The Good Boss Page 11

  “What’s in the bag?”

  He nodded toward it. “Payment.”

  I opened the bag. Three large packages of hundred dollar bills, all individually cellophane-wrapped, were all that was inside. I tossed it to the side.

  “Tripp.” I extended my hand toward his friend. “Former Marine. You serve?”

  He shook my hand firmly. “Wilson. 173rd Airborne.”

  “Sky Soldier? I’ll be damned. Not many of you guys around.”

  “That’s a damned fact.” He grinned. “Family tradition.”

  “I don’t have any of those,” I said. “Maybe I’ll make my own someday.”

  I glanced at Cap. “This is your show.”

  Cap waved his arms toward the sea of weapons. “There’s ten to a crate, and eight crates on a pallet. I’ve got thirty-one pallets full, and one pallet set aside that has two crates on it.”

  “I know this is a bad time to ask, but what are the chances of getting the other five hundred?” Mark asked. “We got a message on the way here that they’ll be needing the other five hundred we discussed.”

  “As a matter of fuckin’ fact,” Cap said, “I got five hundred extras. So, we can fill that order, no problem.”

  Five hundred extras?

  I glanced at Cap.

  He shot me a cheesy grin, and then winked.

  Mark shifted his eyes from me to Cap. “That’s a relief. We drove a fucking rental car up here, and then rented this U-Haul. Doing it again would be a pain in the ass.”

  “Truck?” Cap said. “You better have two of ‘em.”

  Mark look confused. “Two?”

  Cap nodded. “Weight, including the crates, averages out to nine pounds each. That’s twenty-seven thousand pounds of weapons.”

  Mark shrugged. “I guess we’ll rent another truck.”

  “Tripp, if you two want to start, I’ll give Sky Soldier a ride to the U-Haul.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Using the forklift, we loaded nineteen pallets on the truck in no time. While we waited for them to return, Mark took a seat on a pallet of weapons. “So, you’re getting married?”

  “In a month.”

  “Seems...” He paused, seeming to be in deep thought. After a few seconds, he met my gaze. “Seems contrary to the Tripp I know. Hope it’s for all the right reasons.”

  I chuckled. “It is.”

  “Why the laugh?”

  “We met, and at the time, I had no idea who she was. Found out later that she was the daughter of the mob boss. After we fell in love.”

  “No shit?”

  “Damned truth.”

  “So, you two eloping?”

  “Nope. Having a big wedding.”

  “Her father’s okay with it?”

  I needed to tell him anyway, and his line of questioning gave me the ability to do so without sounding like an asshole. “Look at it this way. If this deal goes to shit, you’ll be answering to him.”

  “Him who? Him Agrioli? That’s his name, right?”

  “That’s him.”

  “This deal ain’t going to shit, Tripp. You can count on that. You’ve already got the money, and we’ll be gone in no time. These weapons don’t have serial numbers. If anything happens, hell, I’ll say I manufactured them myself. Last fucking thing I need is Agrioli going after my family.”

  “What about payment for the other five hundred?”

  “There’s three bundles of money in there. One-point-three million each. Three thousand at thirteen hundred.”

  “Sounds like we’re golden.”

  “Jesus fuck. Might have thought twice about doing this deal if I knew he was involved. No disrespect, but that man’s a heartless prick, isn’t he?”

  As far as I was concerned, nothing could be further from the truth. For the sake of instilling fear into him, I agreed.

  “As a matter of fact, he is.”

  He stood, then folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll make sure this deal goes down without so much as a hitch.”

  I stood. “That’s all we ask. Preservation of the family’s reputation is important, but preservation of our freedom is critical.”

  He looked at me as if I had three heads. “All we ask? Our freedom. Are you...”

  His Adam’s apple rose, and then fell. His expressionless face changed to one of concern. “I don’t know if I’m glad, or disappointed.”

  “I’m still Michael Tripp, Mark. That’ll never change. As long as we don’t have problems, you’ll only deal with me or Cap.”

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  After a moment, he sat down. “You guys were Marines. Staff Sergeant Tripp, and Sergeant Lori.” He looked up. “Right?”

  “Lori’s Italian, isn’t it?”

  I chuckled. “Sure is.”

  “Is Cap...”

  “He sure is.”

  He exhaled heavily. “Jesus.”

  “You’re looking at it all wrong,” I said.

  Before I had a chance to continue, he interrupted.

  “How am I supposed to look at it? I wouldn’t have intentionally gone to the mob and ordered these weapons, Tripp. Personally, I think it’s shitty neither of you said anything until now.”

  “I’ll accept that. And, all bullshit aside, we wanted to make the sale. But there’s benefit in doing business with us, though.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “For starters, it’s three thousand weapons that are untraceable at thirteen hundred each, which is almost half what they’re worth. And, now that you’ve done four mil in business with us, if you ever have any problems or concerns, we’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of it?”

  “Completely.”

  “Nice to know.”

  “Peace of mind is priceless,” I said.

  “Well, I wish you the best in your marriage, and in your endeavors. I guess, in the end, I’m not pissed, just surprised.”

  “At?”

  “The Michael Tripp I knew wouldn’t have partnered with the mob, or got engaged. I’m shocked.”

  I’d not only fallen in love with Terra. I’d also fallen in love with the family.

  “Fall in love,” I said. “Things change.”

  He stood, shook his head, and then let out a laugh. “I guess so.”

  I looked around the shop. Everything I could see was a result of Cap’s deal. I grinned.

  Things change.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Terra

  My mother took a drink of wine, lowered her glass, and then smiled. “It’s just around the corner.”

  It seemed odd sitting in a bar with her, but I felt we needed privacy. I rubbed my hands together, hoping to wring out my nervous tension, but it didn’t work. “Were you scared before you and Dad got married?”

  “Scared? No, I wasn’t scared. I loved him. I admired him. I was so happy.”

  “Things were different then,” I explained. “There was nothing to worry about. You didn’t have internet, and everything wasn’t a competition. Pictures weren’t going to be on Instagram and Facebook when the wedding was over, and you didn’t have to worry about how many ‘likes’ the pictures of you in your dress were going to get.”

  She waved at me. “Who cares?”

  “I care.”

  “You should care about nothing but him. Your dress is beautiful, you’re beautiful, and Michael is a perfect gentleman.”

  “I know, but everything’s changed. People can be so hateful now. All it takes is—”

  “They can only be hateful if you let them,” she said. “They don’t hate my pictures.”

  “You don’t have Instagram. Or Facebook. Or Snapchat.�
��

  She arched her eyebrow. “That was my point. Don’t post pictures of it, then you won’t have to worry.”

  “Other people will post them. There’s no way around it. It makes me nervous.”

  “It will be fine. The people who go to your wedding will love it. The others? Who cares what they think?”

  I wished I could look at it the way she did. There were two weeks to go, and I felt like I was going to vomit. “I can’t even drink my wine. I’m a nervous wreck.”

  “Stop worrying.” She reached for my hand. “It will be the perfect wedding.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Your father is so proud of you and Michael. You’re all he talks about.”

  I felt like such a fool for hiding everything from my father, and from Michael. If I would have known everything was going to end up the way it did, I would have told Michael on the day we met the truth about who I was.

  Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, though.

  I shrugged slightly. “I never would have guessed it.”

  “I wouldn’t have, either,” she said. “But your father likes Michael. He sees in him what he doesn’t see in Peter. But he’s changed. He’s accepting Peter now. For who he is.”

  She leaned over the edge of the table. “Jail changed him.”

  “Papa?”

  She nodded. “He’s different now. He’s more kind, and he’s concerned with how I feel about things. The other night, when he got done working, we sat on the couch and watched television together.”

  It may have seemed trivial to most people, but I knew it wasn’t. My father never sat down and watched television. His life consisted of working, eating, and sleeping. If he was awake, what he was doing was work related.

  I looked at her in disbelief. “Really?”

  Her eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled. “Two nights ago, he went and got ice cream. He was back in fifteen minutes. We sat down with Peter and had ice cream while we talked about his boyfriend.”

  “The one he broke up with? Joey?”

  “They’re back together.”

  My eyes shot wide. “Really?”

  My ‘really’ response was more about my father’s actions than Peter and his boyfriend. My mother’s statements about my father seemed like utter lunacy. My father’s acceptance of Peter being gay was one thing, but to think he was talking to him about his boyfriend was unimaginable.

  This wasn’t the father I’d grown up with, that was for sure.

  “We talked until almost one in the morning,” she said, smiling the entire time she spoke. “We ate a half gallon of ice cream.”

  I laughed. “Rocky road?”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “He came home with something else. Guess.”

  “Neapolitan?”

  It was Peter’s favorite, but my father hated it. He said it was for people who were indecisive.

  She nodded.

  My wedding woes were replaced with feelings of my family uniting in a manner that I had always hoped for, but had never seen. Open-mindedness, acceptance, and compassion were things I had never really known.

  I grew up a Mafia princess, showered by gifts of money and material items. Although my father was kind, he wasn’t necessarily compassionate. It wasn’t that he was incapable, it just seemed he simply didn’t have time.

  My thoughts drifted to having a family of my own, and raising children in a manner that expressed love, compassion, and kindness.

  “I think jail changed him, too,” I said. “Do you think it will last?”

  She stared at her wine for a moment, and then met my gaze. She looked much different than she had in years. She didn’t look content, she looked happy. “I think he realized what his life was missing.”

  “I’m happy for him.”

  “I’m happy for all of us.”

  “When Michael and I have kids, do you think...do you think Papa will still...you know...will he still be...”

  “Your father will always work,” she said. “It’s how he is. He has a relationship with his family, and then he has a relationship with his work. They’re both very important to him.”

  A sigh escaped me. “I was hoping he could retire when he had grandchildren.”

  “Men like your father don’t retire. They work until...”

  She shrugged.

  “Until what?”

  She took a drink of wine, and then another. After finishing the wine, she reached for her purse. “Let’s go shopping.”

  She placed a fifty under her empty wineglass.

  “Until what?” I asked. “What were you going to say?”

  She stood. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t do that. We were having a nice talk, and then, all of a sudden, it changed. Until what?”

  “Men in a position like your father work until they either go to jail or they die. It’s a matter of pride with men who do what he does.”

  I felt like an idiot for not knowing—or not admitting—the rules of the Mafia.

  “He can’t retire?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not an option.”

  I guess, in theory, I already knew the answer. It wasn’t something I wanted to readily admit, and I wished I hadn’t asked.

  I reached for my purse. “He can still spend time with his grandchildren.”

  “He’d like that.”

  “So would I.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Michael

  I was officially a member of the Catholic Church, and although I didn’t expect the baptism to be anything more than a meaningless ritual religious matter, it was.

  At least for me.

  As I walked away, I felt cleansed of the sins of my past. All except for one. I wondered if it was that feeling of cleanliness that caused that one thing to seem so much dirtier than it had at any point in the past.

  While Terra and her mother talked in the kitchen, I stood in the office with Anthony, Sal, and Peter feeling as if I had a wine stain on a white tuxedo.

  Anthony gripped my shoulder and squeezed it firmly. “Now you’ve got a godfather, and a godfather. How’s it feel?”

  Sal was now my godfather, and stood at my side with his wife, my godmother, while I was baptized.

  I stood silently for some time, thinking about his question, and about how I felt. Finding the words to express my feelings wasn’t going to be easy. In a matter of seconds, emotion washed over me. With a glass of wine in my hand, and my eyes fixed on the edge of Anthony’s desk, I struggled to find the right words.

  Eventually, they came. As they passed my lips, however, I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “He was the platoon’s practical joker, and an all-around good Marine. He was driving the Humvee on a resupply mission. They were rolling through the village, and an IED went off. It cut the Humvee in two, and killed him instantly. The rest of the platoon had already passed through the village, but after we got word of what happened...”

  I looked up.

  “We went back. You know, to seek vengeance for the death of one of our men. It wasn’t what we should have done, but it’s what happened.”

  I took a drink of wine, set the glass aside, and continued. “There were some locals sitting in a car with a few little boys, and one of the sergeants opened fire, killing them all without question. That’s what started it. Then, on the lieutenant’s orders, we went house to house, looking for the men who might have set off the bomb.”

  My mouth had gone dry, and I considered taking a drink of the wine, but opted to shove my hands into the pockets of my slacks and stare at the desk instead.

  I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and parted my dry lips. “When we cleared homes, we had a procedure. We fra
gged them first, then sprayed them with fire if we felt they were hot. In hindsight, we knew these homes weren’t hot, but questioning the orders of a superior wasn’t the making of a good Marine, and I was a damned good Marine.

  “So, Cap tossed in a fragmentation grenade, and after it blew, I pulled the door open and sprayed the home with fire. When the smoke cleared, she was standing there, bleeding. Her daughter was on one knee at her side, just staring at me with eyes that made no mistake of conveying the terror she was feeling when she got shot. I stared back at her, not really knowing what to do. The bullet had hit her in the chest, and I knew I needed a corpsman quick if she was going to survive. She and her daughter collapsed at the same time. Her, um. I’m guessing it was her grandparents that were, um. They were beside her.

  “After the second house, it got easier. I paid less attention, anyway. They’d killed Corporal Paxton. That’s what I kept telling myself. They’d killed him. Lieutenant’s orders. An eye for an eye.

  “The, um. The...the fourth house. It was, um. There was—Cap. Cap tossed...”

  I gripped the side of the desk, took a deep breath, and looked up. I needed to look them in the eyes.

  I needed to know it was okay.

  I made a motion with my right arm, as if I was tossing a Frisbee. “He, um. He tossed in the grenade, and I pulled the door. We both sprayed it, screaming the entire time. I’d reached a point I needed something to help me continue, and screaming seemed to do the trick. My mag went dry, and Cap’s was right behind me.

  “When the, um. The cordite was like a smoky fog. When it, um. When it settled down...”

  I raised my hand and extended five fingers.

  “Five. There were five of them.” I fought against the lump that had risen in my throat, but managed to say it. “Girls. Five little girls.”

  I bit into my lower lip and nodded my head.

  As a tear rolled down my cheek, Anthony reached for my shoulder, pulled me into him, and gave me a hug.

  I rested my head against his shoulder and sobbed. It was the first time I’d spoken about it since the platoon was called into court. Although they found that we were in the right, and were simply following the lieutenant’s orders, I never quite agreed.