Monk Paletti: Commanding Love, page 11
“Be yourself, Ashley,” Monk warned, “or you’ll live to regret it. You aren’t ever gonna out-wife those mob wives in our organization. Those old broads been at it too long. They were born in that shit. So don’t even try it.”
“I’m not trying to outdo them,” Ashley said. “But I can do better, and I know it. And as soon as those fancy stores open later this morning, your ass is taking me to those stores and you’re going to buy me a proper wardrobe befitting the woman who’s going to be your wife. And then we’ll go to your carnation.”
Monk smiled. “Coronation,” he said.
“Whatever,” Ashley said, smiling too. ‘We’re going and we’re going in style.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Monk said. He stared at Ashley as he slowly ran his fingers through her soft hair, his naturally long eyelashes covering his eyes to such an extent that they appeared closed. But his eyes were wide open. And he could see clear as day that Ashley was a tough broad. She was definitely tough enough to be his wife, and to hold her own with the other wives. That was for damn sure. But would she be too tough? There would be times when she had to listen to him without backtalk. Times when life and death decisions had to be made. Would she listen? Or would she feel she had to have her say in those situations too? They were going to bump heads about that. He could see right off that they were going to have some serious knockdown-drag-outs in their marriage. And he was going to have to put his foot down.
She was going to soon find out, Monk thought as he pulled her into his arms again, that he had a fuse as deadly as her uncle’s, and when it was unleashed it was a terrible sight to behold. The Don wasn’t making him boss because he was a sweet guy. He was making him boss because he was a vicious guy. Because he knew how to settle scores. Because he had no qualms about calling in somebody’s marker when it needed calling in. Did Ashley understand that part of the equation too?
Monk closed his eyes as he held her. He wanted to believe she understood. But she didn’t. She thought she did. But he knew she couldn’t.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Raymond Paletti hung up the phone. He wanted to throw it across his girlfriend’s bedroom he was so angry. “Senile dick,” he said. “After all I did for that family. I built that family!”
But he was savvy enough to know that he was wasting his time. It was already decided whether he liked it or not. Anger would get him nowhere. That was why, instead of throwing his phone in some childish temper tantrum, he made a call of his own. And waited impatiently for somebody to answer.
“It’s started,” he said when they answered. “The meeting’s set for later today. Around noon. At the house, where else? That’s why we’ve got to get it done. Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Now is the time. No. Now. Do I have to spell it out? I said now! Set it up,” he added, and ended the call. And then he threw his cell phone across the room anyway.
His girlfriend, a Russian whore with an accent so heavy he barely understood her, looked at the broken phone across the room, and then looked at him. She was lying in bed beside him. “Now is the time for what?” she asked him.
But Raymond didn’t appreciate her eavesdropping. He frowned. “What is that your business? Is that your business?”
“I ask question!” she yelled.
“Don’t ask no fucking question!” he yelled back. “Who are you to ask me questions? Even my wife don’t’ ask me questions. That’s not your job to ask me a gotdamn thing! Now turn your ass around so I can fuck it again.”
“Again, Ray?”
“What are you with the questions over here? Yes, again!” he said angrily, pulling down his boxers once again. He was a gorgeous man in his early fifties, but he had the sexual appetite of a man barely thirty. And the ladies loved Raymond because of his appetite. Because of his willingness to sling it all over Jersey. Monk had nothing on him in that department, Ray inwardly boasted. But then he thought about the fact that Monk was soon to replace him as head of the family, and his boastfulness became as empty as his soul.
And he took it out on the Russian.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They gathered together again in the Don’s parlor and the split was as obvious as the two sides of the room. On one side sat Raymond Paletti and those members of senior leadership that supported him. Boozer Rome was his number one supporter, although Noodles was a close second. Sticks Hurley, Pauley Jay, and Humphreys Fatino were on Ray’s side too. It wasn’t lost on the Don that everybody who supported Raymond also happened to be the oldest members of the family. All, like Raymond, were in their fifties too.
Literally and figuratively, on the other side of the room were the younger guys, although they were all older than Monk. Guys like Danny Ripple, Bobby Margolis, and Dimples Devito were all Monk loyalists. They were tired of the old man and his shenanigans. They wanted somebody they could trust to protect them and their families. Monk would be a stabilizer.
Although the Don didn’t share his true feelings with family members, his heart was with Monk’s group. As he sat in his wheelchair and looked at the two sides, he knew in his heart of hearts that only a man with the force of will of Monk could put that badly fractured family back together again. Or they all were going down.
“Where the fuck is he?” the Don asked. “He’ll be late for his own funeral.”
“Want me to call him, Godfather?” Raymond asked.
“No, I don’t want you to call him. What you need to call him for? He should know better standing up the family like this.”
Then the door to the parlor opened. “He’s arrived, sir,” one of the Don’s assistants announced.
The Don let out a hard exhale. Everybody in the room sat up straight. It would be only the third time in the crime family’s hundred-year history that power would change hands. Forty years ago power was transferred from the Don’s ailing father to the Don. Then it transferred, nearly ten years ago, from the ailing Don to his then-underboss, Raymond Paletti. Raymond marked the first time a non-biological family member held control. Now it was transferring from Raymond to Raymond’s underboss: his son. Only Raymond wasn’t some ailing old man who could no longer handle the reins of power. He was a perfect specimen of health. What was happening to him, he felt, and his men felt, was nothing short of a coup.
But even Raymond didn’t raise his voice in objection when Monk walked into the room.
But what struck the men assembled wasn’t Monk showing up late. Monk usually showed up late. But what struck them was that Monk didn’t walk in alone. He walked in holding Ashley’s hand.
“What the fuck’s she doing here?” the Don blurted out. “This ain’t no place for no broad!”
“Booze, take her down to the basement,” Raymond ordered. Until power officially changed hands, he was still the boss.
And Boozer Rome was about to do as he was ordered, but Monk lifted a hand. “She’s with me,” he said. “She’s not going down to any basement.”
“Damn right she’s not,” the Don fired back. “There’s only wives down there. Now unless you’ve got some news to tell, no girlfriends are allowed. Ditch the broad, Monk. We got business.”
Raymond smiled. Was the Don finally seeing the major problem he was going to have with Monk as boss? Monk would always do it his way no matter what the Don wanted. He would never be a team player because he never was one.
Ashley felt like a fifth wheel the way the Don was going after her, but she knew Monk could handle anybody, including him. So she held her peace. This was Monk’s fight.
“Like I said,” Monk said, “she’s not going to any basement. She’s with me.”
“But who is she?” the Don asked. “You keep saying she’s with me, she’s with me. Who is she that you can bring her in here with me?”
Although the Don met her before, when Monk brought her over when he had to attend a meeting, it was a brief encounter because she ended up in that very same basement with the wives. A move Monk regretted even then and determined within himself that his woman would never hang out in that basement ever again. But it was an encounter the Don obviously didn’t remember.
“Her name is Ashley,” Monk said. “Ashley Sinatra. And she’s my fiancée.”
Everybody in the room, with the exception of Danny Ripple, who heard about it from Monk’s flight crew, were stunned. Especially Raymond and Don Bonaducci. Monk getting married? The Monk getting married?
But the Don heard something more. “Sinatra?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Raymond said. “Didn’t you know, Godfather? She’s Mick the Tick’s niece. She’s that Sinatra.”
“But that can’t be right,” Sticks Hurley said. “She’s black!”
“So is Mick’s wife, you idiot,” the Don said. “She’s probably on his wife side of the family.”
“Not so,” said Raymond. “That’s his brother’s daughter.”
“Big Daddy Sinatra?” the Don asked. “That mean motherfucker?”
Raymond nodded. “Believe it or not, yes. Monk did that stupid shit. He went and fooled up with Big Daddy Sinatra's daughter. And you and me both know, and Monk should have known, they don’t get any meaner than that mean motherfucker.”
He’s not mean, Ashley wanted to say in defense of her father, but she held her tongue. She was accustomed to holding her tongue whenever her uncles came around. It was nothing for them to backslap you if you backtalked them. She looked at Monk. Would he defend her father’s honor?
But Monk wasn’t thinking about Big Daddy’s honor. Big Daddy could defend himself. Monk needed to make it clear, before any ceremony began, that he wasn’t going to be like Ray. Or like any of them in that room for that matter. He wasn’t going to have girlfriends all over town like all of them had, while their wives ended up in the basement. “She’s with me,” Monk reiterated again. “She’s not going to the basement. End of discussion.”
And Raymond pounced. “See?” Raymond asked the Don. “You see what the problem is? She stays up here then our wives will get the bright idea that they should be up here too. Now we’ve got a full scale mutiny on our hands!”
“You mean like that mutiny shit your ass tried to pull?” Monk fired back.
“Fuck you!” Raymond said angrily.
“Fuck you!” Monk said just as angrily.
“Okay, that’s enough!” the Don said loudly, slamming the palm of his hand on the arm of his chair.
Then he looked at Ashley and smiled. “Don’t mind their manners,” he said. “We’re a good, loving family,” he lied. “You’re a Sinatra. You know what it’s like. Because I know all those Sinatras. I knew your Uncle Mick when he was a kid coming up in the underworld trying to make a name for himself. Trying to be all big and bad. And he was. Everybody was afraid of that motherfucker. I wanted to hire him. All the bosses wanted Mick the Tick on their team. No telling where our family would have been today if Mick was running it. And I was the one in charge back then. But he said no. Said he wanted to do his own thing. He was just a kid, so I said fuck it.”
Then the Don smiled. “What an asshole,” he said as if he was remembering something fondly. “He became a boss in his fucking twenties, can you believe that? That’s how clever that bastard was. And started having kids when he was what, fifteen? Had his dead boy Adrian when he was around that age, I think. Had Teddy, by another woman, just after that I think. He was slinging it around, that’s for sure, and all the girls were lined up for his shit. Now I hear he’s about to turn fifty. I hear your family’s giving him a big celebration too. Mick at fifty.” The Don shook his head. “I remember when he was just a punk on the streets. I didn’t think his ass would make it to twenty.”
Then the Don exhaled. His rearview mirror was littered with men like Mick. “If Monk says she stays, she stays,” he said. “Now let’s get this over with.”
It wasn’t exactly the kind of ceremony Ashley thought it was going to be. For starters, she and Monk were the only two people who seemed to have gone out of their way to look their best. She wore a form-fitting black dress that Monk purchased for her that morning, and Monk wore a gorgeous Armani suit, with a matching hat. But the rest of them looked like they always looked. As if this wasn’t a ceremony at all, but everyday life.
But they did rise to their feet. Even Raymond, as the Don wheeled his chair to the center of the room.
“Francis Paletti come forward,” the Don said.
Monk squeezed Ashley’s hand one last time, smiled at her, and then made his way, alone, in front of Don Bonaducci.
“You have been a devoted servant to this organization,” the Don said, looking at Monk. “You have given your all to the betterment of our family. It was you who made us see there was more to business than just construction projects. It was you who made us see that we can make more money by buying struggling businesses and turning them around, than by all those buildings we tried to construct. You wisely didn’t want us out of the construction business. We needed that, too, for obvious reasons.” The group laughed.
The Don continued. “But you expanded our horizons beyond my wildest dreams,” he said. “You made all of us very rich men.”
“Here here!” Dimples said out loud, and everybody laughed again.
Everybody except Monk and Ashley. This was too serious for them to crack smiles. Raymond wasn’t smiling either. This was too blatantly unfair for him to crack any smile.
“Raymond,” the Don said. “Come forward.”
Ashley noticed how Boozer Rome patted Raymond on the back as Raymond stepped up beside his son, as if Boozer wanted to make it perfectly clear whose side he was on.
“Ray, you’ve been a devoted servant to the family too,” the Don said. “You’ve taken us through some dark times when I got shot down and could no longer perform my duties to the family. You were there. And I’m grateful for your service. But I also know you’ve taken this family as far as you can take us. We need bold new leadership now, as I’ve already explained that to you. We need Monk’s brand of leadership.”
Then the Don looked away from Raymond. “I know half of you will like my decision, and half of you will detest it. But all of you better accept it.”
He looked at Monk again. “Francis Paletti, by the powers invested in me as the only founding member of the Bonaducci Organization, I now pronounce that you are the undisputed head of the Bonaducci Family. Congratulations.”
Monk managed to smile that time. “Thank you, Godfather,” he said, as the two men shook hands.
Monk’s side of the room began clapping and whistling and hollering. It was official now! In an organization that could never put pen to paper regarding their inner workings, all it took was a word. And the word had come down from the Don himself, and there was no going back. Monk was now the boss of the Bonaducci Crime Family. Monk was now number one. And they were over the moon as they expressed their pleasure. Finally, they felt, they had a real leader.
The other side was clapping, too, mainly because they had to, but it was with far less enthusiasm. Monk, even Ashley could see, had his work cut out for him.
“You have twenty four hours to let me know who your underboss will be,” the Don said, “and then I expect you to get to work making us better than we’ve ever been.”
“Here here,” Dimples said again.
But Raymond interrupted the laughter. Because he could smell a rat. “What do you mean let you know who the underboss will be?” he asked the Don. “I’m the underboss.”
“Monk has said so?” the Don asked.
Raymond was dumbstruck. “What’s Frankie got to do with it? You stripped me from being number one. So naturally, I’m now number two.”
“Naturally my ass,” Monk said to his father. “Naturally don’t work in my brain. Nobody’s naturally anything in this organization going forward unless they earned the right. Unless they get that title from me. Nobody’s crowning themselves a damn thing.”
Ashley thought Monk was being a little harsh to his father, especially since his father had just been so roundly demoted, but she also knew Monk had to put his foot down or Raymond Paletti and his stooges would run roughshod all over him.
Monk knew what he was doing and he knew he had to do it in front of all of the senior leadership, not just those who supported him.
And although everybody understood clearly what Monk was making clear, Raymond still looked flummoxed. “What are you saying?” he asked his son. “What are you trying to say to me?”
Then Raymond decided to do what Raymond was always did: he decided to prove his point by humiliating somebody else. “No,” he said. “Don’t you tell me a gotdamn thing. Let’s let your woman tell me. Let’s let this woman who’s too good to go in the basement with our wives the way we’ve been doing it for a hundred years. Let her tell me what’s going on since she’s wearing the pants in your family.”
“Pop, cut it out,” Monk warned as the Don was staring at Raymond and his pettiness too.
But Raymond was undeterred. He was hurt, and whenever he was hurt he lashed out. “I’m not cutting a damn thing out,” he said to Monk, and then addressed Ashley directly. “Why don’t you tell me what your lover boy means, young lady. What is he trying to say to me?” he asked her.
If he thought Ashley would recoil from his question, or otherwise flutter in despair and remain silent, he was gravely mistaken. She knew what he was about. He was trying to humiliate Monk through her.
“What he’s saying to you,” she said to Raymond, “is that there’s a new sheriff in town, and he’d rather eat nails than have you and your bullshit as his deputy.”
Everybody in the room, including Monk, was shocked by Ashley’s boldness. Did they just hear what they thought they’d just heard?
But then, after the initial shock wore off, everybody in the room, especially the Don, broke out into laughter. “She’s sharp,” the Don was saying as he laughed.
Everybody was laughing, except Monk and Raymond. Because Monk knew his father. He was staring at Raymond.
