The Mafia’s Obsession

Ayla

The next day, Alessio takes me to a strip club.

“And why exactly are we here?” I raise my eyebrows as he pulls into the parking lot.

“I told you, we’re meeting with Uncle Sal.”

“In a strip club?”

He laughs, parking in one of the reserved spaces near the front. “Sal runs the joint. The back room is a good place for doing business.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, sure. Business.”

“Think what you want. You can’t honestly believe I would get any kind of stimulation out of coming here when I have you at home.”

Instead of the front entrance, he takes me through a side door. I won’t deny feeling a modicum of insecurity as he leads me throughthe narrow backstage area, past scantily clad dancers whose bodies seem so perfect to me. But by the time we reach the door to the back room, it’s obvious that I’ve paid far more attention to them than he has.

“Have a nice trip?” Sal asks, looking up. He’s sitting at his desk, watching sports on his laptop. He mutes the computer as we come in. “I like the vacation beard, kid. Very distinguished. And a very happy birthday to you, Mrs. Razone.”

Mrs. Razone-I’m still not used to hearing that. I blush at the memory of my birthday trip. “Thank you. It was really wonderful to get out of the city.”

“It was very nice,” says Alessio. “What did you find out?”

“I put Mr. Gary on it,” says Sal. “I thought you’d want someone doing the legwork who you trusted. He should be here any minute.”

“Very good,” says Alessio as the door opens and Dominguez joins us.

“Hey, how was the birthday trip?” asks Dominguez brightly, kissing me on the cheek.

“Really great,” I tell him, pushing down memories of being chased naked through the jungle.

He grins. “Well, I have a belated birthday present for you, in the form of some information. Your acceptance to Bover City University was rescinded over a violation of their social media policy. An admissions officer reported that he discovered social media posts of you engaging in unacceptable conduct.”

My mouth opens in shock. “What? What conduct? That’s total bullshit.”

“It gets better. The admissions officer who made the report is named Jacob Talbot. That same Jacob Talbot just so happens to owe almost $200, 000 to your dad in gambling debt.”

Yup. That checks out. I’ve overheard enough conversations between my father and his associates to know how things get done. “So this guy made a fake report about me in exchange for clearing the money he owes?”

“You guessed it.” He looks at Alessio. “You want me to take care of it for you? I can get it done tonight.”

My husband thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “No. I’ll do it myself.”

“You sure? One of the perks of being the boss is you get to delegate shit like this.” Dominguez glances at his friend’s bruised knuckles, and I wonder if he was there when those bruises happened.

“I know. But I’m going to take this one. It’s personal to me.”

“I’ll help you,” I say, and all three men turn to look at me.

“Out of the question,” replies my husband immediately. “I’m not putting you in danger.”

“You’re doing this on my behalf,” I insist. “I want to be a part of it.”

“I really don’t think it would be dangerous,” says Dominguez, earning a glare from Alessio. “Guy’s a 45-year-old office worker. Not like you’re running up on a cartel hitman or something.”

“And so that means I should bring mywifealong on business?”

I make eye contact with my husband. “Come on. You’re threatening this guy so he changes his report. He’s a BCU admissions officer, not some badass. Can you really argue this is more dangerous than our vacation?”

He holds my gaze, then chuckles, rubbing his forehead. “Fine, fine. My woman gets what she wants. We’ll call it a date night. Just don’t expect a candlelit dinner.”

“Honeymoon, part two,” Sal cracks.

***This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

Alessio parks near the University, and we walk through the campus together. It’s bittersweet being here, considering how excited I was to attend. All the students around me would’ve been my classmates.

Hopefully, they will be someday.

We find Jacob Talbot’s office in one of the administration buildings, then sit on a bench outside his door. We’re waiting for him to come in or out so we can clock his appearance, then follow him when he leaves. After about 20 minutes, a stocky, middle-aged man with fading, disheveled hair comes out, holding a coffee mug.

“Mr. Partridge!” he says, addressing Alessio. “I’m so sorry, I thought I had you and your daughter scheduled for 3 o’clock. Do you want to come in?”

My face instantly feels hot at the assumption that I’m Alessio’s daughter. He’s been wearing a short beard since our trip, which I suppose does age him up a bit. But even so, it’s a stark reminder of our age gap.

But my husband just smiles, glancing at me with amusement. “Yes, that would be great. You’re Mr. Talbot?”

“Oh, please, call me Jacob.” He ushers us inside the office and closes the door. “Sit down, sit down.”

Jacob Talbot sits at his desk chair and puts down his empty coffee mug. Alessio remains standing. “This won’t take long. You made an arrangement not too long ago with Anthony Gonzalez. You know what I’m talking about?”

Talbot stares for a moment, as though confused, then his face turns red. “Anthony Gonzalez? The… gangster? He got arrested. I saw it on the news.”

“Yes. But before that, you had an arrangement with him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Talbot stutters. “An arrangement? What kind of arrangement?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” says Alessio, dropping his tone. I almost squirm in place at the sound of his domvoice. Fuck, the effect it has on me. “You reversed his daughter’s acceptance.”

“He made me do it!” protests Talbot, dropping the pretense. “I don’t know why he wanted to screw over his daughter, it’s not my business. He said he would clear my debts. I only did what he said.”

“I understand that,” says Alessio calmly. “Now you’re going to undo it.”

“Undo it? You think I have a magic wand? It was hard enough to make it happen in the first place. I had to fake those pictures of her doing drugs.”

“You faked pictures of me doing drugs?” I say indignantly. “You motherfucker!”

His eyes widen as he recognizes me. “Shit, you’reGonzalez’s daughter? Come on, what the fuck. Why is she here? I don’t have business with her. Gonzalez’s in jail. I thought this was over.”

Alessio steps forward. “Which means there’s a new boss in town. Whatever deal you had with Anthony Gonzalez is in the past. Now there’s a new deal: you do what I say. And what I say is you get Ayla Gonzalez back into school.”

Talbot gulps, then shakes his head. “Respectfully, my debt is clear. I don’t owe the…you guysanything anymore. I can’t get somebody back into school who we already denied for using drugs. So I’m…” He looks like he’s gathering his courage. “I’m going to ask both of you to leave.”

Alessio steps forward again, but then there’s a knock, and the door opens. A bald, bearded man in his 50s pokes his head in. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. Is this Jacob Talbot’s office? My daughter and I have a 3 o’clock appointment.”

“You’re not interrupting,” says my husband, smiling. He turns over his shoulder and gives the admissions officer an icy stare. “We were just leaving.”

***

“So, what do you think his story is?” I ask Alessio as we sit in his Tesla in the university parking lot. We’re waiting for Talbot to walk out to his car, and I’m starting to get bored.

“Talbot? Not much of a story. Had a gambling problem, got in too deep with the mob. Needed to start doing favors to keep his head above water. I’ve seen it a hundred times before.”

“Well, yeah, I know that part. But you know, what’s his backstory? Like pretend he’s in a movie?”

Alessio raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to play a stakeout game?”

“Exactly. A stakeout game.”

He shrugs. “You first.”

I rub my hands together. “Okay, okay… He was married, two kids, but they divorced four years ago, and now he lives in a shitty apartment and only sees his daughters every other weekend. He tried online dating at first, but it didn’t work out, so he turned to online gambling instead. Then gambling became a habit, and soon, he’s spending every night at my dad’s poker tables.”

My husband stares at me. “You just came up with all that?”

“Well, I was thinking about it earlier. What do you think?”

“I think you should be a screenwriter.”

“What’s your version?”