused on the fashion event. She appreciated Carlo trying to make her feel at ease. And though she vowed to make him chase, she did want a little taste. Shae parted her knee an inch and his hand slipped a little further in between. She pretended to not notice and sip her water. But he stared directly at her, so she was forced to look over into his eyes.
“Why do you keep teasing me?” he smiled.
“Me? You’re the one with your hand on my thigh,” she chuckled.
His caress went further. He brought his mouth closer to her ear. “I like this dress.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. It looks nice on you. I like your ass in it. You’re pretty,” he said.
“Say it in Italian,” she replied. “Maybe I’ll believe you.”
“Ti sta bennisima. Bel culetto! Sei bellissima,”
he said between soft kisses to her cheek and neck. Shae’s lids fluttered. He stroked her kitty now and she was slipping fast.
“Carlo?” a man spoke.
Shae’s eyes flashed open. Her knee bumped the underside of the table nearly toppling over their drinks. A man stood before them watching. He was tall, imposing, and not very attractive. She could see his eyes clearly. Carlo eventually pulled away from touching her to address their guest.
“What the fuck do you want?” Carlo demanded.
The stranger smiled. “A word.”
Shae glanced between the men. Were they friends? Enemies? She couldn’t tell. The silent stare-off made her cautious. There was an unseen tension between them.
“Ciao, bella. Mi chiamo Santo,”
he said. The man extended his hand to her in greeting. Unsure how to respond, Shae decided it best to be polite.
“Hi,” she replied.
When she reached for his hand he leaned in and brought hers up to his chapped lips for a kiss. She forced the smile on her face to remain. Carlo stared at Santo.
“May I?” he asked Carlo.
He joined them in the booth seat. Shae was now forced to sit between the men as they faced off. And the rest of the conversation continued in Italian. All she could do was sip the wine the waitress brought to the table and wait for the exchange to end.
“You like living dangerously? The Nigerians aren’t happy Battaglias are in their house,” Santo lit a cigarette. He exhaled and locked eyes with Carlo. And this time his gaze shifted over to Shae as if she were the reason for Carlo’s choice.
“You following me?” Carlo asked.
“Needed to speak with you. So yes. I followed you here,” Santo confessed. “How long have we been friends, Carlo? Since we were what? Seven or eight?” Santo asked.
“What the fuck does it matter? We aren’t friends now,” Carlo said.
Santo exhaled another long stream of smoke. “We’re brothers in blood.”
“You’re a rat.”
“And you’re a fist turned boxing promoter.” Santo smiled. He gave him a nod. “Congratulations.”
“My business is not yours,” Carlo seethed. “Who the fuck told you that I was managing Ciro?”
Santo drummed his fingers on the surface of the table. He dropped the cigarillo into the ashtray. “Nicosia the priest told me. I saw your boy in the ring. He’s got talent. And after my time away I’d know.”
“And?” Carlo asked.
“I’ve made a few connections that could help put him in the ring with a real bad ass contender.”
Carlo laughed. “Fuck off.”
Santo leaned in. His voice dropped to a threatening low tone. “Boxing is hot right now. It’s a good direction for the family. And the word is the boss is now backing Ciro. Everybody will want a shot at him. You have to be careful to choose a worthy opponent. I know Gio. If this doesn’t bear fruit he will not give you this liberty again. Right?”
“I got it under control.”
“And as I said, I’ve learned a lot in prison. Made a few contacts. This Asian fighter out of London wants to come to Rome. He’s winning matches. Almost undefeated. Ciro needs ranking. He needs the IBF. A fight with this guy will guarantee it.”
“Name?” Carlo asked.
“Chao Lee,” Santo replied. “Take the meeting. See him for yourself. If a deal is to be made I’d ask for ten percent.”
“Three,” Carlo replied.
Santo’s brows shot up. “For putting the meeting together I deserve fifteen. It’ll take a year for Ciro to make the ranks in the IBF.”
“Three percent if what you say is true.” Carlo countered. “And of course it will have to be approved by Gio.”
“Of course. Three percent.” Santo said with reluctant acceptance. Carlo noticed how Santo kept looking to his companion. He waited for him to say something in regards to her but Santo didn’t. He gave a respectful nod, eased out of the booth and left.
“That seemed intense,” Shae said.
“Are you done? We should leave,” Carlo mumbled.
“The food?”
“Fuck the food!” he said.
Santo was once a close friend. But when they were kids and a young girl accused Carlo of rape, Santo could have easily stood up for him. The night in question he was at Santo’s house sleeping on the floor. But Carlo was to be sacrificed by the Mancinis for Giovanni’s tantrum and assault on Armando. Everyone kept their mouth closed and turned on him. Everyone but Lorenzo, his true friend.
“Carlo?” Shae touched the side of his face. He opened his eyes to realize how easily he slipped into his darkness. She stroked his jaw and her touch felt good. Her large round brown eyes looked into his with a question he couldn’t answer. And to his relief she didn’t ask.
“Let’s not spoil the night. Okay?” she smiled.
“Mi perdo nei tuoi occhi,”
he replied.
“Mmm,” she kissed his lips softly. “When you speak Italian to me it sounds yummy.”
“I say to you, I get lost in your eyes,” he answered. He captured her silky lips with a kiss and she tasted nice. Her tongue darted into his mouth, at first shyly. But he devoured her in a kiss. And she responded to his aggression with enough of her own. He should turn over the table and fuck her on the spot. He moved his mouth from hers after devouring its softness, and returned his lips to the hollow pulse of her throat. Before he knew it he had his hand under her skirt and was trying to push her down in the booth.
“Whoa! Wait, playboy!” Shae laughed. He pinched her clit. Her pussy was wet and sticky from her arousal. She liked it. If he couldn’t fuck her he’d at least feel her pussy.
“Carlo! I’m serious. Slow down.”
With a deep throaty groan he withdrew. She smiled and pushed him all the way back.
“I love this song. She’s singing Mariah Carey. Do you know her?”
Carlo glanced to the singer and frowned. He didn’t care much for American music. He had recently started to listen to the rap music that spoke of pussy and killing police thanks to Marietta and the tapes she made for him. It was the only kind of American music he could tolerate.
“No,” he replied. He picked up his wine and drank his glass clean. Santo’s visit still burned his gut. Not even the idea of fucking his pink lady could calm him. Several things troubled him. First was the location. This was
Ndrangheta
territory, and not many spots were open to the Battaglias. Especially since the Calderone war and the Nigerian massacre. That meant Santo had to be his shadow for quite some time to follow him here. Which led him to the other troubling thought. How did Santo, who has been out of the loop of things with the family, know that Giovanni approved him to manage Ciro? Not even Nicosia was aware that Giovanni had given his final blessing. Had Gio taken Santo in confidence so soon? That would be a mistake.