Tittle: Given Off To thr Mobster
Amelia
This day couldn’t possibly get worse, could it? I flick my brown curly hair over my shoulder
and sigh softly, waiting at the bar of La Club. What else is there to do after yet another horrible breakup but drown my sorrows?
“What will it be?” the beefy bartender asks as he approaches me.
“Vodka and lemonade,” I order, “make it a double.”
I watch him make the drink, knowing my father would be pissed if he knew I was out drinking again. Then again, he’d been pissed I’d been with Dave, to begin with.
I sway to the rhythm of the music, tapping my long nails against the wood of the bar while I
wait for my drink. I can’t remember why I haven’t been to La Club in so long, but it’s nagging my brain. Something about the place doesn’t sit right with me, but it was in the neighborhood after my sudden and catastrophic breakup with Dave, and I just wanted to unwind and enjoy myself.
A few sleazy guys have their eyes on me, I can tell just by scanning the room, but I’m not in the mood for a rebound tonight. Everyone already questions my choices when it comes to men. I don’t need to add to my reputation so soon after a breakup.
I tip the bartender and take my drink, heading straight to the dance floor to let loose. Earlier, I messaged my best friend Emily to join me, but she hasn’t replied. I check my phone again and shoot her another text.
Then I pocket my phone and dance, hanging onto my drink as the crowd dances around me,
sometimes bumping into me. It’s a rock night, so they’re playing quite an interesting collection of music. Some heavy, some punk, but I don’t care as long as I can dance to it. In fact, it suits the rage I feel within me, so I bop and bounce along, joining the crowd in their frenzy until my drink is finished and I’m tired.
Maybe a Jagerbomb will go down well, something that will give me energy. I head back toward the bar, weaving through groups of people shouting at each other over the music.
I never saw the point in trying to talk at a nightclub. The point is to dance and have fun. Go
outside and have a smoke if you want to talk, or go out for dinner where you can have a quiet conversation without cracking your voice box trying to be heard.
A man blocked my path to the bar, and I waited a moment before I started getting annoyed. I
never was a patient person. To begin with, my father liked to remind me, but I’m also not a scared little girl. I tap him on the shoulder and call, “Excuse me, can you move?”
He turns and looks at me, and I freeze in place. I know those grayish-blue Sorvino eyes anywhere. Francesco Sorvino, or Frankie, as everyone calls him, looks deep into my eyes and then up and down my body, causing a shiver to run over me.
“Hey, Frankie,” I call, trying to be polite. “You look good.”
I mean it. He does look good. Fuck, why am I being nice to him anyway? The dickhead broke
my heart the most out of all my exes.
I wait for his response, but he sidesteps me and heads to the office. That’s when it dawns on me. The reason I didn’t come to La Club was that the Sorvino mafia family owns it, and Frankie handles the business. I consider leaving. The sting of his ignoring me like I was nothing burns deep, but there’s also defiance in me that wants him to see me having a good time. To show him I’ve moved on to bigger, brighter, and more fun times.
I go to the bar, my shoulders squared away and ready to take on whatever this shitty day
decides to throw at me next.
“Another?” the bartender asks as he recognizes me.
“And a Jagerbomb,” I add.
“Coming up,” he calls over the music and grabs what he needs. I watch him. Maybe I should
grab a rebound guy. Specifically in front of Frankie to remind him of what he’s missing out on. I mean, his office is right there. I could wait until he comes out and just make out with someone. That’ll rile him up. ARGH! Why do I care so much that he ignored me?
This really should be a non-issue. I take my phone out and see six messages from Dave. Ah, Dave, I’m not responding to you, honey, you’re fifty shades of fucked up, and I’m already over dealing with your brand of crazy.
I text Emily again to ask if she is coming out or not. She’s probably asleep. Bitch is getting
tired in her old age. I chuckle to myself at the joke. I do love my best friend. She’s been working hard, though, so I have to make do with what I’ve got. I put my back to the bar and glance around. Lots of guys in suits, pretentious fucks who want to look important but really, they’re not. The suits are cheap, and any person with actual money can tell from a mile away.
One looks directly at me, but he’s so far from my type that I almost gag. He steps toward me,
so I roll my eyes and shake my head, turning back to the bar. He better just stay in his lane if he knows what’s good for him,
“Here you go,” the bartender says, setting my drinks in front of me. I knock back the shot and
smack my lips, grinning. “Thanks. I’ll be back for another soon.”
I grab my drink and turn to head back to the dance floor, but the sleaze ball is there. “Hi, I
couldn’t help but notice you looking at me.”
“It wasn’t by choice. You have something gross on your face,” I say.
His eyes widen, and he moves away quickly, heading for the bathroom. I grin and make my way past Frankie’s office, but I’m stopped dead in my tracks when an arm grabs me and spins me around, causing me to spill my drink.
Dave.
“What the fuck do you want?” I demand to know, glaring at him and shaking my hand, trying to
dry it.
“You weren’t answering me, so I tracked your phone,” he growls, “We’re not fucking done
talking.”
“Yes, we are,” I shout. “You don’t fucking own me, Dave. It’s over. We are over. Accept it and move on.”
I turn to leave, but he grabs me again. This time when he spins me around, I throw my drink in his face. A few people around us gasp and watch in horror as Dave’s face turns a deep red.
“You don’t know who you’re fucking with when you fuck with me,” Dave shouts.
“And you fuck very poorly. I didn’t finish once,” I mock him, trying to pull myself out of his grip. “So take your limp dick somewhere else.”
The blow comes out of nowhere. Suddenly I am disorientated and dizzy, struggling to keep my balance. I can hear shouts around me and people screaming about a gun.
I raise my head slightly to look at Dave and see him holding a piece. I touch the side of my head and pull my hand away to see blood. Did he shoot me? Or did he just hit me?
Someone pulls Dave off of me, but without him holding onto me, I tumble into darkness.
Frankie
There is always something to take care of at one of the numerous businesses that the family owns. We know how to run a tight ship. I know how to run a tight ship, but sometimes things happen that will need my attention.
Like stolen money.
I don’t like it when money goes missing from my clubs, and La Club is one of my favorite
places to launder money because it runs so smoothly, so when the intake and the output are grossly mismanaged, I get a little bit agitated.
Agitation doesn’t begin to explain how I feel when I’m tapped on the shoulder to move out the way by none other than Amelia. Her brown curls cascade down either side of her face and her back, and she looks beautiful with simple makeup. When her amber eyes locked with mine, the first thing that comes to my mind is the memory of the kisses we shared, the intimate nights we had together, and the breakup that ruined me. My emotions do a tumble, and I almost lose my calm demeanor. I look her up and down, taking in her scantily dressed, toned, and tanned body, and then I walk toward my office without a word.
I don’t think I can speak to her without keeping the emotion out of my voice, so I decide not to
acknowledge her. It’s for the best. I sit down at the large oak table, and James, my accountant, brings a tablet to me to look at. I scan the figures. “Do we know who it is?”
“We think it’s one of the bar staff,” James explains. He delves into the details of what’s
missing as I try to read the information on the tablet, but my mind keeps swinging back to Amelia and the look in her eyes when I walked away from her. It’s the same look as the first time I walked away from her, but that was for her own good. I just couldn’t tell her that.
My agitation rises as I realize I haven’t heard a word James has said. My concentration is all
over the place. I hold a hand up. “Get me a drink, whiskey on the rocks, and not the cheap watereddown shit we serve those business graduates.”
“Yes, sir,” James leaves to arrange the drink, and I sit back, rubbing my chin. I need to focus
on the task at hand because if someone is robbing me, they will be catching the hiding of their lives. If it doesn’t end their life. An example must be made, after all.
It irritates me so much how seeing Amelia can bring my world down again. I really thought I’d
moved on. I certainly don’t think of her while she’s out of sight. I don’t even know why she would come to La Club, maybe just to irritate me. Perhaps she intended to set me off. Who knows what that little minx thinks sometimes?
I turn my attention back to the tablet when I hear shouting outside the office. I ignore it at first. The bouncers throw out loads of drunk patrons all the time. It’s not my job to get involved, but suddenly a voice sounds familiar. I’m sure it’s Amelia.
There’s a hard knock and screams, and I get up quickly, my hand going to the gun holstered inside my jacket. My men follow me out to see a guy waving a gun, and a bleeding disorientated Amelia in his clutches. I calmly walk behind him and hit him in the back of the head with my gun, bringing him down. The club empties quickly, so my men grab him and drag him out back while I catch Amelia.
I lean over her. “Amelia? Can you hear me? Amelia?”
It’s no good. She’s passed out. Slight panic builds up within me as I turn to James. “Keep the
asshole in the back. I’ll sort him out once I’ve arranged for her to go to the hospital.”
I gather her in my arms and carry her outside to my car. I wave over a bouncer. “Shut down
the club for the night and let the boys know I’ll be right back.”
With that, I climb into the driver’s side and start my car. Joining traffic, I throw my hazard
lights on and zoom through the cars to the nearby hospital. Once there, I gather Amelia carefully in my arms. I didn’t even acknowledge her, and yet she was hurt under my watch. A small sense of guilt creeps into me.
The nurses rush to me when they see me carrying her, and bring a gurney. “She was attacked,
hit in the head with a gun. I have to go. Is there someone I can give her father’s contact details to?”
A nurse walks up to me with a clipboard, and I quickly give Amelia’s details, at least what I
know, and then I give her father’s contact details. He’ll have to deal with her when she wakes up. I
need to get back to La Club.
The drive back does nothing for my temper. I drive quickly, parking outside my building. I go
into the club and make sure the bouncers have shut down everything. It’ll cost us, but I have more important things to deal with tonight. She might not be in my life anymore, but I don’t take kindly to men who hurt women at the best of times., let alone someone I cared deeply about.
I walk into the back section of the club where my men have zip tied the idiot to a chair. He’s come to and is shouting profanities at them. He won’t be heard, though. This room is soundproof from the outside world.
“Who the fuck are you?” he yells at me. “Are you the jackass that hit me? Because you’re
going to regret that asshole.”
I raise an eyebrow. It’s unlikely that people don’t know who I am. The media has undoubtedly mentioned me enough for people to know my name. I look into this guy’s eyes and see his pupils are dilated.
“Why did you attack Amelia?” I ask, dragging a chair over to sit in front of him.
“What the fuck do you care? She’s my girlfriend, not yours.” Ah, now that makes sense, I
think. He’s a loser boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, and clearly thinks he owns her.
“My name doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m from the kind of family you don’t fuck
with,” I say calmly. “So you’re going to start being polite, or you’re going to have your ass handed to you on a silver platter.”
“People like you don’t scare me, Francesco,” he spits, glaring at me.
“So you do know who I am,” I point out. “And yet you still disrespect me. You disrespect me
by coming into my club and attacking someone under my protection, and then you speak to me like I’m some piece of shit at the bottom of your shoe. What’s your name?”
“His name is Dave,” my one bodyguard Leroy says, handing me Dave’s ID card. “In his
thirties, he lives in Brooklyn. No known connection to any families that we can find, and he’s high as a kite.”
“Fuck off,” Dave screams, trying to thrash around. “If you don’t let me go, you’re going to
regret it.”
“The only one who will regret anything is you, Dave. Teach him a lesson, boys, then drop him
outside the hospital. I won’t go as far as killing you tonight, Dave. But cross me again, and you won’t find yourself so lucky.”