Reno Gabrini: For His Lover (The Mob Boss Series Book 14) (21 page)

And the other option, the option of snitching on his old man,
even for a heinous crime like the one his old man had just committed, wasn’t
going to happen either.
 
“The lawyer
lives,” Reno said.

“Thank you!” the lawyer cried.

“Don’t thank me, motherfucker!” Reno said harshly.
 
“I’m not doing you any favors!
 
I’m putting your ass on notice.
 
Because if you talk, if you ever speak a word
about what happened in this room, we’ll kill your mama, your wife, your
children, your siblings, and you too while we’re at it.”
 

Paulo smiled.
 
Reno was
a ruthless bastard.
 
“You understand the
stakes, Mouthpiece?” Paulo asked the lawyer.
 
“You understand what my boy is telling you?
 
That’s my boy right there!
 
That’s my son!”

“I understand,” the lawyer said.
 
“She never came to this office.
 
I never seen her before in my life.
 
I don’t know anything about her or any will
or anything!”

Reno remembered his father and Alberto laughing.
 
Then Paulo looked at his son.
 
“What are you standing there for?” he
asked.
 
“Bury her ass!”

And Reno did.

God help him, he did.

“Contact her detail,” he was presently yelling at Nark, as if
all those buried bodies were at this very moment trying to bury him.
 
“Tell them to get my wife and get her now!”

 
“Go faster,” Jimmy was
telling the driver.
 
“You’ve got to go
faster!”

Jean Paul Cousteau poured himself another glass of wine.
 
His two guests, Zell Tufarna and Alberto Serrantz,
sat at the bar in front of him.
 
Jean
Paul was just about to present his collection.
 
They were finalizing details.

“I would love to see his face,” Alberto said.
 
“I would love to see that fucker’s face when
he finds out his wife is in our hands, and his fraud is about to be exposed.”

“He took my mother’s hotel,” Zell said.
 
“It was hers by rights.
 
He just took it.”

“Don’t forget I was there that night,” Alberto said.
 
“I used to be his old man’s driver and
bodyguard.
 
I saw it all and heard it all.
 
It was the night Reno had his grand
opening.
 
He had brought the PaLargio
fair and square, he thought, and he wasn’t letting anybody take it away from
him.
 
I was there when they killed her.”

Zell’s heart still squeezed with grief and bitter anger whenever
she thought about what Gabrini did to her mother.

“I was there when Reno took that will and no doubt buried it
just like he buried your mama.
 
He knew
that woman had a right to the PaLargio, but he ignored her right and asserted
his own.
 
Just like when I went to
prison.
 
His old man dumped me like he
didn’t know me.
 
All those years of
service, and he didn’t know me all of a sudden.
 
I was glad when Frank Partanna’s men killed Paulo’s psycho ass.
 
I was still in prison when it happened, but I
was celebrating.”

Alberto paused, as if he was reliving that time.
 
“But after he died, I felt free.
 
And that’s why, as soon as I got out of
prison and was free for real, I went looking for anybody kin to Jeneen
Tufarna.
 
Yeah, I was looking to get
paid.
 
Who isn’t?
 
But I went searching because I was there that
night.
 
I saw what they did.”

“He took what wasn’t his,” Zell said.
 
“The PaLargio should be my legacy, not his.”

“But that’s a Gabrini for you,” Alberto said.
 
“That’s a Gabrini.
 
They take, take, and take.
 
I can’t wait till he get his.”

“It won’t be long now,” Jean Paul said.
 
“His wife has arrived.
 
And after the show, once we secure her, it
will only be a matter of time before we secure the PaLargio once again.
 
For Jeneen’s sake.
 
The woman I loved.
 
The woman I assumed wanted no further dealings
with me because of my refusal to divorce my wife.
 
But it was my fault too.
 
I should have checked on her.
 
I should have phoned when she would not.
 
But I never did.
 
Now you come, Alberto, and tell us the truth
of what happened to her.
 
We will get
Gabrini to bend.
 
He will sign over the
PaLargio to my daughter.
 
He will suffer
mightily for what he did.
 
We won’t stop
until it’s done.
 
For Jeneen.
 
For the sake of that good woman.”

Zell, however, looked concerned.

“What is it, Zell?”
 
They had only established a closer bond in the last few months, when
Alberto approached her and she eventually told him what Alberto knew.
 
Jean Paul was still married, as he had been
married when he met Jeneen Tufarna on holiday in Australia.
 
When she told him she was pregnant, he gave
her a little money, but would never acknowledge the child.
 
He was married to a famous actress.
 
He had to be careful.
 
Now his child was plotting revenge, and had
come to him for help.
 
But right now, she
looked over her head.
 
“It’s all in hand,
my dear,” he said to her.
 
“You must be
hopeful.”

“But nothing thus far has worked, Father,” Zell said to
him.
 
“Andre: dead.
 
Stephanie: dead.
 
Kapper Cole: missing.
 
Everybody we recruited has fallen by the
wayside.
 
Nothing has worked.”

“That’s because we had to rely on others to do the job for
us,” Jean Paul said.
 
“We paid others to
do our dirty work.
 
No more.
 
Now it is the three of us who will do this
job.
 
It is the three of us who will reap
the benefits.
 
And he’ll pay for what he
did.
 
He’ll pay handsomely once he sees
we have his wife.”

“She thinks you are interested in going into business with
her,” Zell said with a smile.

“Can you imagine?
 
Even
Pierre does not know what is going on.
 
He thinks I am actually interested in putting my brand in that gaudy
little store of hers.”

“Champagne’s it is called,” Zell said.

“Champagne my ass!”
 
Jean Paul responded.
 
“I saw the
clothes in their catalogue.
 
It is more
on the order of beer or soda water, or maybe Gatorade.
 
Champagne?
 
No!”

Alberto and Zell laughed.
 

“Cheers,” Jean Paul said jovially, raising his glass, and
they all clicked their glasses eagerly.
 
They clicked like people on the verge of something big.

After Cousteau’s show, after Oprah kept agreeing with Trina
on each and every garment she liked, Zell approached them.
 
“Mrs. Gabrini?”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Cousteau is ready to meet with you.
 
He’s waiting in his limousine.”

“Oh, okay,” Trina said, grabbing her purse and rising.
 
“I guess I was expecting Pierre.”

“He handles the after-show, I’m afraid.
 
He’s not available.
 
But I’m Mr. Cousteau’s daughter.
 
My name is Zell.
 
I’m sure I can assist you in any way you
need.
 
Will you follow me?”

“Yes, of course,” Trina said.

Oprah smiled.
 
“Good
luck, boss,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll finish up the orders and meet you at the hotel.
 
I hope you guys can work something out.”

“So do I, O,” Trina said as she followed Zell.
 
“So do I!”

Zell escorted her out of the fashion hall and to a waiting
limousine.
 
Zell and Trina got into the
limo.
 
Jean Paul and Alberto were already
there.

“Mrs. Gabrini, welcome,” Jean Paul said as Trina sat next to
Zell across from the two men.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Cousteau.”

“You’ve met Zella, my daughter?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And this is our family friend, Alberto.”

Trina and Alberto exchanged pleasantries.

“Now we will go to my warehouse,” Jean Paul said, “and I will
show you what the collection will entail.”

Trina smiled.
 
“Sounds
great,” she said, as the limo began to move.
 
Trina could see Reno’s men, in a black SUV, follow behind them.

Jean Paul looked larger on stage, Trina thought, as they
drove.
 
Here, up close, he looked rail
thin, and much older.
 
His thick blond
hair had an Andy Warhol purposeful wildness that looked sexy on stage, but
frightful off.
 

“Very nice outfit,” Jean Paul said as he looked down Trina’s
slender body.
 
“You have very good taste
I see already.”

“Thank you,” Trina said.
 
“Thank you very much.”

“So how did you like the show?”

“I loved the show,” Trina admitted.
 
“It was marvelous.
 
The entire collection was very cohesive and
stylish.
 
Just gorgeous.”

“You are so kind,” said Jean Paul.
 
“I love it when somebody of your reputation
recognizes craftsmanship.”

Trina should have been flattered, but she wasn’t.
 
She knew her reputation extended no further
than Vegas, and even there she was more widely known as Reno Gabrini’s wife
than a successful entrepreneur.
 
“I
purchased a few of your suits for my oldest boy Jimmy.”

“Oh,” Jean Paul said.
 
“I thought you were going to say for your husband.
 
You are married, no?”

“I’m married, yes.”

“No purchases for your husband?”

“No,” Trina said.

“Why not, if I may ask?”

Because Reno, Trina knew, wouldn’t be caught dead in any suit
that cheap.
 
She also knew that, to the
average buyer, a Jean Paul suit was not cheap at all.
 
But Reno wasn’t an average buyer.
 
“He has a certain group of designers he
prefers,” she responded.

“One of those men who will not alter their preference?”

“Not on your life,” Trina responded.

Jean Paul laughed.
 
“But your son, he is more flexible?”

“I would say so, yeah,” Trina agreed.
 
“He’s not about to spend the kind of money
his father spends on clothes.
 
But he’s
still young,” she added, and Jean Paul laughed again.

“Anyway,” Trina said, leaning forward, “about the deal.
 
According to Pierre
Durand,
you not only would like your clothes in my stores, but you wish to have
an ownership slice too.”

“Business, business, business,” Jean Paul said with a wave of
the hand.
 
“May I be frank?
 
I am tired of business.
 
But I know you came all this way specifically
to talk business.
 
And I am a man who
appreciates that.
 
But certainly not in
the car.
 
Wait until we get to my
office.
 
We will talk, we will discuss, and
hopefully we will agree.
 
But right now,
let us relax and enjoy the ride.”

Trina would have preferred to get it over with right here and
now, but she understood who she was dealing with.
 
He wanted her to see the clothes.
 
He wanted to rub his success in her
face.
 
Not just for show, but because, if
this is legit, he wanted the best deal he could possibly get.
 
Since this was the opportunity of a lifetime
for Champagne’s, she didn’t complain.
 
She smiled, and leaned back.

The ride was pleasant and comfortable, as Jean Paul talked a
lot about himself and his family legacy.
 
But Trina was only half listening.
 
Because for all of his big talk and bravado, something seemed off.
 
She didn’t know what it was, but something
seemed forced.
 
As if his conversation
wasn’t about giving information, but hiding it.

But before she could connect any dots, before she could
understand that her first reaction about the oddity of Cousteau teaming up with
Champagne’s was probably right, a car careened in front of the limousine and
cut it off.
 
Only it cut too close and
hit the front passenger side light.
 
The
limo swerved and then came to a screeching halt.
 
The car stopped too.

But it was all Trina needed.
 
This wasn’t right.
 
She knew it
now.
 
This was a set up!
 
She quickly unbuckled her seatbelt as Reno’s
men jumped out of the SUV behind them, some five men strong, and hurried toward
the limo.
 
Just as Trina was reaching for
the door handle, Reno’s men were on either side of the limo, and were opening
the doors themselves.

“Everybody okay?” one of the bodyguards asked, but as soon as
he asked it, and before Trina could say a word, Alberto pulled a gun and shot
the bodyguard through the forehead.
 
Jean
Paul pulled a gun and shot the second guard through the forehead, and Cousteau’s
driver and bodyguard on the front seat jumped out and began a gunfight with
Reno’s remaining men.

Trina attempted to jump out of that limo and make a run for
it somehow, but Zell pointed a gun right at her head.

“Try it, bitch,” she said, “and I’ll kill you.
 
Now get your head down!” Zell ordered, as she
shoved Trina down onto the floor.