Mick smiled without looking at the Dons. Because he knew they were blown away. And they were. They looked back at the men as they headed for the mansion. By the time they made it to the front door, all three Dons were smiling too. Especially when the front door opened, and they were escorted in by another group of Mick’s security force.
But that was when it got real for them. Because they saw the bodies of Provensano’s security: in the living area, down the hall, on the stairs. Blood splattered the walls like spilled paint. There had been a bloodbath here.
And then Leo emerged from a side room.
DeLuca panicked. He knew Leo was their security chief. “Why aren’t you at the docks?” he asked him. “Why aren’t you guarding out shipment?”
“Our men took care of that. The shipment is secure. Provensano’s henchmen are all dead.”
“Did we have any casualties?” Teddy asked.
“Three,” Leo said. “Unfortunately. But they had fifteen.”
Since Mick already knew the count, he looked around. “Where is he?” he asked Leo.
Leo escorted the men to the parlor where Stanislav Provensano sat behind his desk with his dog, a French Labrador, in his lap. Two men stood beside him. When Provensano saw Mick, he attempted to rise from his seat. “Michello!” he declared. But the two men, each pressing on one of his shoulders, sat him back down.
“Michello, what is going on here? This is an outrageous power grab and the families won’t stand for it!”
“A power grab?” Mick asked as he and the Dons headed toward the desk. Leo remained at the door. “And what do you call your dock ambush? A get together?”
Provensano wanted to deny any involvement, Mick could see that terror in his eyes. But he didn’t. He knew not to play Mick that way. “So you knew about that?” he asked.
Mick appreciated that Provensano respected him at least that much. “I knew about it.”
“Your snitches were double agents? Is that what happened?”
“No,” Mick said. “But yours were.”
The three Dons looked at Mick. They had no clue Mick had infiltrated Provensano’s network. They had no clue Mick had planned any of this! The idea that some of them had doubted him seemed absurd now. Mick, they realized, knew what he was doing.
“So what are you going to do?” Provensano asked. “Kill me because I play the game too well? Kill me and start a war? Is that what you are going to do, Michello?”
Mick stared at him. “No,” he said. Then he looked at Teddy Stefani. “But Teddy will.”
Provensano smiled. “Teddy Stefani, are you kidding me?”
“Teddy will be the leader of Poltergeist when I drop out,” Mick said. It was high time, Mick though, that Teddy started acting like one.
And Teddy did. With pleasure. He riddled Provensano with bullets. He didn’t stop until Provensano was not only dead, but had fallen to the floor.
But if Mick thought he was turning over the reins to Teddy without dissent, he was vastly mistaken. Because Vito DeLuca and Carp Bianchi looked at each other. They were not ready to let go. Mick’s ability to plan ahead, to think and then rethink contingencies, to execute flawlessly with every changed strategy, had not gone unnoticed. Mick was not getting away from them. He wanted out, but they were shutting the door. Mick Sinatra was their golden goose. Mick Sinatra was a victim of his own success.
By the time Mick arrived at his big, quiet home, he could barely stand. He dropped his keys on his foyer stand, went to his bar inside his library, and poured himself a stiff one. He went upstairs, drank down his remaining liquor, and got in the shower. By the time he got out, and dried himself, he fell naked on top of his bed. By the time he pulled out his cell phone to call Rosalind, he couldn’t stop wondering about his choices. He wasn’t a kid anymore. How many more long days like this, where he not only had to orchestrate an ambush at Provensano’s house, but had to stop an ambush at the docks, were he going to be able to endure? Business shouldn’t be so dangerous and treacherous. Then he smiled. Maybe he just missed Rosalind, maybe it was all about the pleasure of life rather than the business of it, and he was conflating the two.
He called Rosalind, but she didn’t answer her phone. He then phoned the men he had secretly guarding her, only to be told that they left after she went home for the evening. Mick tried her phone again, home and cell. But still no response.
Now he was getting worried. This was not like Roz. She always answered her phone unless she was teaching her class. And she wasn’t teaching any class this time of night. He checked his cell phone messages. He had none. No text, no voice mail.
It wasn’t until Mick checked his home phone, did he realize he had a message. His cell phone was off during his Provensano run, and she might have tried to leave a message then. When he checked his home phone message, and realized it was indeed from Roz, he felt better. But only until he heard the message.