Conquered by the Mafia Boss

Oh yeah, I’m screwed.

JOHNNY

Le Zinc is probably my most frequent haunt. It’s one of my favorite restaurants, and it should be, considering I hired the kitchen staff. Good food is important to me, and that’s why this place is fucking packed. They come to this restaurant in droves. I can’t blame them. Everything is streamlined. Modern. The food is great. You can smoke. You can bring your own wine.

But some don’t come for the great food or the service. They’re tourists. They watch an episode of Sopranos or they read the Montreal Gazette, and they know that this is a connected joint. Fucking Hollywood. What a joke.

Anyway, one of those assholes sits in the restaurant with a baseball cap. Afucking baseball cap. And he holds his smartphone in my direction.

I’m trying to have a meeting with my captains in this place, and that jerk-off is taking pictures of me. With that fucking baseball cap on his stupid head.

It’s disrespectful.

“Hold on a second.” I interrupt François with a hand as I stand up from the booth, smooth over my suit, and walk in the direction of that jackass.

His head perks up as he sees me coming, frowning at me. I can just imagine what I must look like to this prick. When I reach his table, I grit my teeth in an attempt to smile.

Do not make a fucking scene. Be polite.

“Excuse me.” That probably never sounded so hostile. “Take off the hat, please.”

His mouth opens stupidly. “It’s my hat, and I’ll wear it if I want.”

How is this moron still breathing?

“Don’t be a jerk. This is a nice restaurant.”

Our eyes meet for a tense moment and for a minute I think he’s going to back down, but then he shakes his head. The veins in my head are about to pop.

I reach up and cuff the side of his head. It flies off and flutters to the ground.

“What the fuck?”

The other diners look up from their meals at the sound of the commotion, and then Shit For Brains stands up with his fists raised.

“Don’t touch me!”

Cute.

“Get out of my fucking restaurant.”

Before I drag you out the back and beat the shit out of you.

He obviously has no idea who I am, but his friend does. He gets up from the table and yanks Shit For Brains’ arm. “That’s Johnny Cravotta.”

“Oh.”

I almost want to laugh at his wide, horrified eyes, and the way his whole body deflates. He puts his hands behind his back and his shoulders slump, almost as if he’s bowing.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know who you were.”

“Get the fuck out.”

He nods and bends down for the hat, but I step on it, viciously grinding all the dirt and shit from the sidewalks on that fucker’s hat. Then I step back.

“There’s your fucking hat. Now get out.”Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

His eyes splinter with a flash of resentment, and he hesitates near my feet. I have to hold myself back, but the cool fire inside me recedes when he puts that fucking dirty cap on his head and walks out like a beaten dog. I reach into my pocket and throw money on the table for the waitress, and then I walk back to my captains, who give me appreciative smirks.

People who know me say I’m cruel, but everything I do is necessary. Even humiliating that dumb fuck in my restaurant. I need to set a precedent. I am always being watched. And I am always watching them. I learned that from my father.

Prick.

I sit back down at the table without a fuss, and we continue our meeting, but my mind is elsewhere.

“What about the bikers?”

The question snaps me in two. “What?”

“Les Diables. Shouldn’t we give them a taste?”

My hackles settle down and I lean back into my chair. “I told Carlos that the airport was off limits. That’s all he needs to know. I’m not giving him a cent. It’s our fucking territory.”

François shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “He has people working for him at the airport. I don’t know, John.”

He has the gall to question me in front of all my captains.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion.”

The men around the table go quiet as François sits back, looking subdued.

“All due respect, John, he has a point.”

My consigliere Sal mutters in my ear as blood pounds in my head. I’m not giving that fucking asshole a penny. If they knew how prejudiced he was against Italians, they’d be on my side.

“There are two kinds of heists. Ones where there are no witnesses, and ones where everybody gets caught.” I grind my cigarette into the ashtray. “I don’t trust bikers. Not even to pay them off. They stay in the fucking dark.”

My capos nod at me and my eyes sweep the restaurant. Over their heads I see something that almost gives me a heart attack.

Maya stands in the foyer, looking more than a little lost. I can make out her fantastic ass from over here, because her black jeans wrap around her like a second skin. She doesn’t call me in a fucking week, and then she just decides to show up like this? Where any of her father’s people can see her?

Christ, I don’t need this right now.

But I can’t pretend it doesn’t give my ego a boost to see her wave off the hostess and march toward my table. Male heads turn as she walks past tables. She wears a slight frown as the guards stop her before she gets to me. And I wave them away. My captains glance at her. And then they look again. My mood lifts to the sky.

Yeah, that’s the girl I’m fucking.

“Well, look who’s here. I guess this means you finally figured out I’m not a bar owner.”