Dagger in the Sea Read online

  “Well, hello, Mr. Salazar,” my voice filled the dank, dark space.

  Salazar strained against the chair he’d been tied to. He groaned, his body pushing against the chains around his chest and legs.

  “He ain’t talking,” Paul said.

  I sniffed in air. “You’ll talk to me though. Won’t you?” My fingers flexed and Salazar’s bloodied eyes darted to the movement. I took off my jacket and handed it to Ricky, Paul’s boy. “Be careful with that.”

  “Yeah, ‘course.”

  I reached for the tire iron, and a low moan heaved from Salazar. Paul cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “You don’t have to talk yet.” I stroked Salazar’s face with the heavy metal bar. “It’s my turn now.”

  Thwack.

  Bone cracked, and he screamed. I hit his leg again at the knee.

  “Aaaah!” Salazar’s body jerked, he shuddered violently. His head slumped forward, hanging on his chest.

  I lifted his swollen face with the tire iron. “Now it’s your turn,” my voice hissed. A cockroach crawled to my left and I squashed it with my shoe. “For fuck’s sake, Paul, you have to get an exterminator in here.” I threw down the tire iron and grabbed the hammer.

  Paul jumped over and untied Salazar’s one hand, tying it to the small table to the right. I slanted my head at Paul and he held Salazar’s head, making him focus on his hand on the wood table that was scratched and dinged with knife marks and poundings.

  “No! No! Please!” Salazar squawked.

  “I need the address of that Tantucci drop off location. And I need it now.”

  Salazar’s face froze. I’d caught him double dealing with a Tantucci soldier. He was a low worker bee in our Outfit, but at this level was where you found the buried riches, where the trail began, at the lowest denominator.

  My fingers squeezed around the taped handle, and my hammer flew. With every scream of his agony my heart jolted in my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  Valerio’s scowl, Francesca’s inviting smile, Mauro’s controlled rage, my mother’s politeness, Serena’s body yielding to mine as she turned her face away. I stood back from Salazar and waited. He muttered through his groans and cries. Next to me, Paul’s face glistened with sweat, pale in the one fluorescent light bar buzzing over us as he asked him detailed questions and received replies. Ricky chewed on his lower lip behind him.

  “That’s better,” I said.

  Paul handed me a paper towel and I wiped off the blood and muck. Ricky held out my jacket. I slid it back on and left. Outside in the fresh air I took in a deep breath, but the high I’d felt two moments ago had already faded. My nerves twitched. I’d hyped myself up instead of calming myself down in that basement. I needed something else. Something to take the edge off my edge.

  Something more.

  6

  Turo

  I went back home and drained another whisky. I had to talk to Mauro about my mother, and I needed to do it fast. His threatening her was a hazardous chemical seeping into my nicely dammed reservoir. Poisonous. The buzz of the concierge phone in the foyer of my apartment clipped the rush of my thoughts.

  “Mr. DeMarco? Ms. Ciara is here to see you, sir.”

  Dammit. I’d missed her performance tonight.

  “Send her up, José, thank you.”

  I returned the phone back to its cradle by the front door, unlatched the lock, and went back to my bar. I was going to need liquid fortitude for this.

  Ciara waltzed into the apartment like a Valkyrie, her long blonde hair floating over her shoulders, the door slamming behind her in a boom. She knew I hated that. Detested that. She strode toward me in a long, body hugging, coral dress and strappy, high-heeled sandals that I’d bought her just last week. Fifteen hundred dollars worth of thin leather straps and stiletto.

  “I didn’t forget,” I said. Own up up front was my motto.

  “That’s all you have to say to me? Really?”

  “No. How about—”

  “You never used to forget anything. Always prompt, always reminding me of my little shortcomings, my tardiness. But this takes the goddamn cake.”

  “Ciara—”

  “Tonight was my debut, Turo! My premier at the Fuego Club. You knew how important this was to me. I’ve been talking about this for weeks, months ago when I got this gig! Where the fuck were you?”

  “I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of.”

  She let out a heavy breath. “Yes, this meeting, that meeting. Always a meeting.”

  “What the hell do you want from me, Ciara?”

  Her eyes flashed at me. “Wow. That says it all. You’re just not willing, are you? I used to be willing to put up with all this. You know, I always thought you were a lot of fun—different but fun. You always kept me at a distance, but I didn’t mind. There were rules I had to follow in order to be with you, and I wanted you badly enough that I followed them. I didn’t care. But those rules were quite convenient for you. I’ve come to realize you’re not just distant, you’re totally empty inside. No better than a well-dressed robot. You feel fucking nothing, no matter how hard I try.”

  “I am a robot, Ciara. You’re absolutely right. You want more and I—”

  “I don’t want more, you idiot! That’s not what this is about! I never expected a ring from you, but I did expect quality, because I’m worth it, goddammit!” Tears filled her eyes, and something in my chest pinched.

  I didn’t like seeing her upset. I didn’t like being the cause of it. Ciara had been good to me, and I’d figured being generous with her in bed and with gifts, a well-planned dinner date here and there, would be enough. It had been enough for a long time. A couple of years, in fact.

  Years? Jesus.

  She had a point. Obviously, I hadn’t been paying too much attention. She had filled a role in my life very nicely and I’d just rolled along with it.

  “Not even a fucking apology? An attempt to be sorry, to show you give some kind of a shit?” she said. “This past year you’ve been a real asshole, you know that? I’ve put up with a lot from you. A whole hell of a lot. But this, tonight? No.”

  She posed on those heels, a lean leg posturing out of the high slit in her dress. Was she waiting for me to protest? Ciara was a beautiful woman, but her beauty didn’t hold me in its grip. Neither did she.

  She was right. I really didn’t care. And I’d had enough of people glaring and bitching at me today. Expecting whatever they expected. For me to pay, for me to be there to do and to be what they needed. Ciara had agreed to my terms when we’d first started this, and she’d certainly enjoyed all the many treats and trinkets that I’d provided her. She should cut and run like a good girl.

  I filled my glass again and, holding her gaze, I drank. Her heavily made up eyes flared as she grabbed the vase filled with peonies on the mahogany console table to her left and hurled it at the antique Venetian mirror. Crash. Crack.

  I raised my glass at her. “Well done.”

  Venom snaked in the curve of her lips. We’d been content for a while. At least, I’d been. What a bloodless, lukewarm word that was. Content. I certainly wasn’t a lukewarm person, and neither was she. I liked Ciara, but was I devoted? Eh. Burning? No. Obsessed? God no.

  I raised my glass. “Is the romance drama over now? I’ve got a hell of a lot going on tonight.”

  “I hope you die alone, you bastard, because that’s what you deserve.”

  “Get out of my apartment. Now.”

  “Fuck you, Turo! Fuck. You.” Spinning on her heels, she charged out of my apartment. I grit my teeth at the chop of her shoes over the marble flooring.

  Good for her.

  And thank fuck that was over.

  I picked up the concierge phone. “José, Ms. Ciara is no longer welcome at my home. Do not let her into the building ever again. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. DeMarco.”

  I hung up the phone and drained my glass, tearing off my tie and tossing it on the bar
. So what if I was thirty-three and had never been in a long, successful love relationship? So what if I’d never been engaged or married? I’d saved myself the thousand irritations and petty annoyances that came with it. A few of my college buddies who’d been married for about five to seven years now were already bitching and complaining and looking war weary. The tedium was real. I certainly wasn’t going through that crap.

  My mommy and daddy had been just a flash of lust in the dark for a handful of weeks, and then it was done, nothing more than an opportunity for a con and a smack on the face for her. Even I’d felt the sting of that crack. Me? I distilled my needs and wants perfectly with women.

  I caught my splintered reflection in the broken mirror. My face was drawn, dark circles under my eyes. My hand rubbed against the edge of my jaw. I was the fine, upstanding, not so young anymore, citizen of my community from a well-respected family. But I was also an underground killer and a fixer and a pimp for hire.

  “But a shadow in both worlds,” a voice whispered in my ear.

  A chill raced over my flesh, and I let out a tight breath shaking those words away, yet a hit of tension knifed my gut. Fuck that. I dialed Tricia’s number on my cell. My madame.

  A classmate and study partner in business school, Tricia had a hard time paying her undergrad and graduate student loans once we got out into the real world. I offered her a managerial position which needed her looks, poise, and merciless organizational skills. She hadn’t been offended. Like me, she appreciated cash and had no moral qualms about sex. Business was business. We made a good team.

  “Hello there,” her singsong voice magnified the swirl of my anticipation.

  “Tricia, send me someone.”

  Her voice perked up even more. “Any preferences this evening?”

  “Short to medium height, pale skin, blue eyes. And tattoos.”

  “I have just the girl. But she’s a newbie, still in training, and I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  My dick hardened in my trousers. “Sounds perfect. In fact, I’ll make sure she’s ready for you. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any training.”

  “It certainly has. Um, are you okay? You sound—”

  “Send her over now. With a goody bag.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  When my father had given me his small brothel business to run, I first focused on cleaning up the accounting, then the seedy locations that were used. Then I got down to the product, the centerpieces, the stars of the spectacle. I showed the women not just sexual moves hungry men would go for, but the way to talk to a client, how to change up their demeanor according to tastes and preferences in order to make the fuck all the more satisfying and tailor made. How to engage. You wanted that john to remember the experience, to leave him desperate for more, to be convinced he needed more. Return, steady clients were top priority. I even had a couple of top executive gay women who were steady clients.

  Tricia and I chose our stable carefully, kept our girls clean, healthy, and happy with good pay, clothing allowances, regular doctor visits, and client screening. Unlike in my father’s day, when all he gave a shit about was getting the most bang out of his buck—literally—and not giving a shit about anything else. Completely wrong. Yes, online porn was the rage now and a great moneymaker for the Outfit, but prostitution was the greatest theater of them all, and it was sorely taken for granted.

  “Turo, before you go, I have some news for you,” Tricia brought me back to the present.

  “What is it?”

  “I just got another call from Mr. James Bradley,” she said, her voice liquid honey over the phone. She knew I’d be pleased. “He requested Nari again.”

  “Did he now?”

  “He did. Third time in two weeks.”

  My stepfather had an obsession with Korean pussy.

  About a month ago, I had sent a girl his way one afternoon when I knew he’d taken off work to go sailing, his favorite hobby. I’d sent Julia, our WASP princess who knew how to sail, had just graduated Northwestern, having majored in chemistry and wanted the job as she was heading for an expensive med school in the fall. They’d flirted, he’d propositioned her, and she’d let him know she was on the clock. He’d been surprised at first, she’d said, his manly ego taken aback that for her this was about business and not desire.

  We men can be such idiots.

  But then the power of his smug self-indulgence had taken over, as I’d hoped it would.

  Three hundred dollars later, fuck him she did. Over a catered lunch on the boat the next week, he asked her about her “friends,” and expressed a particular desire for an Asian girl. Enter Nari, our new Korean American asset. James blew through a five hundred dollar session with Nari. Of course I’d asked my ladies how James was in the sack, and they’d both reported that he was adventurous, but not very attentive. Poor girls had to do all the work.

  James came from money, but he hadn’t managed it well over the years. My mother had taken over whatever brokerage accounts and trusts he had in his name and put him on a salary as a senior VP of her company which seemed to work out well. I thought of it as an allowance really, because he never did much of anything at the office. He would show up, always very well-dressed, look official, make a few calls, sign a few documents, and leave.

  James shined on my mother’s arm at the restaurant openings, the dinner parties, the foundation fundraisers. An excellent conversationalist, an avid theater-goer, book reader, and symphony subscriber, he was top notch on Chicago’s socialite list of invitees. He was handsome and that handsome had aged extremely well. He and my mother made a very attractive couple and they were popular. They’d always been affectionate with each other, but now, knowing what kind of man he really was, it only made me sneer when I thought of him holding her hand, kissing her on the cheek, helping her with her coat.

  I’d wanted her to sting, but now I wanted to punish the idiot who paraded at her side and slept in her bed at night.

  He’d been a kind stepfather to me over the years, but a disinterested sort. They’d been married since I was fifteen, yet his presence still felt like nothing more than a temporary guest’s whenever I’d been home. Frankly, I’d been the guest. Boarding schools from the time I was in first grade then onto college. Then my own place. Home for holidays, the meal mostly, and joining them for the grand vacations once a year. But not really home ever.

  James was nothing better than a paid consort, wasn’t he? But maybe that’s the way Erin wanted it. A partner who didn’t bother her, didn’t demand. Did my mother know about his extracurricular activities? I doubted it, why would she stand for it? Erin didn’t suffer fools.

  Me being a prime example.

  So I fucked with him because I could. I did this because I couldn’t not do it. I tested him, and he scored brilliantly. I’d wanted to know if James Bradley would bend and dip. And he certainly did. One day soon I’d share the information with her, the proof. One day.

  Years ago when my mother got tangled with my father, she had bent, been bitten, and gotten stung. And it had shocked her into a rigid autonomous independence. After I’d misbehaved, she’d drawn her battle lines with me. Now, I could show her where her squeaky clean intentions had gotten her.

  I would bring a new art project home from school.

  Look, Mommy. Look!

  Within the time it took me to clean up the mess Ciara had left behind, a short, blue-eyed girl with long black hair entered my apartment. The hair was not what I’d hoped for, but otherwise, she was perfect. I sat back on my leather sofa and motioned for her to approach.

  “Strip to your panties and let me see your body.”

  She followed instructions, turning around. A long tattoo of musical notes twisted over her round ass and up her back. Cliché, unfortunately.

  “Face me and come closer.” She did as I said, and I kneaded her full, stiff plastic tits. Her face reddened, and she let out a gasp, glancing up at me. “Don’t move and don’t
look at me,” my voice commanded. “But lick your lips. You want whatever I’m giving.”

  She averted her gaze downward, her tongue wetting her bottom lip, and my cock got impatient at the sight.

  “Good girl. Get on the floor on your knees and lean your head back against the sofa.” It had been a long, long day, and I needed immediate attention where it mattered the most.

  She got on the floor, and I slid off my shirt, belt, trousers, boxer briefs. Her eyes widened at the sight of my demanding erection as I angled her head back onto the edge of the sofa, cuffing her neck with my hand.

  “Show me you want this cock.”

  Her tongue darted out and her lips glistened, a moan escaping her throat. Taking my cock in hand, I slid it past her wet lips and thrust in deep. She let out a cry, but she didn’t gag.

  “Good,” I said, my voice low. “Work my balls, and show me you love this, you want more.”

  She moaned, her body bouncing back against the sofa with my every sharp thrust, saliva dripping down her chin. Her one hand rubbed my balls and the base of my cock perfectly, the suction of her lips just right. I fucked her mouth and pulled out of her. She blinked as I sprayed her face and chest with my cum. She opened her mouth, her tongue curling, lapping.

  “Ahh. A plus plus for you, honey.”

  She rubbed my cum all over her tits, a hand sliding down to her pussy where she stroked herself, her legs spreading wider for my perusal.

  “That’s it.” I got down on the floor and slid two fingers up inside her slick pussy, her hips jerking to my fast pace. “Always consider how the customer can get the best view,” I said.

  Her chest arched back, tits bouncing. She came, her head lolling back on the sofa cushion. I dug my fingertips roughly into a breast. “Now get on your hands and knees. I want that ass in the air.” I twisted a nipple and she shrieked.

  I fisted her hair and pulled. “No, no, no. You don’t have to like it, but I do. You moan when I do that. Again.” I twisted her nipple harder, pinching it, and this time she moaned loudly.