The Don's Wife

11 | The Broken Clause

"So where are we going? Ooh, ooh let me guess! Is it L'Opus au Château? I heard they had fabulous tart tatin. Or perhaps Tutto Bonno, for the romantic atmosphere?" The whore slid her hand to my thigh. She bit her lips, eyeing me like a starved coyote came across a pack of meat.

There's some set of commandments that I instill upon myself as a standard to maintain great degree of caliber in life, such as :

One, enough is never enough.
Two, trust no one, especially women.
Three, business comes first.
Four, never get too comfortable.
Five, never use what you sell.

The whore suddenly gasped. "Don't tell me, is it what I think it is? Is it The Ambrosia? The most hype fine dining experience in the city, that you have to wait three months alone just to get a reservation?!"

And now I felt the need to add an addition to my commandments.

Six, never let a whore in your car.

Should I just shoot to shut her up? No, that would only dirtied my car.

Reaching the requested location I stopped my car at the entrance of The Ambrosia. Natalia was too engrossed in her excitement that she immediately got out the car and entered the restaurant while squealing like a little girl high on molly. Not wanting to miss this chance, I stepped on the gas and left her stranded there. Just as I finally acquired some peace and quiet, my phone rang.

"What is it?"

"There's been some trouble with The Sullivans at Euphoria, you need to come quick!" Said Micah in urgency.

Shit.

The Sullivan, one of the big five families. Their reign might tend to be more inconspicuous than others. But just like snakes burrowed themselves underground, you don't carelessly come poking at their nest. For those bastards are the administrators of all the gambling business in New York, including The Salvatore's.

I sped up at once in hope to forestall the impending conflict. Alas, I arrived at a chaotic situation. Gunshots were heard from inside, followed by swarms of people running frantically out of the club.

"Drop the fucking guns!" I heard a male voice shout  from the hall.

I rushed myself in to find Finn Sullivan, the nephew of the Don himself, with already bashed head, and blood dripping all over his face, holding Micah at gunpoint, with two of my men Lorenzo and Andrea standing across them slowly dropping their weapons.

"What's going on here?" I approached the scene, gaining their attention.

"Boss!" Lorenzo and Andrea exclaimed, filled with relief yet dread at the same time.

"Ah, Jameson Salvatore. Good to have you join the party." Finn greeted me with his bloody smile.

"Come Finn, let us all be civil about this like a gentlemen that we are, yes? No guns, just words."
I pulled out my gun and tossed it on the floor, lifted up my hands to show that I was truly unarmed.

"Now put down yours, let go of my men, and let's talk." I gave him a reassuring look.

He reluctantly released his grip on his gun and let it fell to the floor, also releasing Micah from his hold.

"Vaffanculo a chi t'è morto!" Micah seethed through his teeth as he walked away from Finn.

"The fuck did he say to me?!" Finn pointed at Micah and looked to me for answers.