Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
It’s a name that rings a bell.
Oh shit.
Not the Portello Family, surely?
Anyone who can read knows about the infamous crime family who’s been making waves in the underworld for years.
And it’s been rumored in some circles that they’re making plans to set up operations right here in the city.
Much to the amusement of the city’s existing and ruling mob family, the….
The….
Ugh. What are they called?
I can’t remember exactly, and it’s not the kind of stuff I even think about, let alone follow with any interest.
But it looks like I’m working for the Portello Family now, like it or not.
And if the old man was right about his cousin being my landlord, then I’m literally walking out of the pan and into the fire if I do go home right now.
But where else can I go? What else can I do?
Maybe my mystery man would know.
He didn’t look like a gangster, and he certainly looked like he had more class than those thugs at the door.
Maybe he’ll be there again tomorrow too?
Maybe he works for them without being one of them, like me.
The thought sets my mind at ease for a while as I walk. The sun peeks out long enough to dry me off and make the day feel a little more optimistic.
But the closer I get to home, the more I feel uneasy again.
Almost as if I’m being watched or followed.
Too many TV shows, Jazz. Just your mind playing tricks after a bizarre day.
But by the time I reach my building, I’m trembling.
It feels like a weird fusion of fear and the insane arousal I felt the moment I saw that man walking through the door.
If only I got his name.
A word for this feeling, at least.
Anything would be better than….
“You! I thought I threw you out!” A gruff voice exclaims, my landlord’s huge bulk of belly fat almost knocking me down as he literally runs into me on his way out.
“I…I,” is the best I can manage, stammering and feeling ripples of anxiety flash across my belly.
My knees go weak again, and my whole body is numb.
“Got yer rent?!” he snaps, bringing his face closer to mine, making me recoil in disgust.
My head shakes a ‘no’ in silent reply, but I somehow manage to find my voice again.
I remember everything that happened today.
“I…I got a job, though. With your cousin,” I blurt out, but he’s ignoring me, pushing past me toward a waiting cab before calling over his shoulder.
“You’ve got until tomorrow morning, or I’m changing the locks,” he grunts.
“Mr. Portello,” I call right back to him, finishing my sentence.
I know I’ve hit a chord when he freezes to the spot, turning pale.
It takes him a moment to collect himself, and he asks the cab to wait before he turns slowly, scanning my face for a lie, and seeing that I’m telling the truth, he swallows hard.
“You…You got a job with Mr. Portello?” he asks with quiet disbelief, looking around a little before stepping closer.
I feel my head nodding with confidence now, even though it’s nothing to be happy about, working for the mob.
But it might just get this hairy ape off my case until I can find something else and figure out exactly what I’m going to do before tomorrow to get out of this mess.
“Yep,” I almost gloat, despite my own panic over it all.
“Start tomorrow, and Mr. Portello said that you wouldn’t throw me out. Him being your cousin and all….”
My landlord swallows even harder and asks me in a croaking whisper, “He said that huh?”
“Well. I’ll know if you’re telling the truth soon enough…I just don’t want any….,” he starts to say when the cabbie shouts over to him to hurry up or forget his ride.
“Just…No trouble,” he wheezes again, sweat dotting his brow as he bustles into the cab. He’s heading downtown before the cab makes a sharp U-turn.
It makes me wonder if he’s ever coming back at all.
The mention of the name Portello seems to have put the fear of the devil into him. And if my own is anything to go by, it’s probably justified.
I should feel relieved. I should feel grateful even.
For the first time in a long time, something worked in my favor.
My landlord looked more worried than I was, and he didn’t mention the rent once I dropped Mr. Portello’s name into the mix.
Then why do I still feel worried?
And why can’t I stop thinking about the other man from the restaurant?
The tall, dark, and way better than handsome man.
The man I’d drop to my knees for, doing anything he wanted.
That’s way more than I’d want to do for any Portello sleaze.
My neck twists and I strain to see or hear whatever, or whoever it is I’m suddenly convinced must be watching me.
The whole street’s empty, but I feel eyes on me again. Except now I feel like I’m safe.