Memories of my first night here at the Red Grotto where I checked Sal out for the first time. I eavesdrop on the conversations going on around me as I circulate.
It’s a place for those in their twenties to forties and wealthy older men with young women, very young women and I hope the Albanians are not running prostitution rings out of here as well.
I can’t tell if they are escorts, or not. Some look too perfect if you know what I mean.
Guys younger than me are checking me out and I order a Cosmo from the bar and then turn my back to take in the club and the clientele keeping my eyes discreetly peeled for the Albanians.
I’m looking for known mafia pushers and enforcers, but I don’t have a photographic memory and men can change beards, goatees and gain or lose weight to alter their appearances quicker than women, outside of a bottle of hair color that is.
Sal slides his arm around my trim waist as I take a sip of my drink. He catches me by surprise as my focus isn’t on him and at the same time my body wants to wilt into his like a thirsty rose on a bush that hasn’t been watered in months. No pun intended, but yeah, my so called ‘bush’ is very, very dry.
“What’s that for?” I pry, fishing for something, but not knowing what exactly I’m waiting for.
“I think making you look like you belong to me will help us, besides, I’m sure you don’t want most of these men hitting on you all night long.”
He has a point. “Hmm, you did, did you? Likewise for you,” I tease as I cozy up to him, making it look legit.
It’s the first time since my instructor that an arm around me gives me comfort and I like the fact that Sal is close to me.
“Look at the guys over there.” Sal says. I follow where he suggests with my eyes. “That’s Argon, he’s one of the street bosses. He was picked up a few years ago, did some time, he’s back and in business.”
“He looks vaguely looks familiar, maybe I saw him in the news.”
“I think his street crew are working a few of our clubs.”
So, what’s our play?” I ask.
“I’m going to tell him I have some men and want to know if he has some girls he may have just received from my brothers.”
“Go get ‘em tiger,” he says and slaps my ass as I turn to leave. Normally, I’d lay a man flat for that, but with Sal and our mission, the fact he called me ‘tiger’ brings a new kind of smile to my face. So, I puff my chest out with confidence to make my girls show.
14
Sal
Francesca circles the dance floor and within minutes, she is buying coke from Argon’s men, the same men who have been infiltrating my club for weeks. His men are trained to be fast and blend in very well, fooling an untrained eye.
They most likely grew up on streets in war torn countries and if you piss them off or look at them the wrong way they would just as soon slit your throat than look at you. Ruthless, even by Italian standards.
I’m nervous watching Francesca make a deal and I’m relieved when she walks away in case Argon gets other ideas. They can sell in here until I put a stop to it because in the mafia, where one doesn’t ask for permission.
I haven’t exercised my power yet because I want to learn more about them. Dante won’t act until he has all the facts and can think about it, as a good don should.
Francesca meets me at my office, and we slip inside. She drops her purse and drugs on my desk. I open a packet of powder and put some on my fingertip.
“Blue is fentanyl, don’t touch it,” she warns me.
“Right, who knows what they put in it.” I sample the white powder putting some on my tongue. “Seems decent enough.”
“I asked if he has any girls for a private party. I told him I wanted pictures of the girls first. He’ll text me a link.” She offers me the details as if she’s ordering pizza, her tone flat and unaffected.
Pulling out her phone, she presses on a live link that goes to the dark web, where we both look at her screen and search for Sofia.
“These girls all look Albanian, but that’s not surprising. It’s easy to pick up girls crossing the border looking for husbands. My brothers import girls from Nigeria and whomever they can capture at airports. The Nigerians smuggled here are looking for a better way of life based on the promises of jobs.”
I agree, but this isn’t adding up as I surf the pictures. “Where is Sophia? There must be more girls. I know the girls Fausto had, none of them are here.”
Francesca puts her phone away, clearly frustrated. “I agree, but where are they? Every day that goes by is another day that Sofia is gone and slipping through our fingers. I think Fausto sent me here as a decoy. Can you research ships in the port and have your men look around a bit?”