Chapter 12CANDI

Chapter 12

CANDI

My back aches. My feet throb. As I open the door to the back alley, weariness drags at me like cement blocks chained to the back of my kicks.

I'm always tired when I finish a shift, but this is something different. This doesn't just go bone deep, I'm weary to my soul.

I know it's because of Angelo's rejection.

He didn't even have the decency to leave the club after. I could feel his eyes on me for two more hours before he left.

So. Proof positive, he's not there to mack on me, but for mafia business. Knowing he only wanted the private lap dance because he was once again looking after me doesn't help.

Especially after he left me a freaking $1000 tip with the head bartender.

I told him he didn't have to pay for the dance. I offered to pay for my time in the backroom, but management asked if I planned to do more private lap dances. When I said no, Nerissa De Luca gave me a free pass.

It could be because I'm friends with her sister-in-law, but I don't think so. She had a look of pity on her face. Everyone knows I took Angelo to the backroom and they all assume it didn't go well for me.

They're right. Darn it.

I wish I could afford to reject his pity payment, but I can't. And it makes me cranky.

Sometimes it feels like I don't have any control over my life.

My head down, I watch the damp pavement in front of my feet. I've stepped into nasty surprises left behind by both animals and humans. Never again.

I'm concentrating on avoiding a puddle of something I'm happy to leave unidentified in my brain, so I don't realize I'm not alone at first. I'm about a third of the way down the alley when I register a noise.

The scrape of shoe leather on pavement.

A whimper. "Please. I'll get the money."

"Times up." The words aren't spoken with any particular menace, the bored tone making the message more chilling.

Dread in my gut, my head snaps up as I freeze in place. No one has noticed me yet, which only tonight right? Usually the street at the end of the alley would be quiet this time of night, but right now it's still noisy with party revelers.

We usually close at 2 am, but it's already three and I just finished my last set.

Two hulking forms loom over a kneeling man. The one behind him is holding him in place by his shoulders.

They're close to the wall opposite to the club's back entrance, but not visible to the street because the dumpsters are between them and the mouth of the alley. Where I need to go.

"You owe our boss and he's out of patience." The man in front backhands the kneeling man. "He said to take it out of your hide."

Why do I think he's not talking about giving the deadbeat debtor a beatdown despite the smack?

My instincts are sending up danger flares for real though and I slowly start moving backward, grateful I changed into rubber soled kicks before leaving for the night.

Not that I would walk to the train in my six-inch heels regardless.

"You already beat me up. You can't squeeze blood out of a stone."

The stupidity of this guy stops me in my tracks for a second in sheer amazement. Even I know you don't taunt the big guys you owe money to in a deserted alley. Mostly deserted.

I'm here, but I'm not jumping into whatever this is. If it were a kid, or one of the other girls, or something, I'd take my chances. But I'm not putting my neck on the line for someone delulu enough to think he can renege on a debt to guys like that.

"I guess we'll just have to squeeze the blood directly from the source then," the guy in front says in the same bored tone.

This is going nowhere good. I take another silent step backward.

"No! I can't pay if I'm dead." The kneeling guy sounds smug, like he really thinks this argument is going to save him.

"You were never gonna pay anyway. You've been bragging about taking a beating. Not going to pay until I'm damn good and ready . That sound familiar to you?"

Oh, man, I really don't want to be hearing this. Can you say witness to a crime ?

"We don't need losers like you giving our other customers ideas about paying their debts in broken bones instead of cold cash." This is from the guy behind the kneeling man.

He doesn't sound nearly as bored. He sounds pissed.

"At least dead you're useful as a lesson to others."

Oh, shit!

I spin around and run as fast and quietly as I can toward the backdoor. The sound of my feet landing against the wet pavement are thunderclaps in my ears.

"What th e… " The guy behind me isn't making any effort to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

The clack of dress shoes smacking the rain soaked street grows closer and closer.

I reach the backdoor of the club and yank on the handle, but it's locked. My brain knows it automatically locks behind you when you go out, unless you prop it open. My terror demands I keep yanking with one hand while pounding on it with another.

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder and yanks me backward. I scream, hoping someone inside the club will hear.

The guy's other hand smacks over my mouth, muffling me. "Be quiet."

The scent of cordite fills my nostrils. How many deadbeat debtors has this guy already shot tonight? Terror courses through me, reinvigorating my limbs. And ignoring his advice, I kick backwards, twisting and trying to get away.

The guy shifts his hold on me so his forearm is a tight bar across my chest. "You're only making things worse for yourself."

I recognize that voice. It's one of the club regulars.

Barely old enough to drink, Freddy's got a thing for Piper. He pays for a trip to the backroom a couple of times a week and his prolific tips are enough to let her know she's got his number.

Not that tipping means a guy's hung up on you.

Gah! Why am I still thinking about Angelo when I'm about to die for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Knowing Freddy is the man holding me doesn't give me comfort. He and his friends are mafia. I don't know if they're Genovese, like Angelo and my sperm donor, but they've got that made man attitude.

Cold and soulless.

The door cracks open and hope makes me double down on my struggles.

Pressing his hand so hard against my mouth, my teeth cut the inside of my lip, he barks, "Get lost. There's nothing to see here."

And the door shuts again. Just like that.

I don't even know who was on the other side. They didn't step out into the alley to check who was pounding on the door even. And I don't really blame them.

Looking is just asking for trouble. But I doubt anyone's calling the cops either. If I recognize the guy holding me, they probably do too.

The mafia doesn't take kindly to snitches and they don't leave witnesses.

The only one who's going to save me, is me.

I bite hard on the fleshy part of Freddy's hand. The coppery taste of blood lets me know I broke skin. Good.

Take that, asshole.

"Son of a bitch!" Freddy pulls his maimed appendage out of the reach of my teeth and his other arm loosens just enough.

Jerking away, I drop low, and breaking out of his hold completely, run toward the mouth of the alley.

"Catch her," the older guy still standing over their intended victim yells.

My arms and knees pumping, I sprint with all I've got. I don't waste breath screaming again, I'm set on one goal. Getting to the street.

But then, silhouetted against the light from the street, two more large human shapes come into the alley. They head toward me at a jog and my heart sinks.

Backup has arrived for the guys intent on killing the deadbeat debtor and my goose is cooked.

With a burst of terror driven adrenalin, I sprint at an angle, hoping to avoid their long arms by scooting close to the brick outer wall of the club.

"Don't let her past!" The guy who's doing nothing to chase me down shouts.

The two men spread out, making it harder to avoid getting caught by them. The alley is narrow, but not so narrow I won't try it.

I duck down and try running right between them. I think I'm going to make it when I'm lifted clean off my feet by an arm around my waist.

"Help me!" I scream, hoping I'm close enough to the mouth of the alley to be heard over the street noise. "Call 911!"

"Shh, Ms. Candi. Don't hold her so tight, Derian."

"She's a wildcat, Mario. If I let go, who knows what she'll do." He looks down at me and grumps, like he's feeling put upon. "We're not going to hurt you."

Ms. Candi? Not going to hurt me? Who are these goons?

"I don't believe you. Help! " My shout has less oomph because the hold around my middle is making it hard to fill my lungs.

Then I do the only thing I can think of, knowing it's probably the most ridiculous claim I'll ever make. "If you hurt me Angelo Caruso will cut off your hands."

"He wouldn't stop at our hands if harm came to you because of us, trust me," the guy my captor called Mario says in enthusiastic agreement.

"Then let me go."

"No can do. Those two work for somebody else," Mario explains. "We let you run, and they follow. Maybe not now, but later. We let that happen and we might as well order our own gravestones."

"You don't got yours ordered?" Derian asks. "Better to have shit like that taken care of and not leave it to your grieving mamma."

"Cut the crap and hand over the stripper," Mr. Give-a-Lot-of-Orders-and-Do-Nothing says. "She's seen too much."

"You looking to lose a hand, stronzo ?" Mario asks.

Oh, I know what stronzo means. Bianca uses it a lot. Derian just called the murderous goon an asshole.

"Or worse," Derian says in warning, his voice low. " Bat chen an tann mèt li ."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"Literally? Beat the dog, wait for its master. It means that if you touch Ms. Candi, you'll have to deal with Death."

"I'm nobody's dog and your boss is not my master," I grouse.

"No offense intended. It's one of my mamma's sayings." He sounds like he thinks that anything his mom says can't be bad.

That kind of reverence for his mother makes him referring to me as a dog owned by a master almost forgivable. Apparently, he didn't mean it literally. It's like one of those old-timey sayings everybody knows the meaning of, but doesn't actually make sense in literal translation.

"Last guy that really pissed our boss off over Ms. Candi ended up with both hands sawed off and choking on his own dick before being tossed in the soup," Mario says with unmistakable approval.

These two don't just revere their mothers, they have some hero worship going on where Angelo is concerned. That shouldn't give them points in my book, but it does.

"Ronnie didn't die," I point out. He lost his hand, but he's still alive.

"That perv didn't piss Angelo off as much as your old boss," Mario offers with way too much candor to be good for me.

He wouldn't be this forthcoming if he and Derian planned to let me go, would he?

Shit . My goose isn't just cooked. It's spit-roasted without lube.

But if Angelo did that to the man who tried to force me to start selling my body, he isn't going to be okay with his underlings hurting me either.

Will he?

"Death ain't going to do shit when our boss approves the hit." It's Do-Nothing putting his nose in again.

"Our boss is a capo," Freddy says, like that should impress the other men. "Gino's right. He'll approve the collateral hit. You know the rules. We don't leave witnesses."

Gino? Are you kidding me? This jerk's name is the same as my dead boss? Why are all the Gino's I meet assholes? If this one kills me, Angelo will probably disappear him like he did the smarmy ex-assistant-manager that tried to coerce me and Bianca into turning tricks.

That isn't going to miraculously bring me back to life though.

Which is the only thing keeping my hysteria at bay. Derian and Mario aren't going to kill me, but they've got to have some plan for keeping me silent. Probably threatening my family.

A pit forms in my stomach, and I remind myself that life is never perfect. But even if I don't get happy endings, since I'll never say a word to anyone about what I know, my sister and mom are safe.

Me, not so much.

Gino twists a silencer onto his gun, getting ready to follow through on his murderous intentions.

Derian chuckles. "You're just now putting a silencer on your weapon?"

"Death would have our asses for being so sloppy," Mario says.

They think this is funny? I'm about to be murdered and they're making jokes?

"Yeah, well the rest of us don't spend all our time killing. But since you work for Death, you're good at disposing bodies. You can take care of hers." Gino swings the gun toward me like a pointer. "And the cretin here too once we've offed him. Do your part for the family."

The humor disappears like a puff of smoke in a conjurer's trick. We once had a dancer who did magic tricks on stage during her sets. She was popular, because instead of pulling stuff out of a top hat, she pulled it from between her balloon-like breasts.

What is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about Lola when I'm about to lose my life and leave my mom and sister to fend for themselves?

In the short time my brain is off on its tangent, the air around us has gone so icy, I expect my breath to puff in little clouds when I exhale.

"You think the godfather's soldiers need to do more for la famiglia ?" Derian's voice sounds like it was forged in the depths of hell.

Appropriate for a guy who apparently works for the Angel of Death.

Suddenly there is a gun in Mario's hand, silencer already attached.

The weapon isn't pointed at me though. It's pointed at Gino. Surprised offense washes over his face and I want to gag.

He really thinks he's all that, but seriously?

Angel of Death. Plus godfather. He did the math and came up with his ABCs.

"Ain't nobody in the Genovese Familia with more clout than Death except our new fucking don. Miceli De Luca is the only made man in the Family we would even consider listening to about countermanding an order from our boss. And the don would never revoke an order from Death.

"Just because you work for the godfather's pet serial killer doesn't give you any jurisdiction over us," Gino huffs. "Put that fucking gun away before I call my boss."

"Aww, he's going to tell his dad on us," Mario singsongs to Derian. "I'd pit our papà against his any day."

"He's right." Derian pauses long enough for Freddy to relax and a smug smirk to form on Gino's face. "We are the best at disappearing bodies. We sure as hell can dispose of these two jamooks."

Freddy takes a wary step away from his cohort, drawing a clear distinction between the two of them.

Not super loyal, but also not stupid.

I'm not part of the mafia, but one thing I've discovered about Angelo is that no one wants to mess with Death.

And lucky me. Even if he doesn't want me the way I want him, Angelo Caruso has me under his protection.

"You're not going to waste your brothers over a piece of stripper tail," Gino announces like he's really not getting the memo.

"That's exotic dancer to you, asshole." Yep, that's my mouth writing checks I don't have the gun, or ability to use it, to cash.

But hey, the guy holding me in what feels like a much less nefarious grip does.

"Shut up, bitch this has nothing to do with you," Gino says snidely. "The men are talking."

Unexpectedly fury boils up inside me at his supercilious attitude. I've dealt with more demeaning jerks than him, but after the last fifteen minutes, his words hit me on the raw.

"Just shoot him already. He's a misogynistic, murdering waste of good Italian tailoring." I may live paycheck to paycheck, but I'm a New York girl, through and through.

I know my designers and that jerk is wearing Armani, or a very good knockoff of it.

Did I really just tell a man to shoot someone else? There must be something in me from my sperm donor's gene pool, because I'm not apologizing.

And I'm for sure not taking it back.

Not that Mario gives me the chance. There's the sound of a loud sneeze and then a dark hole appears in the center of Gino's forehead.

He crumbles to the ground as my heart thuds in shock.

"Why did you do that?" I practically shriek.

"You said to shoot him," Mario says, like that matters.

Derian adds, "He called you a bitch."

"So have a hundred other people."

"I wouldn't give their names to Death if you want them to keep breathing," Mario says like that's the rational takeaway from this.

"He's not even here!"

"But we are."

There's nothing to say to that undeniable reality.

Watching our exchange like it's a tennis match, Freddy puts his hands up in surrender. "I didn't say nothing."

"So, it wasn't you that suggested your boss the capo could override Death's order of protection on Candi here?" Derian taunts.

"I didn't mean nothing by that. How was I to know that Death put her off-limits?"

"You hang around the club. I've seen you," I say, not willing to just forgive and forget he wanted to kill me.

"I apologize, Candi. I spoke out of turn, and I never should have grabbed you back there."

I must be sick, because I get a thrill out of Freddy's debasement and abject apology. And I feel nothing but relief the other guy is dead.

Gino would have killed me without blinking an eye.

"That a good enough apology, Ms. Candi?" Derian asks.

I glare at Freddy, not sure it is. He wanted to kill me. He would have killed me. "You had to know who I am when you chased me down."

"I thought Death was done with you. The way you avoided each other after you took him to the backroom. Piper figures you didn't put out and it pissed him off?" He says it like a question.

As if I'm going to tell him my private business.

Mario swears. "The boss isn't going to like hearing people are speculating Candi's not under his protection anymore."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem after tonight," Derian says.

Because of their rescue of me? It does send a pretty strong message.

"Call your boss and tell him Death takes responsibility for the witness."

Something shivers up my spine at those words. What does it mean when a mafia assassin takes responsibility for you ? I don't think it means these guys are just going to let me go on my merry way.

Have I jumped straight out of the sizzling frying pan into the gasoline drenched bonfire?

Freddy nods and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket.

"Put it on speaker," Derian orders.

"Yeah no," Freddy shakes his head. "You know it's not safe to use the speaker when talking business."

Mario scoffs, "You weren't worried about being overheard when you were talking about capping Angelo's woman."

Angelo's woman? What the heck is that supposed to mean? His woman who reminds him of someone he wants to protect maybe.

"You're not exactly worried about it yourself."

Derian releases me, but with him and Mario so close, I'm not going anywhere.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "The difference is we already reconned this alley for listening devices and cameras earlier tonight."

"That doesn't mean there's nothing at my boss's end," Freddy says, proving he would make the perfect himbo. Pretty to look at but not a lot going on between his ears.

"Do I tell him, or will you?" Mario asks.

But it's kneeling guy who says patronizingly, "What are you? Stupid? Putting your boss on speaker ain't got nothing to do with what gets heard at his end."

Freddy grimaces and I almost feel sorry for him. Except, willing to kill me .

"Doesn't matter. Don't mean I want you listening in on my phone call," Freddy says belligerently.

Mario sites Freddy down the barrel of his gun. "Do what Derian says or I shoot you and we make the call."

Freddy glares, but he makes a production of calling his boss and then putting it on speaker while it's dialing.

"Is it done?" a harsh voice asks without saying hello, or anything else.

"Not yet." Freddy pauses. "There's a complication…"

"What kind of complication?" his boss asks in a tone that would make me worried about keeping my job.

In the mafia, I don't think that means just getting fired either.

"Well, first…this broad came out into the alley where we had the mark on his knees, ready to do what you ordered."

"Yeah, so?"

"She overheard too much to let her go." Freddy gives me an apologetic look.

Now he's sorry?

"So, take care of it."

Take care of it. Kill her , he means. Jerk.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare around the group of men. "I'm not disposable."

"Is that her? Why the fuck is she still breathing?" his boss demands.

"About that—"

"Let me talk to Gino. He should have been the one to call me."

Freddy tugs at his shirt collar. "Uh, you can't, Mr. Bianchi."

The other man slips into Italian, but I don't care that I can't understand what he's saying. Only one thing registers: the name of the man on the other end of the line. There's only one capo by that name in the Genovese Family.

Stefano Bianchi. The sperm donor.

My biological father.

I tune back into the phone call as Freddy says, "Gino got on the wrong side of Death's crew."

Stefano barks a single word that triggers a torrent of them out of Freddy's mouth.

"Derian and Mario showed up when I was chasing after the strip…" Freddy looks at me. "Dancer. They said we couldn't waste her and Gino didn't like hearing that. He, uh, he called her a bitch and she says, just shoot him already and Mario did."

"Mario shot one of my men?" Stefano asks in shocked fury. "Where?"

"In the alley, boss." Freddy groans, realizing before Stefano starts yelling that wasn't what the capo meant. "In the head. Gino's not coming home tonight."

I expect an explosion, but there are several long seconds of tense silence. I don't know about Freddy, but I can hear Stefano's absolute rage coming through loud and clear in it.

Then Stefano says, "Let me talk to Derian."

Freddy looks around like he's hoping for some kind of deliverance, but there's nothing but the drizzle of Fall rain.

"He can hear you, Mr. Bianchi. I got you on speaker."

The Italian that erupts out of my sperm donor's mouth is too vicious to be anything but a lot of cursing.

"They told me I had to," Freddy whines.

Stefano's Italian is voluble.

"I know who my boss is, but…"

I don't know why Freddy isn't replying in Italian, but at least I'm getting his half of the conversation.

Maybe he understands the language, but is crap at speaking it. I'm that way with Polish because of my mom.

"In the alley behind Pitiful Princess," Freddy says in response to a question from Stefano.

Derian frowns during Stefano's next barked Italian then says, "That won't be necessary Mr. Bianchi. We'll take care of the body."

Stefano speaks again furiously.

"Take it up with Death if you want to give him a proper burial." Derian doesn't sound worried that Mario killed someone who worked for the capo.

" Qual è il nome del ballerino? " Stefano asks without addressing Derian's words.

I recognize enough words with my rudimentary Italian to know what he just asked. What is the name of the woman?

"My name is Kathleen Brigliano," I say with unexpected emotion in my voice. They are the first words I have ever spoken to my sperm donor. "You knew my mother as Bonbon."

I don't bother giving him her legal name because I doubt he ever cared enough to find out what it was. She was the stripper he fucked, not the love of his life.

Does he even know mine?

I don't know if the fact I carry his blood will carry any weight with him. But right now, I need him to know that his goons threatened his daughter's life and that I know who he is.

Tonight, my father ordered my death. And now he knows that I know he did that. He might not have known it was me he so cavalierly consigned to an early grave, but it's still true. And that matters.

"Bianchi knows your mom?" Mario asks like he knows there's something more to it than what I have said.

"He knew her. She died when I was ten."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Mario's words ring with unexpected sincerity.

"Thank you."

"I didn't…I don't…" The mafia capo's voice is uncertain, his words saying nothing, even if he's speaking English now.

He might not know my name, but he knows I exist. Mommy told him.

Looking directly at Freddy, I say, "Your boss is my sperm donor."

I might be his secret, but my existence is not my secret to keep.

Freddy blanches. "Fuck me."

"He ordered you to kill me. I think you're in the clear." Do I sound bitter?

I'm not. Would it have been good to have a dad who cared about me? Sure, but despite everything, I'm fine now.

It doesn't make any difference to me if everyone in the Genovese Family knows Stefano Bianchi donated sperm to my existence.

That fact doesn't change the truth he has never been my father.