Page 18 of Because I Need You
I’d known Mike, “The Tailor,” as some called him, since I was born and trusted him more than I trusted most. He was a tailor by trade, like his father, who’d taken over the family business from his father before him. They were Jamaican, but owned the best store to get Italian suits, and more importantly, they had vaults behind it, where the five families kept their treasure. The fact that his father was able to gain their trust was mind blowing. To us younger guys, Mike was our brother. To the older guys, though? The Italians of my father’s generation? Working this closely with Jamaicans wasn’t exactly the norm. My father was the one who changed that, so I had to give him credit there. Maybe he was capable of change. Not that I’d ever say it aloud to him.
“He hasn’t been here in months,” Mike said, “So it’s highly unlikely.”
“Any chance he’s hiding any in here?”
“Eh.” Mike shook his head side-to-side, debating as his eyes jumped on each surface. “We can’t rule it out, but I don’t think so. He hadn’t been here either in a while.”
“Really?” I frowned. I’d never paid much attention to Charles Bonetti. He was just another geezer who tried to control what we were doing and put a pause on the changes we wanted to make. He owned this little bar in Queens, though, that only served rum. The Rum Bar, it was called. Clever, I know. “So, this girl didn’t have a good relationship with him?”
“No idea.” Mike sat back and focused on his drink.
“You think she’d let us search the place?”
“Isabel?” He let out a laugh. “I can’t imagine what excuse you’d give her in order to get her to agree. Whether or not she was close to her father, she’s loyal to him.”
“She’s my wife.” I shot him a look and took a sip of my rum, watching the way his face switched from one expression to the next, starting in amusement and landing in horror.
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“You think I’d joke about that?” I placed a palm to my heart.
“Fuck you, I’m being serious, G. Don’t use that shit against her.” He sat up and leaned forward. “She didn’t ask for that.”
“Neither did I, yet here we are.” I glanced at the bar briefly.
She was talking to one of the old men who’d walked in while I’d been sitting here. Funny how she looked so at ease in here. Then again, she was a middle school teacher and was somehow dating the fucking mayor. She’d have to appear comfortable in any situation. She definitely had the looks for it. When she walked into my office and dropped the bomb of who she was, I could hardly believe it. She looked nothing like her father. It wasn’t just in appearances, either. Her father was a cold-blooded killer, with eyes that matched. He hadn’t killed in a long time, that I knew of. Once he took over the vacant seat and started buying warehouses to hold cargo in, he focused on that. Still, the fact remained that he looked like a very hard man. Isabel wasn’t that at all. She was guarded and open all at once. She was sexy as hell was what she was, but I couldn’t let myself think about that too much.
“She’s a good girl,” Mike said after a moment.
“What do you know about her?” I asked, careful not to sound as desperate as I felt, because I did. I felt desperate to know more about her and I couldn’t figure out why, which further pissed me off. I wasn’t supposed to want to know anything about her.
“She grew up a few houses down from me. A few years younger, but we had mutual friends,” he said, nodding at the bar. “Noah and Luke being two.”
I looked over again. When I’d walked in, she was hugging one of them. Both big ass Black dudes that looked like they belonged on a field, not behind a bar, which was an unfair assumption. I knew it from personal experience. When people looked at me they saw only the obvious — rich, flashy, good looking — all good things, sure, but they weren’t what made me, me. At least, I fucking hoped not. Before Frankie died, those were things I never thought about. Not once. I’d always used my looks and charm to my advantage in every situation. When those didn’t work, I used money. When money didn’t work, I used my last name. The guys behind the bar weren’t like me, though. I could read that from all the way over here. They weren’t who I’d think would run with guys like Mike at all. I turned to him again. “They seem nice?”
“They are.” Mike looked at them again. “Their momma sheltered the shit out of those two. Turned out right, though.”
