Flame within the Grey

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Two years later.

Light jazz music drowned beneath the office. Diamond Jack's was booming. Men and women drinking, eating, dancing, and gambling. It brought in the roughest people, but Roman made sure they didn't cause any trouble, and they knew better to start it at his bar. His diamond hustle had to be put on the back burner. The East End gang came first and was his priority now.

Being the underboss of the Irish mafia, finally, was no simple task.

A white cloud of smoke escaped Roman's mouth and nostrils as he blew out into the air. He leaned in his seat. His office was spacious, with dark wood and black leather furnishings. It was dimly lit, mostly by lamps on the red walls, the way he liked it... close to darkness, that he adapted to.

His mind wondered to Tommy from time to time. He missed his friend and his help as a detective. But it didn't matter. Other cops could be easily bought. He swallowed thickly, the guilt setting in. Remorse, an unfamiliar emotion. He shook his feeble feelings aside. Death was something he was used to. But Tommy's was difficult for Roman to get past.

Roman was a businessman now. A fucking boss like he always wanted. It wasn't easy to get the position, but after threats, coercion and cracking a few needed skulls, the mob gave it to him, permanently, with no further questions asked. But he knew being the boss meant a heavy target was on his back. There were people he had to keep happy from time to time and honor his deals. The Italian mafia from New York for one. Joey Morello from the Gambetti crime family was a thorn in his fucking side.

His hand reached for a few documents to check out. There were a number of accounting books he'd gone over. Balance sheets, trial balances and ledger accounts. There was a load of cash flow he had to deal with, and he preferred to keep a close eye on things. He was amongst the biggest thieves in Boston and refused to be swindled out of his money. His men counted the cash in the kitchen, under his roof, under his eyes. The only place he trusted with his own money. The mob's money was counted at the new casino.

The heavy oak door opened, and Charlie strolled inside. He dropped more balance sheets on the desk. Roman grabbed them and scanned the papers over.

"The money is good?" Roman asked.

Charlie nodded. "Yip, made forty-five grand today, boss." He smiled as he rubbed his chin.

"Good." Roman grunted.

"Can I go now? I got a hot date waiting at the bottom for me." Charlie grinned.

"Did she take it this time?" Roman demanded.

Charlie blew out a breath and faced the ceiling. He heard this question countless times, and it had always been the same. Roman didn't even have to mention her name. "Nope." he breathed out. "She threw it my face... again."

Roman jumped up from his seat, standing up rapidly, slamming his fist hard against the wooden desk. Charlie jerked back in shock, raising an eyebrow. "Sorry Roman. I didn't mean to make a joke out of it." he apologized.

Roman's head was down, his chin close to his chest. Both eyes shut in thought. His powerful arms leaned on the table as his chest heaved. "Why doesn't Scarlett just take the fucking money!" he said through gritted teeth. "What the fuck is wrong with the woman. Does she choose to suffer!"

Roman clenched his jaw, trying to remain calm before he lost his shit and punch Charlie in the fucking mouth to let out his aggression built up for two fucking years. Roman had sent money weekly to Scarlett, hoping she'll accept it by now. He sent a dozen red roses every Wednesday to soften her up to him. But she wouldn't accept it. Finding his roses in the trash each time, making him curse. Her circumstances had fallen, and she should have taken the money. She fucking needed it. She lost everything; her bakery was soon in tow.