Marry Me Mafia

Untitled Episode

Renee has been sitting in her truck off Magazine Street since 3am quietly watching. Her jumper's paperwork in hand, her vest and plate carrier uncomfortably in place, ever since she almost ate a .45 chasing down a strung-out junkie who jumped a lousy 5k bond. She had no idea he had a stolen .45 ACP in his waist; according to his paperwork, the jump was considered non-violent. That she learned was a huge understatement. When she ran him down behind the Amtrak station in Memphis, she had her taser trained on him, only for him to pull the gun and fired two shots; one grazing her left shoulder; the other was a clean through and through lung shot. The junkie bolted, leaving Renee on the hot gravel alone, blood pooling, gasping, and dying. Her mind raced. Elvis Presley Memorial was four blocks south, as was her truck. She almost died that summer afternoon in an empty gravel lot, but God, Yahweh, or whoever had a blinding sense of humor upstairs had also done one thing right; they'd made Renee one tough b***h. She walked calmly 4 blocks, at times holding the walls of buildings, blood trickling down her shirt, flooding the front and back of her pants, and into her shoes before she fell through the ER doors at the Med. It was a rush of bodies, shouting, and bright lights. The surgery to repair her pneumothorax took 3 hours, recovery took another 3 months, tracking down the same junkie who almost punched her ticket; that only took 4 hours. The second time around, she didn't take any chances. She took him down fast, no foot chase, no taser. This time, Renee came prepared. She still recalls the wet crunchy sound he made when she struck him with her pickup truck. Almost laughed when he laid sprawled out, groaning with his leg at that unnatural angle. But she didn't laugh when she cuffed him and searched and found that .45 ACP in his waistband. The three-time loser pulled a 40-year sentence, sitting in his 6x8 cell at 201 Poplar Ave, for attempted second-degree murder, along with his original charge of possession of a controlled substance which he received an additional 3 years. Renee left the s**t-show in Memphis shortly after and returned to her birth home in Louisiana. Now here she was, sitting in her truck in the Garden District, watching and waiting for yet another piece of Memphis garbage.

Donald Lewis, suburban piece of greasy garbage, who got caught after snatching a kid from his own neighborhood in Lakeland and sexually assaulting her. By the grace of God, the girl got away through an unlocked window of his basement and the trash got caught, but by the act of some soft-handed, liberal judge, the asshole got bail, of 250K. Less than 6 hours after walking out, he was in the wind. Renee had a special place in her heart for people who hurt kids; it was a black pit filled with fire, broken glass, and chains. Renee took it personally when she saw the news and printed the paperwork immediately. It took a week of lead chasing, old girlfriends, Reddit posts about disappearing, and her own AI facial recognition software searching millions of photos posted by random tourists online, but there he was. In the background of some Japanese tourists picture on one of those ghost hunting tours in New Orleans. Thank God for high-def photos and shake-proof selfie sticks. Donald was sitting on a bench on Magazine Street, staring at a grand old 2-story home across the street. He was clearly hunting, but glaring at the photo on her screen, Renee knew she was far better at finding her prey.

Renee's legs were aching, sitting in her pickup since the early morning hours hadn't done her any favors, and it was approaching 7am. The street was waking up as the early morning light began to peek through between the rows of houses, dappling the old town street in warm golden rays. Cars were beginning to pull out of driveways, as normal families started their day. Renee's truck windows were illegally tinted; she could see out perfectly, but to anyone outside it would appear pitch black. The cops could of course give her a ticket, but it didn't matter. She had laid her seat as far back as she dared, a high-resolution video playing on her phone from the concealed pin camera on her dashboard. Hell, she could watch mosquitos hump, in the privacy of her truck. Watching for one greasy pedo on a quiet city street would be child's play. The house Donald Lewis had been staring at in the online photo looked grand enough. A brilliantly white two-story great house, complete with intricate wrought iron railings across the front of the first and second floor balconies. A massive set of stairs done in white stone curved to the entryway ending in a set of tall cypress and glass French doors with a half-moon, starburst transom over the top. Architecturally, it was stunning, but Renee could only think about her own piece of paradise; a single-story, 150-yr-old Acadian home 70 miles away on the Amite River. Its massive front porch was complete with a swing and a pair of cypress rocking chairs. It was small by New Orleans, grand house standards, only 1600 square feet, with 2 bedrooms and a single full bath, but the rooms were large, with 12 ft ceilings, hand planed narrow oak floors, and the thick walls made the home well insulated against heat and cold. It had a quiet beauty about it really. Nothing like the stucco, marble and wrought iron behemoth here on Magazine Street. It was encompassed by whitewashed brick walls topped with iron spikes and a massive gate leading up into the carriage house area. The house itself seemed to say, "Look but Do Not Touch!" Like a fine art museum, or an old madam's cat house, it looked like it wasn't really lived in. The one thing Renee did notice was all the cameras the house had. She counted six bubble cameras on the outer brick wall, a doorbell camera, and cameras at every corner of the house's facade. Whoever lived there took security seriously. Renee scoffed, 'Probably some Hollywood elite that just "fell in love" with New Orleans, bought the house and never came back.' Time ticked on; Renee glanced at her Fitbit, 9:20am, no sign of Donald yet; she sighed. Renee rolled her shoulders, and suddenly there was movement. The iron gate of the great house began to swing outwards slowly on its mechanism; a pair of black GMC Yukons Denalis came down the road and pulled directly into the gate, followed by a brand-new black Mercedes-Maybach s680. "Damn!" Renee exclaimed; that car looked like it could come to life and eat someone. The gate slowly closed behind what could only be explained as the sexiest car Renee had ever seen. "Did the vampire Lestat move in?", laughing to herself, shaking off the idea, it was New Orleans after all. She couldn't see the Maybach driver, probably a high-end lease, she thought. Time crept on until just before 10am, when she saw him, someone was walking casually down the street from behind her truck, on the driver's side. She could see him approaching through her rear-view and side mirrors; it was Donald. He walked slowly, a measured pace that to anyone on the street said; he was nobody special who had nowhere special to be and no care. To Renee, that walk said hunter, and careful predator. He walked right past the truck and continued for another 30 yards to the same bench on the street. He sat down on the bench, a Cafe Du Monde cup in his hand along with a white paper bag. He set the bag beside him and pretended to drink his coffee, but his eyes were carefully searching for movement in the windows of the house across the street. The thought turned Renee's stomach. She didn't know the homeowners, but if they had kids, they needed to be careful.

Nico pulled into the gate behind his two security teams. His stomach was empty, and it had been a long flight from Manhattan to the back waters of Louisiana a week ago, and neither jetlag nor his eating patterns had settled since. The heat here was insane for an April morning, and the air was so thick you could almost eat it with a knife and fork. Why had he decided on his 4-piece Italian wool/silk blend suit? It acted like a sauna, and he couldn't wait to peel off the layers. He stepped out of the car and walked directly into the side door of the house, and into the small lower kitchen, removing his jacket as he did and laying it over a chair. The DCFS's first interview was in three days; they would do a home inspection and interview him and his family. Nico remembered then that he didn't have a family. No more brother, no mother or father. DCFS wouldn't see him as stable, or dependable without a family, or at the very least a wife or girlfriend. He could have brought any number of his current or former bed partners, ex-girlfriends to play the part, but considering most of their backgrounds included jobs as strippers or having rap-sheets, he didn't think it would be a good idea. "No" Nico decided, "no hookers, strippers or my usual taste of women." He needed someone regular, clean, someone who didn't have track marks, tattoos, or most importantly a rap sheet. He sat at the marble kitchen island nursing an espresso, deep in thought. So deep he didn't notice two tiny troublemakers creeping around the corner, auburn pig tails, and freckles dancing, until one of them grabbed his pant leg right below his groin. "Jesus!" Nico jumped back, causing his niece to stumble away and fall onto her butt. The espresso cup rattled as it hit the countertop but didn't break. Her face immediately turned from joyful to pouting to outright audible revolt and crocodile tears. "No, no, no Ava, I'm sorry I didn't see you, Uncle Nico was just thinking. I'm sorry if I scared you baby!" He scooped up the crying child, bouncing her and apologizing as if he'd broken her heart into a thousand pieces. " Have my girls had breakfast yet??" He was panicking now "What would you girls like," he opened the fridge," we have fruit, yogurt, cheese sticks, cake what? " Ava heard the magic word, and the tears that were once flowing like Niagara Falls came to an abrupt halt, "CAKE!" She squealed loudly and was now trying to squirm out of her uncle's arms, "Cake, Uncle Nico!" Nico set the now joyful minion beside her twin sister, and the two scrambled to crawl into the chairs of the breakfast table, across from the kitchen island. Nico pulled out the remnants of a chocolate cake, one of his security guys, thought the girls might like it. Like was an understatement; it was as if he had taken in two tiny demons dressed in pink ruffles had two equally bottomless stomachs. Nico opened the box and taking two small plates from the cabinet, he cut two slender pieces of the 3-tier chocolate cake, placing serving in front of each little girl, before turning to grab forks. Too late; by the time he turned around, the cake slices were gone, chocolate-streaked faces and very dirty fingers were all that was left. Nico stood mouth gaping, looking at what could only be described as a murder his nieces had committed on the cake. Nico grabbed the paper towels from the counter and began the furious task of cleaning frosting fingers before the girls could get it on their clothes. When he had made certain to get it all, he motioned to the backyard door, "You two go play in the garden, I'll be out in a second. Do not leave the garden, and do not go near the gate, understood?" The girls' smiles were infectious, "Love you Uncle Nico!" They said in unison and ran out of the door, the old screen door smacking the frame hard. Nico began picking up the plates and wiping down the countertop and table before he walked outside. He never thought he'd be playing the role of single parent, in this bizarre city, a thousand miles from the fast-paced metropolitan life in NYC. Here most people still waved at their neighbors, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Nico stepped out the back door distracted for a moment, his espresso cup refilled and in his hand. When he lifted his head, the sight caused him to gasp, shout, and call for his security. A strange fat man had, Hannah, his 4-yr-old niece by her arm trying to pull her through the front gate. She was screaming and crying; her sister Ava was on the ground behind Hannah, tears and dirt on her dress and face. Nico pulled his 9mm Beretta from his shoulder holster and shouted, "Let her go, mother fucker, or you'll die right here! Donald looked up but had no time to react. Suddenly, he was thrown into the iron gate from behind hard, smacking his face, causing his nose to break, and bright red blood burst forth. He dropped Hannah's arm immediately and grabbed his face, screaming, "My nose! You son-of-a-b***h, you broke my f*****g nose!" Hannah screamed and ran to Nico; he put the pistol away immediately, not wanting the girls to see it. He handed his distraught nieces over to security, who had arrived seconds behind him, only to turn and see the man now on the ground, and being handcuffed by... a woman? Nico's breath caught in the chest; she was tall, had curves in all the right places, brunette, her face was soft with full lips and piercing hazel eyes. Then his own eyes fell onto the bulletproof vest, and the silver badge pinned to it. s**t, law enforcement of some kind, he thought. Nico hadn't become friendly with law enforcement in Louisiana, so he didn't recognize the badge right away.

She pulled Donald to his feet and walked him to her truck, whimpering about his nose. Opening the rear bed and cover and dropping a fold-out step, she motioned and, without a fuss, Donald stepped into the truck bed and sat down. "Can I get a cigarette?" He whimpered. "Sorry, I don't smoke." Renee shrugged, locking the back cover of the truck bed before turning to walk over to the homeowner. She took off her heavy leather gloves, pulled a crisp business card out of her back pocket, and made her way across the road to the gate. The gate was now opened, the little girls had been taken inside, but the tall man who had pulled a pistol on Donald was still standing there. The pistol had been holstered. Thankfully, Renee wasn't looking to get shot again. "I'm so sorry sir, I hope your daughters are, OK? I am going to call NOPD, and you can file a report. Here is my card. I will be taking him for transport to the city jail pending extradition. The guy jumped bond in Memphis on a charge of s****l assault of a minor and kidnapping. With your testimony here, it is likely he will not get out of prison before he is ready to get social security." "Testimony?" Nico repeated. "Yeah, "Renee replied," The guy just tried to kidnap your kid. Look, I'm glad I was here and could stop him, but yeah, a repeated offense in another state, will put him behind bars for good." Nico raised an eyebrow, "No, thank you, no police." Nico raised his hand, "She will be ok, and hey you've got him already." Renee looked more confused, "So you don't want to tell the police the guy just tried to kidnap you kid?" Nico squared his shoulders trying to make himself look intimidating, "No, we don't need the police, she'll be fine. You can go now." Renee held out her business card, "Well, if you change your mind, here is my number. I have the entire thing on video for the police. I hope the little girl is OK." Renee turned and walked back to her pickup truck, stepped into the driver's seat, and turned the key. The big V8 engine roared to life, and after buckling her seatbelt, Renee threw it into drive, cracked the AC into the back and pulled off toward the parish jail and courthouse. An hour later, and paperwork was finished, the transport from Memphis was on its way; medical had cleared Donald and his nose, and they had cut her a fat check, 25K. Renee had washed the blood out of the back of her truck at a car wash near the I-10 on ramp and was now headed back to her quiet piece of Livingston Parish.

Nico sat at his desk, a glass of bourbon in hand. Hannah cried into his chest most of the day after, Ava gripping her sister's tiny hand like she was afraid she would disappear. Neither would eat lunch nor dinner, not even promises more cake would do it. In the end, Nico was only able to get the girls to drink a glass of warm milk, take a warm bath with their favorite Lavender-scented tearless soap and crawl into bed together. Nico had never been so scared in his life, and he had guns pointed at him regularly. Seeing Hannah's bruised little arm in that man's grip made his heart stop completely. She would remember that for a long time, and he knew it. After the skip tracer had left, Nico held the card carefully between his fingers and walked inside. The girls were sitting on the big grey sofa, surrounded by security, crying, wheezing, and talking all at once. From what Nico could get from them, the two were playing with a ball in the yard, bouncing it and running after it to repeat the game. The ball bounced and rolled under the gate, and Ava ran up to get it. That is when the man came over and offered to pass the ball through the gate. Ava had backed away, but Hannah ran over to the man to get the ball, and that's when he grabbed her. Both girls screamed and seconds later, Uncle Nico arrived and then the "brave lady" ran up and kicked the "bad man", into the gate and saved them. Nico, along with his men, sat with their full attention given to the child, half crying, half narrating the entire morning theatrics like she was reading a Spider-Man comic. To hear the girls talk, it was as if they had been saved by a superhero. Nico glanced down at the business card still in his hand. In simple pressed typed script, it read, 'R. B Track & Tracing' along with a phone number on the back. He couldn't put his finger on it, but a plan was starting to form in the back of his mind. Over his shoulder, he passed it off to his second, Michael, without so much as a look. " Find out everything you can about her and then send it to me."

Two days later, Renee was sitting in the dirt of her small front yard, planting a group of Louisiana Irises in the beds lining her front porch. She kept thinking back to the tall, dark and broody homeowner in New Orleans who, despite his kid almost getting grabbed by a pedo, didn't want to press charges, or hell not even get a few kicks in for his trouble. Renee recognized hotness factors, and he was off the charts; she could have easily looked the other way while he beat the guy. He looked like he knew what to do with that 9mm he drew but was controlled enough to keep that side of himself out of the kids' line of sight. He's probably some security firm billionaire, or knowing Renee's taste in guys, he could be a porn star; God knows he looked like he had the body for it. She was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn't hear a car pull up to her picket fence gate, nor did she hear the driver's door open and close. She was jolted out of her thoughts, when her dog, Bug, who was sitting calmly on the porch, launched off into the grass furiously barking beside her. Renee quickly reached for her assisted opening CRKT knife and spun quickly to face any would-be attackers. Standing there at her gate, was said hottie, in a pressed pair of well-fitted khaki trousers and a white button-down short-sleeved cotton shirt. His hand rests on top of the gate, wide Gucci sunglasses making his eyes unreadable. His arms were completely covered in tattoos, not the vividly colored ones you'd see from every male stripper on Bourbon St. These were older, outline only; one of 2 tigers were locked in combat, the other looked like clouds, and well-muscled horses were running, he stars on his elbows, hell even his hands and fingers were tattooed. Then she noticed the scar on his right forearm, long and thick. It broke up the horse tattoo, but a good doctor had realigned it as best he could. 'Well, here he is looking like he stepped off a GQ shoot, and here I am looking like I had been ridden hard and put up wet', she thought. Renee barked a command to Bug, in German, and the dog immediately stopped barking, walked back to the porch, and sat down. "Nice trick," Nico remarked, "Does it work on ex-girlfriends too?" He mused. "Can't say, but I know it doesn't seem to work on boyfriends" Renee replied with a small smile. "Well, that is a shame." Nico retorted his smile, getting wider. "What can I do for you, mister?" Renee asked. "The corner of Nico's mouth curved upwards, "Who says I need something? Maybe I just wanted to say thank you. He removed his sunglasses to reveal a pair of dark, piercing brown eyes. "Well," Renee replied, a single eyebrow raised, "You or someone who works for you is obviously smart enough to find me, and whatever it is you need can't be explained over the phone, so not a simple thank-you. So... What can I do for you?" Renee replied, standing up as she brushed the dirt from her short denim shorts. Nico liked her, she was a straight shooter, had a nice body, didn't mind hard work. He looked around for a moment before asking, "Can I come in? This heat is going to start melting me in a minute." Renee motioned for him to come through the gate; she turned and walked up the steps to her front porch and entry, seeing him follow her through the reflection in the glass door. Renee opened the door, Bug followed closely behind, and Nico walked in last, taking in his surroundings.

The house didn't look as big from the outside, but the tall ceilings and large living room space were surprising. It had wide crown moldings, neutral taupe paint, large antique Audubon prints on the walls and a large fireplace with floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanking the fireplace at the far end. The furnishings were all deep brown leather; two sofas facing each other, and a wing back chair that sat close to the bookcases, creating a small reading nook in the corner of the large space. Renee escorted Nico through a small doorway beside the bookcases and into her kitchen and dining room. "Drink?" She asked, "Water?" Nico said casually. She walked through the space with a soft grace, taking two blue hobnail glasses from a cupboard before walking to the fridge and dispensing two glasses of cold water, then handling one of the glasses to him over the kitchen island, and motioning him to sit. "So, what can I do for you, Nicolas Frenetti?" Renee took a sip of her water and waited. Nico didn't react to her calling him by his full name; the fact that she had done her own research was impressive. At no point had they exchanged names, only a single business card on her part. "You know me?" He asked slightly guarded. "Cliff notes, really. You're from New York City," Renee made air quotes as she said, "Family business" with fingers in a lot of pies. You lost your younger brother John and his wife, Marie, 2 weeks ago in a car accident. My condolences. You're trying to get permanent custody of your nieces, so you bought the house on Magazine St in an effort to show a stable home life. Since Orleans Parish and all of Louisiana still goes by Napoleonic laws, DCFS won't let you take the kids out of the state until they make that decision, which could take 6 weeks or 6 months, depending on the backlog at the courthouse. How am I doing so far?" Renee paused, looking right at Nico. He raised his hands in mock surrender, "Not bad, former US Navy Chief Renee Sonnier, Cryptologic technician; specialty was missile defense systems and signal intelligence gathering. Served for 11 years. Given a Navy /Marines Corp medal with a V for Valor. Until you were given a general under honorable condition discharge after an incident onboard your last boat, there was not much information on whatever that was. Born in Louisiana, moved around after you got out of the military, 3 different college degrees, one Ivy League, lived in upstate New York for a while, Memphis, TN where you were shot twice..." Nico glanced up, "by a junkie with a stolen .45 who skipped bond." Renee looked away for a moment, finishing her glass of water. She walked over to the deep steel sink and placed it in the glass inside. "I bet that hurt," Nico remarked; he knew a few veteran enforcers in the organization, who didn't survive gun fights, and here she was still walking and breathing. Renee just sighed, "Learning hard lessons usually do." She casually pulled down her v-neck shirt, revealing the round thickened scar just above her left breast. Nico blew a whistle through his teeth, "That one was close." Renee didn't respond right away, just raised her eyebrows, adjusted her shirt and leaned against the counter. "Well, now that the d**k measuring contest is out of the way, Mr. Frenetti, how about you tell me what I can do for you?" Nico nearly choked his final gulp of cold water; he coughed to clear his throat. He set his glass down, for a moment rethinking his plan. He needed regular, normal, conservative; he was starting to second guess himself, but hell, he was already there in her kitchen, so he looked deadpanned at her and just said, "I need a fiancée." Renee wanted to burst out laughing, but Nico's face made her realize he was being 100% truthful. "A fiancée?" She repeated slowly. Nico stood up and slowly began to come around the kitchen island, using his hands to express himself as he talked, "Yes, you see, the court wants me to prove that I have a stable, normal home life here in New Orleans. They won't let me leave with the girls until they make that determination, so as you already know, I bought the house. The girls are home 24/7, so they also need constant care and supervision. The court is even making the girls see a family counselor about the accident once a week. So, it is just a fiancée on paper, but more like a housekeeper s***h personal security details for the girls; live in, of course." Nico saw it as a perfectly normal solution to his problem. Renee looked at him as if he'd lost his ever-loving mind. "You want me to pretend to be your live-in fiancée, for DCFS interviews and court dates? While in reality, I am going to baby-sit your nieces, chauffeur them to family counselor appointments, and keep your house?" "Yes," Nico affirmed, "just until the court grants me full custody, then we can do the whole break-up thing after and go our separate ways." Renee's face which had been unreadable up until now, looked as if someone had shoved a dead animal under it, "You're out of your damn mind." She replied.

He knew this would be a hard sell, but Nico persisted, "I'm not talking about us getting romantically involved. The house has an apartment above the carriage house you can stay in; you can bring your dog. We have a swimming pool, and an exercise room too. Everything you need will be provided, hand to God. Think of it like a paid vacation!" He kept going... "I'll give you 500k dollars, please I can't lose the girls." Renee looked hard at Nico; she could see this was his shot in the dark. "If you or I get caught lying under oath we'll both, be done, and you'll lose the girls anyway." Nico's head dropped, "I know, but I've got to do this; I don't want brother's girls to end up in the foster care system. Please, this can work."