Blood in the Golden Palace

Chapter 7: Angelo-1

Chapter 7: AngeloAngelo sighed. Deeply. Sitting in his idling car, he stared through the massive rod iron gates of his father’s estate with all the enthusiasm of a man awaiting a colonoscopy. As Don Luciano’s men opened the way for his car, Angelo drove up the loose gravel path and toward a flat area for parked vehicles. There were at least ten off hand, but that was nothing unusual. With the house doubling as the DeRossi family headquarters, men came and went constantly. Angelo was hard pressed to remember a time when there wasn’t some kind of business operating in the background. Once he parked, he took a step out and finished his cigarette. It was his third one since leaving his office that morning.

The home of Luciano DeRossi wasn’t exactly subtle. It was a two story villa, complete with an overlooking balcony, Roman fountains, and small bungalows for business operations and guests. As he approached the door, the scurrying men he passed stood aside, some nodding their heads or removing their hats out of respect. If it hadn’t been for the cellphones or the fifty-inch plasma TVs in every major room of the main house, it would have looked like a set out of a Scorsese film.

Walking in, Angelo didn’t bother hanging his coat near the front door. He never stayed long. To his right, he overheard laughter over a football game. To his left, the hubbub of voices over clinking glasses. At least there wasn’t any screaming. Yet. Angelo made his way to the second floor, where much of the sound was choked by the thick carpets. With a left turn down a long hallway, Angelo found himself at his father’s office. He didn’t bother knocking, and Luciano didn’t bother looking up.

“You’re late,” said Luciano.

“Yeah, well,” Angelo replied, “I didn’t want to come.”

Luciano narrowed his eyes and gestured to an empty chair in front of his desk. Sitting down, Angelo noticed the second man. Mr. Elroy Pinkerton, attorney at law, and perpetual barnacle on his father’s ass. Mr. Pinkerton was a tall, gangly forty-something, with a bird-like nose and tiny eyes hidden behind thick, out of date glasses. His suits were also beyond unfashionable, often sitting somewhere between brown and tweed on the color spectrum, and he possessed what Angelo could only assume was the most expansive collection of loud bowties known to man.

“Mr. DeRossi has informed me that one of your warehouses got raided,” Pinkerton squeaked. “Recently, it sounds like.”

“That’s what I hear.” Angelo fiddled with the pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket. Already he was aching for a break from the conversation.

Pinkerton thumbed through his documents. “According to the final inventory tally, the operation confiscated about two million dollars’ worth of guns and ammo. I’ve already gone through a few of my channels to set up licenses and permits for the investigation to find, but we’ve been having issues.”

“What kind of issues?” Angelo asked.

“Blockades. Normally I can sort out this kind of paper trail in a weekend. But for some reason, I’m having a hard time getting a hold of a lot of my contacts within the system.”

“You think they’ve been compromised?”

“Well if they have, we’re in a lot more trouble than a few missing guns,” Pinkerton explained, pushing up his glasses. “But nothing’s definitive. My guess is you’ll be deposed sooner rather than later. Whoever’s running the operation is fast tracking the system.”

“Me? I don’t directly run any of our store houses.”

“True,” said Pinkerton, “but your family’s name is on the lease. And frankly, Mr. DeRossi, between you and your father, you have a cleaner record. As far as the public is concerned, you’re a legitimate businessman. So we have a better chance of presenting this as a legal business with you front and center.”

Angelo turned to Luciano, who had remained silent during the exchange. “And what are your thoughts on this, Pop?”

Luciano leaned back in his chair. “The hiccups have made it difficult,” he said. “How successful will we be if we pursue it this way?”

“If I can’t get the wheels greased…not likely. But so long as I can manage to get the case in front of Judge Willet or Hardy, you’ll be slapped with some fines and maybe send a few of your men off to do some light time. Luckily, it was outside jurisdiction for the city’s assault rifle ban, or we’d be in some major hot water.”

“What of another plan?” Luciano asked.

“I suppose…” Again, Pinkerton went through his files. “There’s always direct deniability. But that kind of scorched earth plan is a net loss for your family, if I’m being frank. More men get jail time, and you lose a good chunk of revenue. Not to mention the kind of financial scrubbing would take considerable man power. The first plan of action is a gamble, but it’s still far less destructive than cutting all ties.”

Luciano ran his hand over his leathery face. “Che palle…We must find our rat, Angelo. Or else we stand to lose everything.”

“I’ve got guys scouring the city, Pop. What more do you want?”

“Did you put men on Tumolo as I requested?”

“Ernie’s clean. I had him shadowed for days.”

Luciano growled rude Italian under his breath. “Days, he says, days.

“Ernie isn’t a threat,” Angelo insisted. “You’d know that if you spent any time outside of this place or the Palace.”

“Fah!” Luciano swatted Angelo’s concern aside. “Someday you will learn.”

Angelo left the conversation there and instead returned to Pinkerton. “What about getting in touch with your contacts some other way? Maybe if we know who they are, we can talk to them, see what’s going on.”

But Pinkerton shook his head. “It might alert the authorities. Give us away.”

Angelo leaned forward on his knees, hands laced together. He eyed Luciano over the desk. “Have you talked with Aldo Corsetti yet?”

Luciano’s face soured considerably. “I tell you, we gain nothing from them. Leave it.”

“His son showed up at my damn club. He knew all about it. Isn’t that worth at least a cursory glance?”

“His son may know, but Aldo Corsetti is no fool. He has not broken his word in thirty years. Why do so now?”

“Pops, I’m telling you—”

Knock knock.

All heads swiveled to the door as a fourth man stepped inside. Angelo didn’t need a full glance to know who it was; the mere glint off of those perfectly polished shoes told him that Giovani Ferri had joined them. “Scusa, Don Luciano. I hope I wasn’t gone for much.”

Luciano released the tension in his shoulders and nodded. “Nothing you did not already know, Gio.”

Gio was an impeccable man. For as long as Angelo had known him, there was never a time when he recalled a single hair out of place. The man had so many three piece suits Angelo often pictured him sleeping in Giorgio Armani. On his head was a thick quaff of silver gray, and a beard so finely trimmed it was like he shaved with a stencil. Like Luciano, Gio was an Italian immigrant, having escorted the DeRossis to America a few decades prior. Gio walked over to Luciano’s side and offered him a thin cigar, which Luciano took gratefully. He even lit the end for the mafia Don, sliding the silver lighter from sight as effortlessly as a magician. Gio eyed Angelo, who kept his face passive. Without saying a word, he turned to Pinkerton.

“I assume you’ve been going over our legal strategies.”

“Yes, Mr. Ferri,” said Pinkerton. “Of course, you’re free to weigh in, but with how many roadblocks we’re facing, the best we can do as take a plea deal and sacrifice some of the footmen.”

“How long do we have to decide?” Luciano asked.

“Not long. The state wants to proceed with depositions within the month.”

“One month?” Angelo repeated. “Holy s**t, that’s unheard of.”

“I’ve filed for a delay, of course. At this point though…who knows?”

Angelo rubbed his aching head. “I need some air.” Without waiting for a dismissal, he turned and left the office, ignoring his father’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. He took a hard left and headed down towards an open room. Currently, it was the one room not being used by the rest of the house on account it was in the middle of a paint job. All the harder to move furniture was covered in tarp, and a few windows were open, letting in a natural light. Walking into the chilly sunlight, Angelo took out his third cigarette of the day and lit up. It’d been a minute since he’d had this much on his plate. What he wouldn’t give for a break…

“I thought I saw your piece of s**t junker in the parking lot.”

Oh good. More stress.

Angelo turned, leaning his elbows against the window sill. “It’s a Porsche, Mari.”

Mariella DeRossi took a sip of her wine, her high brows sharp enough to kill a man. “Well I’ve always preferred Ferrari’s.” Stepping into the painted room, she kept her free hand level with her waist to prop up her opposite elbow. Today, Mariella sported a silk, one piece jumper in an obnoxious shade of yellow, a bedazzled belt snug on her nipped and tucked stomach. White leather stilettos kicked away the plastic tarp at her feet. How she was able to keep them pristine without spilling her daily intake of red wine, Angelo couldn’t say. She slid her oversized sunglasses on top of her crown of bleach-blonde hair. Even her wedding band was gaudy and gargantuan. “So. Are we all going to jail yet?”

“If we’re lucky.” Angelo took a drag. He nodded to her wine. “You realize it’s barely ten?”

Mariella scoffed and wandered further into the room. She paused at a window and looked outside. “Your father hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks. He’s beside himself trying to find this rat in the business. It’s ripping him to shreds.”

“We’ll find the guy,” Angelo said. “Trust me, it’s top priority.”

“Is it?” Mari snapped her eyes toward Angelo. “Because according to Nikki, you’ve got another little priority you’re dealing with. How is the stray, anyway? I heard she’s pretty.”

“She’s none of your concern.”

“Considering she could blow the lid off of your precious club with a quick phone call I’d say she’s very much my concern. Not that I wasn’t expecting that place to go down in a ball of fire, but here we are.”

“I’m handling it.”

“Oh I’m sure.” Mari finished her wine and set the empty glass on a stack of used paint buckets. “Take it from me, locking a woman away in a tower isn’t ‘handling’ jack shit.”

“Have you noticed any cops on your front door?” Angelo asked. “No. You haven’t. Because I am handling it.”

Mari smirked and shook her head. “Fine. Though if it were me, I’d toss the b***h in a potato sack and let her sink to the bottom of the ocean. A lot less messier that way.”

Finishing his cigarette, Angelo snubbed it into the wall, too tilted to care about the fresh paint. “Good f*****g thing you’re not me then.” He headed for the door. No doubt there was plenty more to go through before he could get out of this Villa de Hellhole. Before he could escape, however, Mari’s long, acrylic claws clutched his arm, stopping him in his tracks. He turned. There was a crack in her day-drinking facade.

“Don’t get complacent,” she said. “You f**k this up, it snowballs onto all of us. Believe it or not, I don’t actually want to see you behind bars, Angelo.”

Angelo slid his arm out of her hand. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”

* * * *

“Angelo…Ange…Angelo!”

Angelo jumped upright in his chair, a few stray papers flying as he evaluated his surroundings. Wiping the drool from his mouth, he looked up to see Nikki, her arms folded, standing at the foot of his desk. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “You look like shit.”

Angelo rubbed his eyes. “Thanks.” With a yawn, he checked his watch. “Damn, did I really sleep till noon?”

Nikki plucked an empty liquor glass off the desk and set it aside. “I’m surprised you slept at all. Mom told me you were at the house for hours.”