Third Time's The Charm

Third Time’s The Charm

By Genevieve Dewey

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 by Genevieve Dewey

All Rights Reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to living persons is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to all of you who have helped and held my hand through telling this story. Your support is a cherished kindness that I could never adequately repay.

I would like to dedicate this book to the memory of my great grandmother, Ruby Downey Wingerter, and my grandmother, Irene Gates Dewey.

~~~

All a man can betray is his conscience. – Joseph Conrad

Illusion is the first of all pleasures. – Oscar Wilde

~~~

PROLOGUE

The sound of a child’s laughter is what woke him. He hadn’t yet opened his eyes but a smile formed on his face, and he hummed that special blend of affection and annoyance that he figured only a parent could feel. He rolled to the side to grab a quick early morning embrace, intent upon drinking in the deliciousness of the boy’s mother before what would probably be a long and trying day. His hand felt nothing but cold satin. He opened his eyes and the sound of boyish laughter died in a ghostly echoing way, replaced by the terrible soul-searing sound of silence.

He caught his breath then forced it out quickly through gritted teeth as if the hiss of it could ward off the lingering sensation of loss and fury. He tore the covers off himself and got out of bed, rubbing the dampness from his palms on his legs. He strained to keep his mind purposefully blank as he went to his dresser, grabbed a track suit, and dressed for his morning run. He paused at the door and let his mind dwell for only a brief second on the nasty particulars of the day ahead before he recaptured that emotionless equanimity he had perfected. It was the same icy indifference that had gained him millions… and lost him a family. He straightened his shoulders, yanked open the door, and walked down the long corridor.

At the door to his daughter’s nursery he paused and sent a quick prayer her mother would not be inside. As usual, his prayers went unanswered. Theresa sat in a rocking chair (not handmade, the best money could buy) wearing only a negligée and a look of practiced maternal contentment. She fooled no one in the room. It was his ritual every morning to come and check on his child before his run, and she knew it. With one long, outstretched, perfectly formed leg she rocked the bassinette (not the best money could buy, handmade with love) and smiled in welcome at Mickey.

He nodded without returning her smile, because it pleased him to deny her, and moved forward to gently lift his baby daughter out of her bed. Kiki’s wild chestnut curls were matted against her forehead from sweat and sleep. Her already deep brown eyes peeped open briefly, her pink bowtie lips pursed, and her little brow furrowed. She started wiggling and making demanding ‘uh-uh’ sounds.

Shhh, little princess, mine, Mickey crooned, peppering her face with kisses.

Kiki started laughing those deep, from the belly, baby laughs. He realized his morning whiskers must have tickled her and he grinned down at her innocent, joyful face.

Da, Da, Da, Kiki said and his heart jumped into his throat.

Her first words! Or were they? Who knew with babies? Seven months might be a little early, Mickey thought.

He remembered Tommy was almost a year before his first word, ‘Mama’…

Mickey frowned, swallowed, and forced himself – again – to not think of his lost son.

I thought we might take Katherine to the San Gennaro—

No. Too many people, Mickey interrupted.

Theresa’s eyes flashed and her nostrils flared.

I’ve already discussed it with Dad. He thinks an outing as a family would be the best thing at this particular juncture. Frank agrees.

"Oh, well if Frank agrees, I guess that settles it then," Mickey sneered.

Kiki started squirming in his arms and he loosened his hold. He hadn’t realized he was gripping her to his chest in a close vice. He rubbed his hand up and down her little back and she nuzzled her face against his chest. It calmed some of his agitation and he walked with her to the bay window.

Theresa said nothing more, but he could hear and feel her approaching. She ran one tickling fingernail along his back. He stifled the shudder.

Michael—

Don’t call me that, Mickey interrupted with fury. First, waking to thoughts of Tommy then she had to remind him of… her.

She laid her hands flat against his back then patted him once briefly.

"I’m sorry. I forgot how much you hate your given name. Hey, you remember that one time when we were over at Lou’s as kids? He got you so worked up about your name that you gave him a broken nose, and his mother called your mother over and they started shouting right there in the street. Mrs. Luciano was all ‘you bettah pay for this doctor bill!’ and your mother said ‘well, since I’ll be payin’ for his bill ye might as well schedule him for some surgery to zip his big mouth oop because there’s no doctor in the land can fix stupid. Ye poke a tiger and that’s what yer gonna get, any baboon knows that.’ Mrs. Luciano was so furious and Maeve was just standing there all cool as an Irish cucumber," Theresa finished the story laughing so hard she was almost snorting.

Mickey couldn’t help chuckling a little at the memory. Theresa came around his side and ran her fingers through Kiki’s hair then traced her nose as she slept on his shoulder.

Let me put her back in her crib, and maybe I can fix us some breakfast? Theresa said against his ear.

Mickey continued to look out the window pane at the manicured lawn and hoped his silence would be enough answer. As usual, Theresa didn’t take his unwillingness as anything but a challenge.

She ran her free hand to the front of his pants and fondled him. He could do nothing to stop her but try and side step her reach while he held Kiki. He growled a bit and sent Theresa a glare. She merely smirked and reached under the band of his track pants, her hand finding its way to his cock.

Or maybe… we could find something else to eat instead? Theresa purred.

He felt himself stir and he hated himself for his reaction and hated her more for again coaxing it from him. Theresa was the only woman on the planet that he could simultaneously despise and want. He hated the shamed feeling he felt after every time they were together. It wasn’t as if he had ever felt shame for having sex with any of the other women he had been with while dating her or married to her. And certainly he’d had sex with women he felt nothing for, not even bothering to learn their names. But to have sex with someone he truly disliked… that was a sort of a non-consensual mind-fuck he only enjoyed inflicting upon others.

He was just about to come up with an excuse she’d have to obey like a meeting with her father when she sighed, stopped her groping, and laid her head against his shoulder.

"Mickey, they’re gone now, and there’s no bringing them back. Don’t you think if you could just try, try and remember how things used to be between us, we could make a go of it? You were my best friend. I held on to us even after I found out about her because I loved you and I believed we could be good together. I still do."

Mickey moved his head a little and she looked up at him. Her eyes were filled with vulnerability and tears. He let out the air in his lungs slowly. He needed a smoke. He most certainly didn’t want to be reminded of yet another thing he had lost. She was right; they had been best friends once upon a time. But that was a decade ago and he couldn’t figure out how or why she was holding on to those vestigial feelings. He couldn’t muster anything but anger, disgust, and something between pity and guilt. Ever since the day they got married, she had known his heart lay elsewhere.

But instead of calling it off, she had pretended to accept it then constantly manipulated, pushed, played on her familial card with Frank and Big Joe, slowly killing any feelings of affection he had for her. She had said she could accept that he loved Mary as long as she got to be his wife and still occasionally share his bed. After a while, when he was established as Big Joe’s next in command, they could part ways and he could fund her start in the fashion industry. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. What man would say no? At the time, he had been more worried about finding a way to keep Mary in his life to recognize it for the con it was.

You remember our first time? Theresa whispered.

She smiled a bittersweet sort of smile and let out a soft giggle.

At that party DeMeo threw in Staten Island? she continued. "You were, like, on a mission or something. I think we must’ve set a record for how many times two horny teenagers could fuck in one night and afterward, Frank walked in on us and he was so furious I thought he was gonna kill you!"

She stopped and laughed again, Took both Lou and Ronnie to hold him back… ’member?

Mickey smiled a grimly satisfied smile. It was one of his fonder memories, not because of the sex, though that had been pretty great, it was because of why the sex was great. He was fucking Big Joe’s daughter at the birthday party DeMeo was throwing for her cousin Frank. He knew it would piss Frank off to know he’d had the girl Frank thought of as a little sister—and frankly, Mickey often suspected a wee bit more than a sister. He had planned it so that Frank would know it had happened.

Happy Birthday, asshole.

Mickey’s grin widened then slid off a bit as he remembered that was more or less the last time Ronnie ever spoke to him as a friend. He looked back down at his daughter.

He’d lost a lot of friends over the years, and now Tommy and Mary were gone, too. The only thing that remained was this sham of a marriage and this second chance God had given him with a daughter. It would be nice to be able to give Kiki what he had briefly given Tommy, two parents who enjoyed each other’s company. And he wanted to be able to have sex with his own wife without feeling like he’d sold a bit of his soul.

Mickey walked towards the crib and gently laid Kiki in it, covering her with the blanket his mother had quilted for her. He straightened his shoulders and turned around to face Theresa. She was standing there in her negligee with her chin in the air and wet eyes (though no tears had actually escaped their folds). She was quite beautiful. Maybe she was right and they could learn to be friends again. Then he would get all of his wishes.

Save the one he wanted most in the world… his heart and mind whispered.

He walked forward and hitched her into an embrace. Her arms looped around his neck and she kissed him passionately. He focused on the memory of their first time together and kissed her back. By the time she led him to the hallway he had almost convinced himself it would work between them.

The sound of a voice clearing had Mickey’s head jerking up and Theresa jumped.

Dad! I – Mickey didn’t say you were coming by. I – we— Theresa stopped, cleared her throat, and shimmied herself a little behind Mickey.

Mickey stepped in front of her and smiled briefly at Big Joe and the large man standing next to him. The man looked to be in his mid-twenties, had a tanned Mediterranean complexion, a wary stance, and a weightlifter’s build. Mickey could tell by the bulging neck muscles he had probably gained such musculature with the aid of steroids. The man had the decency to look away from Theresa but Mickey hadn’t missed the appreciative gleam. Whoever Big Joe’s new employee was he had better learn quickly that Giovanni Anastasio tolerated no overt advances towards his daughter, Mickey being the one and only exception.

Mickey slid his eyes back to Big Joe and saw his mentor had an awkward and embarrassed flush on his face, but his eyes were full of satisfaction. Mickey’s smile grew.

How serendipitous… he thought.

Perhaps Joe would leave him alone about hunting down Mary now that he saw with his own two eyes how hard Mickey was working to patch things up with his daughter. Truthfully he hadn’t tried – yet – but appearances were half the battle.

Joe cleared his throat.

Ah, Theresa, how about you run along and get dressed for the day. I just wanted to introduce you two to Carlo Calabria. He’s on loan from the old country. I just picked him up from the airport. He’s going to be Katherine’s body guard, Big Joe finished.

Theresa peeked out from behind Mickey.

"Piacere," Theresa said.

Mickey grunted. Theresa and her affectations…

Carlo nodded at the ground. Mickey nudged Theresa to head down the hall to her room then stepped forward with his hand outstretched to Carlo.

Good to meet you, Carlo, Mickey said.

Carlo lifted his gaze, took Mickey’s proffered hand and gave it a firm shake.

"I good care for bambina," Carlo said in a thick Italian accent with a perfunctory nod.

It was clear to Mickey he had practiced this on the plane ride over and felt fairly confident in his presentation. Mickey appreciated confidence in a man even if the delivery was off. One could always train a human being with a good mind and a keen sense of work ethic. There was no fixing the Frank Bonanno level of arrogant stupidity.

Let’s go downstairs, Big Joe suggested and patted Carlo on the shoulder.

Mickey followed them and sent a quick glance back down the hall. Theresa was peeking out from the door to her room but her gaze wasn’t on Mickey. He turned back around and smiled grimly.

A new bodyguard for his daughter, Big Joe off his back about Mary, and now apparently Theresa had found a new plaything, leaving Mickey free to concentrate on business… and other women.

He liked this guy Carlo already.

CHAPTER ONE

That fucking son of a bitch Carlo!

Tommy froze mid-gait on his way into the greenhouse from his father’s shop.

Ugh, come on, Daddy! What are you, four?

Tommy could tell from her overly cheerful, yet brittle tone that Kiki was reaching the end of her rope. He watched Mickey start randomly tossing things to the ground in the greenhouse. Kiki stomped her foot, which made a spectacular clomp in her platform heels. Mickey ignored it and continued his rant.

Goddamned, stupid, mother fuckin’ sons of bitches!

Daddy! Kiki whined.

Tommy was impressed by the amount of censure she was still able to infuse into it. He stepped back into the shop, slowly took his new badge off his belt, and stared at it. It still gave him a dysphoric jolt every time he saw the words Chicago Police under the word Detective. He sighed and set the badge on the workshop table. No sense in further antagonizing the old man. He wanted to intervene but Kiki was big lately on everyone letting her handle her own problems, so instead, he leaned against the doorjamb just inside the shop and watched unobserved.

"I used to own those stupid assholes! I used to call the shots! Now they’re tampering with my cars, keeping me locked in my house like some goddamned prisoner!" Mickey shouted and spittle flew from his mouth.

He made a frustrated gesture with his hand and walked over to the potting station in the greenhouse. He picked up a pot and threw it perpendicular from where Kiki was standing. Kiki jumped then took a long, deep breath and reached a finger up to start twirling her hair. Tommy winced on her behalf. He’d been the one to hide the distributer caps in Mickey’s antique cars, but here Kiki was, taking one for the team. Again. If he hadn’t walked in on this, he’d be willing to bet she wouldn’t even have told him about it. Their father started furiously scooping dirt side-to-side.

Daddy… Kiki said softly then quickly side stepped as dirt flew her way. "Carlo and Derek didn’t tamper with your cars, that was Tommy, and he only did that because I asked him to."

Tommy shook his head. No, you didn’t… he thought. This girl didn’t even know how to throw someone else under the bus to save herself. Her first sentence was probably ‘Snitches dig ditches’.

And you’re not a prisoner, she continued. One of us can drive you anywhere you’d like to go—

Like some damned child!

"Of course not, how is it different than when Carlo used to drive you around? Daddy this is not the first time you’ve retired! What has gotten into you?"

Mickey started turning over pots under the potting station and went back to ignoring her. Tommy poked his head a little further out since Kiki’s gaze was fixed on their father’s back.

Daddy, you won’t find any in here either, she said, moving her hands to her hips. She let out a really long, loud sigh and stomped her foot again—this time both her feet. Tommy grinned and fought back a chuckle.

Mickey straightened up and looked at her. He moved in profile to Tommy and Tommy could see that his grey-streaked black hair had flopped all over his unshaved face, instead of combed back and meticulously neat like normal. He wasn’t dressed in his usual power suit, instead the track suit he wore was wrinkled like he had slept in it and he looked unbearably human and flawed. He arched his brow and his nostrils flared. Tommy watched Kiki’s expressive face move from frustration and impatience to amusement and affection then settle on fatigue and worry. She blinked rapidly as if fighting tears and attempted to look properly subdued by his display of parental authority. She failed miserably. Tommy ducked back into the shop to control his amusement.

Don’t you have something you need to do? Mickey sneered. Shoes to buy? A wedding to plan? Where’s Jimmy? It’s been at least six hours since his ass has checked up on you. Must be a personal record for him.

Alright, Tommy thought, time to intervene if the old man was going to go on the offensive. He stepped out of the shop and stood in the doorway.

Kiki didn’t look upset, though. Mickey’s back was now facing the door so Tommy couldn’t tell if he was really angry, but given the twinkle in Kiki’s eyes she hadn’t taken it personally if he were. She walked up to their father, patted the front of his chest, and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Mickey grunted as she pulled back and Tommy watched his shoulders slump in defeat. Tommy’s mouth hitched. It was impossible for anyone to stay mad at Kiki longer than a nanosecond. Growing up, Tommy had always figured his mother was the only person on the face of the planet that could probably shame the Devil into doing her bidding, she was so adept at the guilt trip, but then he met Kiki. She wouldn’t even have to bother with shame, she’d just smile and the Devil would bring her a glass of water.

Kiki reached up and brushed Mickey’s hair from his forehead the way Mary did with Tommy then moved her hands to his upper arms.

"Daddy, I would appreciate it if you would at least make an effort to call him James. You asked for me and Mary to help you quit for good this time. You can be a bear about it all you like but there’s no tobacco or alcohol in this house and there won’t be. And don’t even think about calling—"

Helloooo? What the hell happened here, World War III? Tommy interrupted with a jovial voice. He stepped further into the room and pointedly looked around as if he had just arrived.

Kiki looked past their father’s shoulder to grin at him.

Tommy! Just in time. I need to go finish getting ready for tonight.

Mickey turned around and pointed a finger at Tommy.

I don’t need any more fuckin’ babysitters so you can just turn your ass right around and go back home, son.

Tommy ignored him and came forward to hug Kiki. She gripped him tight. He could feel his father’s gaze on them both and silently prayed for the patience to move forward with his plan. Disabling his father’s cars had nothing to do with stopping him from getting pipe tobacco and everything to do with keeping him distracted from what James was up to with Carlo. He hadn’t meant for Kiki to take the blowback. But even more than that, he didn’t want her inadvertently reminding Mickey of all the alternatives he still had. Carlo—and anything he wanted—was still only a phone call away. Kiki reluctantly let go of Tommy's hug. Tommy gave her a quick zerbert on her neck and she pinched him as she laughed. He pushed her towards the main door of the greenhouse.

Go get ready. If I gotta hear Hoffman bitch about how you’re never ready on time one more time, I’m gonna rearrange his teeth.

That’s my boy, Mickey said.

Tommy kept ignoring him and gave Kiki a bolstering big-brother smile. She smiled a bright, but relieved, smile in return and walked to the main doors of the greenhouse, pausing briefly to waggle a playful finger at their father. Mickey shook his head and turned around, walking towards the broom in the corner. Tommy recognized a slightly sheepish expression on his face and figured he had better take advantage of Mickey’s temporary bout of conscience. He walked over and took the broom from him then nodded his head towards the overturned pots.

I’ll sweep, you stack, Tommy said.

Mickey grunted but said nothing. Tommy didn't care. The less his father said, the less likely they would get into a fight. And so far, at fifteen days and counting living in the same county, they had managed to co-exist. He didn’t want to fight with him; he just wanted his guard down enough to pry some information out of him. Maybe it was the knowledge that his father was ill that was giving him more patience than usual, or maybe it was because compared to his new – very resentful – coworkers, a surly ex-gangster seemed like a cake walk.

So… were you going out for anything in particular? I could drop you off somewhere on my way back downtown, Tommy suggested. Mickey still said nothing. I’m working another shift tonight. Figure it’s the best way to learn names and ingratiate myself.

Mickey let out a very Kiki-esque sigh and scooped up the broken pot shards, but still, he said nothing.

On the other hand, Tommy thought, at fifteen days and counting, maybe it would be a good thing if we did have a fight.

Because this asshole was nothing like the laughing, open man that had waltzed right into the Omaha Police Department a few weeks ago as if he owned the place. Tommy had been thinking that guy was somebody he'd like to get to know. This guy… a handful of weeks into retirement and he’d already done a 180 and was acting like someone had stolen his favorite blankie from him – the same blankie he had just declared himself too old to snuggle with. Tommy could sympathize a bit because this time it seemed to be a real retirement. No more renting the Trump tower and sending men on errands while paying lip service to new beginnings without actually changing. And if he wanted to dip into his money he’d have to ask his own children for a loan. Tommy didn’t have to be a father to know that had to smart. He tried one more time to provoke some dialogue from Mickey.

The smartest decision I ever made was taking this job with Chicago PD, Tommy continued as he deposited the remaining dirt into the potting station. "I've never seen a more