Reno Gabrini: For His Lover (The Mob Boss Series Book 14) (20 page)

“Then why would they be there if it’s nothing to find?
 
Which, by the way, it’s not.
 
But what’s the point?”

“That’s the million dollar question.
 
It’s like they’re trying to distract me.”

“But from what?”

“I don’t know.
 
It’s
like they want me focused over here, so I don’t see what’s going on over
there.
 
And I don’t even know where the
fuck over there is.”

“Gee, Reno.
 
You’ve got
my head spinning with that kind of analysis.”

“I know.
 
I’m sorry,
babe.
 
I just wanted to make sure you’re
okay, not scare you half to death.”

“I’m not scared.
 
I
just don’t want you over thinking this.”

Reno nodded.
 
“I
agree.”

“But I am going to cut this trip short.”

“Hell no, Tree.”

“Yes, Reno.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be there with you.
 
Because I want to see what those assholes did
to my store.
 
Jean Paul’s showing isn’t
until tonight, and I have to stay for that, and meet with him.
 
But after that meeting, I’m flying back to
Vegas.”

It was music to Reno’s ears.
 
And he knew the children would be thrilled.
 
“But are you sure?” he asked her.

“I’m sure.
 
Oprah can
stay and see the rest of the shows.
 
So
far I’ve bought some great pieces.
 
I
trust her judgment.”

“I’m not going to argue with you.
 
I’m happy to have you back safe in my arms
again.
 
That’s why I wanted my plane to
remain in New York as long as you remained there.”

“Easy access?”

“Easy access,” Reno agreed.
 

Trina laughed.
 
“You
have me right where you want me, don’t you?
 
Right under your thumb.”

Reno smiled.
 
“Right
there,” he said.
 
Then he exhaled. “I’d
better get back.
 
Sal’s watching those
Feds, but I want to make sure they don’t try any of their evidence planting
bullshit.”

“Okay, Ree, I’ll call you tonight once I board the plane.”

“Sounds good,” he said, and they said their goodbyes.

But when Reno ended the call, he still felt unsettled.
 
He still felt that heaviness for Trina he
felt before the call, only it felt even heavier.
 
He had men in New York keeping an eye on
her.
 
They’d already reported back to him
this morning that she had a long night on the town, but nothing was amiss.
 
So they kept their distance.
 
But Reno still couldn’t shake that feeling.
  
And when it came to his wife, he didn’t take
any chances.

He walked back across the food court, and back into
Champagne’s.
 
The Feds were still hard at
work, and Sal and Vic were still staring at them.
 
Reno pulled Sal aside.

“What’s up?” Sal asked.

“I need to borrow your plane.”

“Borrow my plane?” Sal asked.

“Trina has mine in New York.”

“And you want to go there?”

Reno nodded.
 
“Right.”

“Why?
 
What’s
wrong?
 
Hell yeah you can take the
plane.
 
But is Trina in some kind of
danger?”

“No, nothing like that.
 
At least it better not be.
 
But I
have this feeling.
 
I don’t know where
it’s coming from.
 
I don’t know what it’s
about.
 
All I know is that it involves
Tree.”

“Then go,” Sal said.
 
“I’ll get Dommi and Sophie out of school and keep them with me.”

“Get some men on Jimmy too,” Reno said.
 
“He’s back in New Hampshire.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sal assured him. “I’ve got a crew out
of Boston.
 
Don’t worry.”

Reno didn’t.
 
Not when
Sal was taking charge.
 
Reno knew Sal
loved his children as if they were his own.

“I’ll alert my pilot to get ready to take you there.
 
You just go and see about your wife.”

“Thanks, Sal,” Reno said.
 
They shook hands.
 
Reno wanted to
hug him.
 
But he knew Sal didn’t play
that.

Reno left.
 
Sal moved
back over to Vic.

“What was that about?” Vic asked him.

“The lengths a man with go to,” Sal said, “for his lover.”

“I hope you mean Trina.”

Sal looked at Vic frowningly.
 
“Who the fuck else do I mean?” he asked.

Six hours later and Trina and Oprah had front row seats to
what was billed as the
Jean Paul Steps
Out in Soho
fashion show.
 
Trina had
been attending Fashion Week for years, when they were held in tents around
Bryant Park, and at various other locations around New York.
 
But this was Oprah’s first time attending,
and she was ecstatic.
 
Trina was
too.
 
She was actually enjoying herself.
 
But after her phone call with Reno, she was
anxious now to get this over with, and get back home to her family.

That wish was soon to come true when Jean Paul Cousteau was
introduced.
 

He walked out onto the stage slowly, milking the applause and
the love from the crowd.
 
He was French,
and getting up there in years, as he swaggered to the center of the
runway.
 
He talked about his
journey.
 
He talked about his struggles
and his climb up the ladder in the industry.
 
Then finally, to Trina’s relief, he talked about his collection.
 
It was his usual menswear line, but with what
he called a twist: not just business suits, but leisure suits as well.

And as the show began, and the models came out one by one,
walking like robot mannequins, the clothes stole the show.
 
They were very Jean Paulesque.
 
From the perfect stitching on every garment,
to the elegance of every suit, Trina was impressed.
 
She knew her boutique needed that
unbelievably high-end style too, and she could only imagine what Jean Paul
could do for her.

But she also still wondered why he chose her.
 
Champagne’s was on the rise. It was a phoenix
alright.
 
But he was already at the
top.
 
He was already traveling in
rarefied air.
 
She understood Pierre’s
points about Cousteau wanting to put his stamp on an up and coming chain, but
was it her arrogance that made her believe that her store could be the
one?
 
Was the fact that her husband was
the top dog in Vegas inflating her sense of accomplishment to where she was
missing the clues?

Or was it just the opposite?
 
Did Cousteau need her more than she needed him?
 
Was his brand in some kind of disarray and
Champagne’s was going to be used to prop him up?
 
Was that why the Feds were raiding her
boutique, because they got wind of her alliance with Cousteau and Cousteau was
in trouble?
 
Trina exhaled.
 
The possibilities were swirling in her
head.
 
She was going to approach this deal
even more carefully, she decided, than she had already planned.

Reno and Jimmy stepped off of Sal’s plane at LaGuardia and
hurried across the tarmac to the waiting Lincoln Town car.
 
Jimmy had still been in Vegas an extra day,
as he continued to try and patch things up with his wife.
 
When Reno phoned and told him he was going to
take Uncle Sal’s plane to New York, and could drop Jimmy off in Dover after he
made sure Trina was okay, Jimmy jumped at the chance.
 
New York was only an hour-and-a-half plane
ride from New Hampshire, and private air travel versus commercial was no
comparison to Jimmy.
 
He was thrilled.

Nark Giuseppe, the man in charge of Trina’s security while
she was in town, was standing beside the car with the passenger door opened.

“Welcome back to the Big Apple, boss,” Nark said with his
heavy Brooklyn accent, as Reno piled into the back passenger seat.
 
Jimmy, certain the two men had business to
discuss, piled into the front passenger seat, and Nark got in the back beside
Reno.
  
The driver whisked them away.

“Where is she?” Reno asked Nark.

“Still in Soho, boss.
 
Still at that fashion show.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Nothing, boss.
 
And we
checked everything.”

Reno leaned back and crossed his legs.
 
Maybe his decision to come to New York was
all a big overreaction.
 
Maybe he was
wasting his time, Trina’s time, and every last one of his men’s time.
 
But his gut never lied, and it still felt
unsettled.
 
“Did you run background
again?”

Nark nodded.
 
“Yes,
sir.
 
We ran a deeper on both of those
guys, just like you requested.”

“And?”

“On Pierre
Durand,
nothing jumps out.
 
And I mean nothing.
 
He taught fashion design for several
years.
 
Then he was creative director at
a few fashion houses.
 
Then eventually he
hooked up with Cousteau.”

“I need more than that,” Reno said with edge in his
voice.
 
“Any arrests, any connections
with thugs? Give me something, Nark!”

“There’s nothing to give, boss.
 
We went back.
 
We searched deep as we could go.
 
We turned up nothing.
 
He was
married once, to a Sharon Kunocklin.
 
They had three kids, all grown and successful now.
 
The only mark on his record, if you want to
call it that, is his divorce.
 
His wife
divorced him seventeen years ago after he had an affair with the nanny.”

“Her name?” Reno asked.

“The nanny?
 
Misty
Landers.
 
They moved in together after
the divorce, but it only lasted a few months.”

“And that’s all you’ve got?” Reno asked.

“That’s all we have,” Nark responded.

“What about Cousteau?” Reno asked.

“His father was a designer.
 
His grandfather was a designer.
 
He followed in their footsteps.
 
They all made men’s clothing.
 
They all were successful at it.
 
Nothing unusual there.”

“His personal?”

“He’s married to a French actress named Claudia Monet,
supposedly some big deal actress in France, and they have no kids.
 
There’s rumors that they’re extravagant and
spends more than they earn, but what else is new, right?
 
There were also rumors, years ago, that he
had a love child with his mistress, but he kept the kid, and the mistress,
under wraps.”

“Her name?”

“The child or the mistress?”

“Both,” Reno said.

“The child is a grown woman now, of course.
 
Her name is Zella Marie Tufarna.”

Reno looked at Nark.
 
Jimmy turned around too.
 
He knew
that Tufarna name.

“Zella
what
?” Reno
asked Nark.

“Zella Tufarna,” Nark said.
 
“Why boss?
 
What’s wrong?” Nark
could see the sudden distress on Reno’s face.

“What was her mother’s name?” Reno asked anxiously.

Nark quickly looked back down at his paperwork.
 
“Jeneen,” he said and looked back up at
Reno.
 
“Jeneen Tufarna.”

“Motherfucker!” Reno screamed.
 
“Go!
 
Get me to my wife now! Go!”

“Floor it!” Jimmy yelled to the driver, and the driver did
just that.

“Call her detail,” Reno ordered.
 
“Tell them to crash that
got
damn fashion show and get her out of there now!”

“Yes, sir,” Nark said, and got right on it.

Reno wanted to jump out of his skin.
 
Because he now knew what his gut was telling
him all along.
 
It was about that
night.
 
That fucking night!
 
And he remembered it as if it happened
yesterday.

His father, Paulo Gabrini, came to his grand reopening of the
PaLargio, but he came with news that Reno might not be the rightful owner.
 
Reno remembered sitting in that limousine and
listening to his father tell him that some woman from Australia, Jeneen
Tufarna, had a will, and that will made her the heir to her deceased mother’s
inheritance. That inheritance included the PaLargio.
 
But her estranged brother Tony Tufarna
claimed ownership, ran it into the ground, and then plunged it into bankruptcy
before this Jeneen even knew her mother had died.
 
The same Tony Tufarna who, years later, would
shoot and nearly kill Reno’s oldest son Jimmy after he forced Reno to choose
which one of his family members lived, and which one died.
 
But back then the sister, Jeneen Tufarna,
showed up, demanding what she claimed belonged to her.
  
Reno remembered that shit like it was
recent.

He also remembered that same night, when Paulo Gabrini set up
a meeting, and Reno attended that meeting in Jeneen’s lawyer’s office.
 
The lawyer and Alberto Serrantz, Paulo’s
driver and bodyguard, were also there.

But it was a disaster.
 
Jeneen was tough, demanding that he give her back her mother’s hotel or
she was going straight to the authorities.
 
When Reno tried to point out that her mother’s hotel was bankrupt,
thanks to her brother Tony, and that the property had been purchased fair and
square and lawfully, she didn’t want to hear it.
 
She and her brother didn’t grow up together,
they rarely saw each other, and they rarely spoke.
 
She hated him and he hated her.
 
What her brother did was of no consequence to
her.
 
But Reno argued with her, and there
was a lot of back and forth.
 
Until Paulo
had had enough.

“Forget this shit,” Reno remembered his father saying, and
then rising from his chair.
 
Without any
warning to any of them, Paulo pulled out a gun and shot Jeneen Tufarna right
through the head.
 
She died instantly.

Reno was a young man then, and he knew how vicious his father
could be.
 
But that stunned him.
 
He thought he could get the lady to see the
error of her sense of entitlement.
 
He
was even willing to give her money if that would put an end to it.
 
But it was all over in a second.
 
She was dead.
 
He had a big-ass problem.
 
Thanks
to his fucking father.

But Paulo wasn’t done.
 
He held that same gun to her lawyer’s head.
 
“Give me that will or it’ll be the last piece
of paper you ever possess,” he ordered.

The lawyer, unsavory in his own right, complied.
 
He knew mob boss Paulo didn’t play.
 
Then Paulo tossed the will to Reno.

“Now you got yourself a choice, boy,” Paulo said to his
confused son.
 
“You can call the cops and
turn your old man in for killing the bitch, or you can get on with it.
 
Turning me in has a lot of risks, as you
know.
 
My crew won’t like it.”

Reno frowned.
 
“Fuck your
crew!” he responded.

Sick Paulo laughed.
 
He
loved Reno’s toughness.
 
“The other
risk,” Paulo continued, “ain’t too great either.
 
Because if you turn me in, you’ll lose the
PaLargio.
 
You’ll have to.
 
Because this lawyer fucker right here will
live, and he’ll talk.
 
That’s what
lawyers do.”

“Or,” Paulo went on, “I can kill this motherfucker and bury
him.
 
You can take that will, and bury
her.
 
And you get to keep your crown
jewel.
 
The PaLargio will still be yours
forever.
 
No more Tufarnas will try to give
you any more headaches.
 
But it’s all up
to you, Reno.
 
It’s all up to you.”

Reno remembered feeling as if the weight of the world was on
his shoulders.
 
His father had murdered
that woman as if he was squashing a roach.
 
Reno didn’t agree with her assertion that the PaLargio belonged to her,
and he would fight to the death to defend his ownership.
 
But his psycho father had already taken it
out of his hands.
 
He’d already taken
them there.

Jeneen’s lawyer was pathetic, crying and begging for his
life, and Alberto Serrantz was laughing at him.
 
But Reno knew his father had him in no man’s land.
 
Reno wasn’t going to agree to let his father
kill that lawyer because that lawyer hadn’t done anything to them.
 
Reno couldn’t shed innocent blood like
that.
 
Back then, he left stones
unturned.
 
Now he never did.