Clean Slate (New Mafia Trilogy #2) Page 22

  “Did you know something was going to go down tonight?” he asked.

  “No. I had no idea.” My eyes sought out his in the faint blue glow from his dashboard. “Victor takes me to the range to practice shooting, but he doesn’t talk about that kind of stuff and I don’t want to know.”

  Jason exhaled deeply and I watched as his shoulders relaxed. “So trouble just happens to follow you?” he said with a smile and I was relieved his humor had returned.

  I thought back on all the situations I had managed to get myself involved in, long before the mafia mess, and said. “That’s a fair assessment. I’ll see you later.” I reached for the door handle when my phone buzzed so I pulled it out of my bag to read the new text.

  “Great,” I said with a groan and sunk back against the leather seat.

  “What?”

  “Chelsea just texted. Derek’s spending the night and her bedroom isn’t exactly soundproof.”

  I really wasn’t in the mood to listen to my best friend having sex all night, but didn’t have an alternative.

  “You can stay at my apartment,” Jason offered. I must have given him a look because he quickly added. “I’ll sleep on the sofa. Unless…” He wiggled his eyebrows at me and I couldn’t help but laugh. He was as persistent as a squirrel trying to gain access to a birdfeeder purposely hung out of reach.

  “Fine, I’ll follow you over.”

  I’d been to Jason and Derek’s apartment once or twice, but it was during the day so actually remembering how to get there at night when I was still trying to orient myself to landmarks would be impossible. While Chelsea and I lived in a community one step up from public housing and our apartment was basically a box with white walls, Jason lived in a more upscale neighborhood. His community had a security guard at the gate 24/7. The guard waved us through before returning to the newspaper spread out on his desk. I parked next to Jason in Derek’s spot and we walked together along a walkway lined with lush landscaping that when I last visited was full of bright blossoms and palm fronds. At night, with small lights to mark the path, these plants were hidden in shadow.

  The door to Jason’s apartment swung in to reveal soothing beige walls. White molding lined the ceiling. An overstuffed caramel-colored leather sofa and matching chair filled the living room and were positioned to face a large entertainment center that had bookshelves on each end. A flat screen TV sat in the middle.

  Jason walked into the kitchen, tossing his keys on the counter next to a stack of mail. With the exception of a plate and a glass in the sink, the kitchen was spotless. Each appliance looked brand new. The stainless steel refrigerator hummed in the corner; its surface didn’t have one smudge.

  “Is it always so clean?” I asked. Even with Chelsea’s OCD, our place was filthy in comparison.

  “No, our housekeeper came today.”

  “You guys have a housekeeper?” Must be nice, I thought to myself, looking around at the gray slate counters that didn’t have one crumb marring their surface.

  “Marianne practically raised me. She was my nanny and cook, she still keeps my dad’s house in order. She comes over once a week to clean up.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  Jason laughed. “Don’t be – by tomorrow this place will be trashed. Derek’s room always looks like a hurricane blew through it.”

  “That will change once he marries Chelsea. She’s the queen of organization.”

  “Opposites attract, I guess. Want a beer?” Jason asked, opening the refrigerator door. I nodded and caught a glimpse of the inside shelves. Each one was packed with beer, the brown bottles lined up with labels facing out like they were on display at a grocery store. Apparently Chelsea wasn’t the only one with OCD tendencies.

  After Jason popped the caps off, we walked back into the living room. I sat down on the sofa and practically got swallowed up in the depths of the overstuffed cushions. The leather creaked as I shifted into a more comfortable position, setting my beer on the coffee table first.

  “Jesus, this thing’s a beast.” The futon didn’t swallow people whole, which I’d have to remember as a plus the next time I bitched about sleeping on the hard, lumpy mattress.

  Jason almost snorted beer out of his nose. “I’ve never heard the sofa described as a beast before.” He sat down next to me, close enough so our legs were touching. He stopped laughing and his face morphed into a serious expression. He placed a hand on my knee and I started to put some space between us. “Please, Nat. I won’t bite…unless you want me too?” He wiggled his eyebrows again and I reached over to the coffee table, grabbing a coaster made out of cork and chucking it at him. He effortlessly deflected it, sending the cork flying over the back of the sofa.

  “Okay, seriously though Nat. You know I like you and we get along. Will you go out with me?” He rattled on before I could respond. “We can take it slow and go out on a few dates… you know, see how it goes. No pressure.”

  “I like you too,” I started to say and Jason flinched slightly as if he was preparing himself for the rejection. In hindsight, my reasons for agreeing to go out with him weren’t the best. I was lonely and with friends getting engaged left and right, it made sense to have someone in my life. I was also horny and knew Jason could deliver in that department. While I missed Dominic, he was across the country sleeping with God knows how many bitches since I ended things with him. We weren’t together and Jason had proven to be a worthy friend, just by putting up with my crazy ass. So I said, “Yes, I’ll go out with you, but I’d like to take it slow. Okay?”

  “Are you serious, you’ll go out with me?”

  “Yes,” I said and moved in closer to prove that I was. Jason placed a hand behind my head, crushing my hair against my neck and drew me in for a kiss. His lips were soft and gentle as they moved against mine. I leaned forward and his other hand slid down my side, stopping at my hip. Warmth spread out from his fingertips through my shirt and sent shivers up my back. I moaned and parted my mouth, giving his tongue access. Without breaking our kiss, I climbed up onto his lap, straddling him. Using his hand on my head, he took control and directed the angle, so it was tipped back: an offering. His lips moved down my neck in a slow, tortuous pace that left me squirming on his lap, which had grown considerably harder since I’d climbed on board.

  When Jason moved his hands to cup my ass and pull me tighter against his groin, I knew we had to stop because what we were doing was the opposite of slow and it would have been too easy to let him take me right there on the sofa. Setting my hands on his chest, I pushed back, removing my neck from his lips. We were both out of breath and parts of me felt hot and swollen.

  “Too fast,” I panted, crawling off of his lap. He groaned and swallowed hard, his eyes scanning my body before he got up to go to the bathroom. Jason was in there a while and when he came out he wasn’t walking like his jeans were too tight and he seemed more relaxed.

  “Come on, I’ll show you my room so you can get ready for bed, and don’t worry, I’m still sleeping out here. As much as I want you underneath me, butt-ass naked, I’m honoring your wishes to take it slow.”

  I gulped at the intensity of his gaze and had to look away. He helped pull me up out of the sofa and I gave him a chaste peck on his cheek, the fine blanket of blond stubble tickling my face when I did.

  Jason’s bedroom was easily twice the size of Chelsea’s and had a platform bed with a grayish blue comforter stretched tight over the mattress. Each pillow was smooth, without a single crease and the corners of every pillow case stuck out straight like they had been starched and ironed.

  “Was Marianne in the military and did she specialize in precision bed making?” This comment made Jason laugh out loud.

  “I’m going to tell her you said that. She’ll love it.” Jason crossed the room to a dresser that had a signed surf board suspended on the wall above it.

  “Nice board,” I said.

  Jason shut a drawer and turned around. “It’s Kelly Slater’s. My d
ad bought it at a charity auction. It’s cool, huh?” He handed me one of his t-shirts to change into. I didn’t know many surfers by name, but knew of Kelly Slater. He had won all sorts of championships. According to Jason, Slater was his biggest idol.

  “Very.” The rest of Jason’s room was very minimalist. He had a smaller flat screen mounted on the wall in a corner by his closet. A sliding glass door, leading to a small patio, was partially concealed behind a storm-cloud gray linen curtain. The white walls were accented with pale gray baseboards and molding. Jason’s room was masculine, bit not overtly in your face manly. I found the same color scheme when I went into the bathroom to change. The counter was slate like those in the kitchen.

  I brushed my teeth with my finger and washed the make-up off my face. I emerged wearing only underwear and Jason’s t-shirt, which was longer than some dresses I’ve worn. Jason was waiting for me and his eyes traveled up my bare legs, pausing briefly at my breasts, which were obviously not encased in a bra. He exhaled deeply and then met my gaze. Desire simmered in his eyes so I knew to keep my distance.

  “Good night,” I said and turned down the comforter on one side of his bed before sliding in between the sheets, the cotton cool against my skin.

  He crossed the room and knelt down beside the bed to give me a lingering kiss, teasing me by gently tugging on my lower lip with his teeth. He slowly released it, leaving it tingling and swollen. “I love seeing you in my bed, Natalie. You better get used to it,” he whispered in my ear before leaving me alone in his dark bedroom. My heart skipped with anticipation of the nights we would spend together. Why did I decide we needed to take it slow? Maybe it was because I had actually learned something from my previous relationships or my subconscious was sending me an internal message? For whatever reason, I’m glad we did take it slow.

  Chapter 31

  PHILADELPHIA

  DOMINIC

  “Are you ready?” Grant asked, walking into my kitchen from the bathroom.

  “Yeah.” I checked my phone one more time to see if Natalie had responded to the picture of us I sent her the night before, but she still hadn’t. Slipping the phone in my pocket, I grabbed my gun from the counter and reached around behind my back, placing it in the holster. “Why isn’t Miranda here?” Dante was meeting us at the warehouse, but we planned for Miranda to come with us.

  “She’s sitting this one out.”

  I paused and looked at Grant trying to decipher more from his facial expression, but as usual he was completely unreadable. I found it hard to believe that Miranda, who had butted heads with the chauvinistic old Mafia and who was now a Capo, would sit out this meeting. “Why?” I asked.

  Grant’s jaw bulged out when he clenched his jaw and then he ran a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply, “Because I told her to stay home.”

  “And how did that go?” I struggled to keep my laughter in check imagining the epic fight that must have ensued. “You should know by now that you can’t force Miranda to do anything.”

  “Yeah, I know. She freaked out on me, but I left her ass at home anyway.”

  “Grant you want to protect her, I get it, but she is part of the organization now and this is a big meeting. Besides, she can handle herself.”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “What?”

  Grant leaned against the granite counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “We haven’t told anyone yet because she’s only six weeks along. I’ve always been overprotective, Dom, I know this. Shit, it drove Natalie nuts. But this is on a whole different level. I want to wrap Miranda in a bubble and keep her locked in the house.” He started to pace and I listened, still absorbing the shock of his news. I totally understood. If Natalie was pregnant, I’d want to lock her away somewhere safe too, but she would hate every minute and would find a means to escape. Miranda and Natalie were a lot alike; they didn’t want to be kept or contained. I remembered the peaceful expression on Natalie’s face whenever she came back from a long run. Any stress that hardened her eyes or made her frown would melt away and she’d return looking visibly lighter.

  “Grant,” I said, and he stopped pacing. “She’ll resent you if keep her from being a Capo. She’s wanted this for a long time.”

  “But what if she gets hurt?” He tightened his fists at the thought.

  “Then you’ll just have to do whatever you can to protect her that does not involve keeping her prisoner.”

  Grant smiled at that and shook his head. “Fuck, I know you’re right, but…”

  “You’re going to be a great dad.” I clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him. “Let’s go or we’re gonna be late.”

  We weren’t on our way to a PTA meeting or anything like that shit. We were getting ready to meet with other major criminal players. Basically, we were having a summit for organized crime in Philly and laying down some new terms that would improve profit margins for all involved. An abandoned warehouse in North Philly was our destination.

  I drove past blocks of burnt out and boarded up row homes. Crack vials with blue, red and yellow caps littered the streets like confetti after a parade. New weeds grew up through the cracks in the sidewalk, intermingling with the husk of dead weeds and capturing debris like how spider webs caught insects. A rusted chain-link fence that sagged in places surrounded the warehouse. I pulled in through a gap where a gate used to be, my tires rumbling over the cracked remains of the parking lot and I drove around to the back by the loading docks. There were several cars already parked in the shadow of the building: a chromed out Land Rover, a lowered lime green vintage Chevelle with silver pin striping, a Mercedes, BMW, and a newer model Camaro. Dante’s new pearl colored Jaguar was parked near the end so I drove down and pulled in next to his car. Glancing over, I noticed Miranda in his passenger seat. Grant swore when she opened the door, he was out of the car in seconds.

  “Miranda, what the fuck? We talked about this.” he yelled, his voice echoing off the brick building.

  “Grant!” I blocked his passage and held him in place. “Rein it in.” The other gang leaders had exited their vehicles and were watching the exchange.

  “You talked about it and you decided, Grant, not me. It’s important for me to be here,” she hissed. Her arms were crossed protectively over her abdomen and I wondered if she was even aware of this maternal gesture. “Gentleman, glad you made it,” Miranda turned to greet the other leaders with a smile. Just like that her game face was on. Marco had the ability to switch on the charm and it was obvious, watching Miranda in action, that she had inherited the same gene.

  Demetrius, who ran one of the toughest street gangs in West Philly approached. He had a predatory walk, but it didn’t disguise the limp. Three years earlier, he almost lost his left leg after a drive-by shooting. His dreads were pulled back, revealing a pockmarked face and steel gray eyes which moved over Miranda’s curves as he shook her hand. She seemed not to notice, but Grant did because I felt him tense up as he stood beside me. I shot him a warning glance because everything had to go smoothly.

  Ji of the Red Scorpions was my age, making him one of the youngest leaders in his gang’s history. He was leaning against the lowered Chevelle with his arms crossed. He was wearing a Sixers tank and the tattoos on his arms, Asian characters and a circle of scorpions, were visible. Ji acknowledged me by dipping his head in my direction before pushing off of his car and disappearing into the warehouse. Egan from the K&A Gang, or the Philly Irish Mob, had his second and another member with him as extra muscle. They had a blue collar vibe to them and wore a uniform of faded jeans and plain t-shirts. Egan was sporting a black eye and his nose had been recently broken. I’d only been to one of his bare-knuckle boxing tournaments that were held in an abandoned warehouse similar to the one we were getting ready to enter, but it was enough to learn he was a skilled and determined fighter. After Egan gave Miranda a once over, he and his boys followed Ji in through the door that was propped open with a concrete block.

&nb
sp; Chan, the head of the TRGs came up to me last and shook my hand. “Dom, I hear you plan to set things right. Your uncle fucked me over.” Chan was the exact opposite of his rival, Ji. He was older with streaks of silver in his black hair and wore a tailored gray suit, his shoes shined with fresh polish. He also wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, obviously. Chan reminded me of Gio.

  “That’s the plan as long as nobody gets trigger happy today.” I had decided that we would all keep our weapons on us. In the past, whenever Marco called a meeting like this, weapons were surrendered and people were searched just shy of a cavity check. My thought, and Grant backed me on this, was that to show trust we all went in armed. If someone did get stupid, at least we’d be able to defend ourselves.

  We were the last to go in and Chan walked with us. He was of small build and looked more like an executive than a gangster, but I knew better, especially after the scare he orchestrated on Christmas Eve.

  I kicked the block propping the door open to the side and the door slammed shut, echoing throughout the empty warehouse. The only light filtered in through windows covered in a thick layer of grime. Dust motes danced in the beams of weak sunlight. There wasn’t any furniture so we stood in a loose circle. The way our eyes darted from one to another it certainly wasn’t a circle of trust.

  Word had spread fast about Marco’s death and it was crucial that this first meeting with me as the new boss of Philly’s Le Cosa Nostra went well. Every faction represented here had a stake in the heroin trade. Some expanded into other drugs; like cocaine, meth and Molly. I knew for a fact that Egan, Chan and Demetrius had supply and demand issues with heroin since one of their major suppliers was now sitting in federal prison for thirty years to life.

  I moved towards the center of the circle and everyone made a move for their guns. “Whoa, chill the fuck out,” I yelled with my hands away from my body so they could see I wasn’t going for a weapon. I gestured to Grant and Dante for them to lower theirs. “Jesus Christ.”