Kingpin (An Italian Mafia Romance)

Kingpin

Copyright © 2016 by WS Greer

First edition published by Book Mode Publishing 2016

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by:

Robin Harper/Wicked by Design

www.facebook.com/WickedByDesignRobinHarper

Interior Design and Formatting by:

Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

www.perfectlypublishable.com

Table of Contents

Kingpin

PART ONE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

TWO YEARS LATER

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TWO YEARS LATER

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

PART TWO

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

MORE FROM WS GREER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Excerpt from CLAIMING CARTER

Never water-down what you love just to fit in. Take pride in being outside the norm. Be yourself. Be different . . . on purpose.

This one’s for me.

~WS~

Alannah Sullivan

Alright, so are you ready?

I look out the window at all the kids streaming into Barry Elementary School, and it makes me nervous. My face feels hot and my hands are sweaty.

I hate the first day of school, I reply, still staring out the window.

"Well, technically it’s not the first day of school. You’ve been in fifth grade half a year already," Dad answers. I can tell he’s smiling without even looking at him. When I turn around to frown, sure enough, there’s that big goofy grin.

Dad, I start, cutting my eyes at him. You know what I mean. It’s the first day at this school for me, but not for them. I think that makes it worse, actually. I’m going to be the only new kid.

Dad takes his hand off the steering wheel and turns his body towards me. He’s completely clean shaven because he’s in uniform and on his way to work after he drops me off. As corny as he is sometimes, his smile still makes me feel better.

I know, sweetie, he begins. I know this is hard, and I’m sorry we had to move in the middle of the school year, but we know that’s how the military works sometimes. All you have to do is be the strong princess that you are, and you’re going to be just fine. You’ll make friends in no time, and before you know it, you’ll be running this place. Everybody is going to want to be Alannah Sullivan’s friend. You just have to get past this first day. Okay?

I twist my mouth into a frustrated frown as I exhale and reach for the door handle.

Okay. Thanks, Dad.

You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, go have a great day. I love you.

I love you, too. I pop open the door as Dad leans over to kiss me on the cheek, then I’m out and headed towards the school.

I was born in San Antonio, Texas, on Lackland Air Force Base, eleven years ago. My current home, Scott Air Force Base in Belleville, Illinois, is my dad’s third and newest assignment. We only got here a week or so ago, but my parents are already forcing me to go to school. Ugh. I’m not ready to get back to it yet, but they say I have to.

So, here I am, walking on the sidewalk with my red and black backpack slung behind me. I’m surrounded by a bunch of other kids I don’t know, who all look comfortable because they’ve been here forever. They’ve gotten to know each other and have grown to become friends, but not with me. I’m the new kid who’s stepping into class for the first time after half the school year has already gone by. My mom, Dana, has been telling me since before we left our last home in California that the first day is always the hardest. She kept saying it as we walked through the school a couple of days ago to get familiar with the building, and she said it this morning, too, as she drove in to her new job at Belleville Hospital for the first time. So, I’ve been trying to remind myself of what she said.

The first day is always the hardest.

I know where my new class is, so I walk straight there without looking anywhere but forward. I know my new teacher’s name is Mr. Bishop, but I haven’t met him yet. Other than his name, I don’t know anything or anybody here. So, as I walk into class for the first time, my heart feels like it might pop any second now. Especially when I stand in the doorway because I don’t know where I’m supposed to sit, and other kids are in their assigned seats staring at me like I’m crazy. It takes Mr. Bishop at least five minutes before he sees me standing here.

Oh, hello, he says, finally. He has a higher voice than I expected for a man his size. He’s really tall and has thick black hair that looks like it’s been slicked back with grease, and his face has a lot of wrinkles in it. You must be Ms. Alannah Sullivan. Is that right? he asks, walking towards me.

Yes, sir, I answer. I’m so nervous now, my words almost didn’t come out.

Well, it’s nice to meet you, Alannah. My name’s Mr. Bishop. He makes me shake his hand like I’m a grownup. You can go ahead and have a seat while I get you some text books. Okay?

I look around the room again as the teacher walks away, but there’s no place for me to sit. All the desks are taken, so I have to stand there with the whole class staring at me while I wait for Mr. Bishop to grab books out of the closet. It feels like it takes forever, and I’m sure there are girls in the far corner of the room who are laughing at me now. I ignore them until the teacher finally comes back.

Umm, excuse me, Mr. Bishop. There’s no desks, I say as quietly as I can.

He looks around and sees I’m right.

Oh, I’m sorry. Give me a second while I go grab one from Mrs. Webb’s class across the hall. He walks over to me and hands me the four text books to hold while he leaves the room. Now, I’m standing at the back of the class holding books that are so heavy I’m turning red as my arms start to shake. I know for a fact those girls in the front are laughing now, and so are two boys sitting right in front of me. How could this possibly start off so bad? Mr. Bishop must be taking his sweet time to find that desk, because I’m starting to sweat and my grip on the books is slipping.

Oh my god, look how red she’s turning, someone says, but I can’t see their face.

I try to hold on, but my fingers slip and the books fall to the floor. The entire class starts laughing at me like I’m a standup comedian, and I’m instantly embarrassed. Mr. Bishop walks in holding a desk, and he frowns at the class when he sees they’re all laughing at me and I have tears in my eyes.

Hey, you all stop that, now, he barks, and the class quiets. Sorry about that, Alannah. I didn’t realize the books were that heavy. I guess I should’ve just put them on my desk, huh? That’s my mistake. You don’t have to cry, sweetie. I know being new is difficult, but once you get past this first day, you’ll be good to go. You’ll make friends, I promise.

The first day is always the hardest.

Mr. Bishop sets the desk down and picks up the books for me. He puts them on the desk and gives me his warmest smile.

Here you go, sweetie. Have a seat right here, he says. My desk is in the very back of the class, and I’m the only one in my row. Embarrassing.

Everyone finally turns around once Mr. Bishop walks to the front of the class and starts talking. My life in Belleville, Illinois has officially begun.

The first half of the day goes by pretty fast. We had two lessons—one on math, and the other on science. Mr. Bishop talks like he’s in a hurry and has a lot of energy, but he’s really nice so far. I didn’t have to interact with anyone besides him, so my nerves calmed down after the horrible book incident. However, it’s lunch time and I’m walking in line towards the cafeteria. The walls in the hall are painted blue, white, and yellow—the school’s colors—and all six of the classes in this hall are going to lunch at the same time. Everyone’s talking, and the boys are being the loudest while the girls are being quiet because they’re sneakily whispering to each other. No one has talked to me, so I haven’t tried to talk to anyone else.

When we get into the cafeteria, which is really the school gym filled with tables for us to sit at, I’m surrounded by kids. Somehow, I still feel alone, though. As I look around and see things and people I don’t recognize, I feel homesick. The only place I can remember living is California, so everything here is new to me. Even as I take my seat with a tray full of things I won’t eat, I’m too shy and nervous to speak. Everyone else is so caught up in their own conversations and craziness, it’s like I don’t even exist. I’m all alone in a crowd.

Once we’re allowed to go outside for recess, I watch all the other kids in groups playing with each other. There’s a big basketball court full of boys playing everything from dodgeball to four square. There are girls with hula-hoops, and some drawing pictures on the concrete with chalk. The playground in front of me is a big field with swings and big metal jungle gyms for us to climb all over, but I’m just not feeling up to it. All I really want is for this day to be over. I just want to go home to my parents. At least I recognize them. At least the furniture is familiar. My mom and dad will talk to me.

I walk over to the swings and sit down. I let out a sigh and watch the other kids run around like they’ve been waiting to do it all day and now they’re finally free. It’s loud and annoying, but I’m pretty sure we only have a few minutes of recess left, so I’m just going to sit here and wait. The swings are right in front of the door we’re going to have to go back into, so I’ll be first in line.

As I wait to hear the bell, out of the corner of my eye, I see a boy running from girl to girl. Every girl he’s around lets out a scream, and then he runs to the next girl. He’s a chubby kid with red hair, wearing blue jeans and a green military jacket like the ones my dad used to wear before they switched them. I scrunch my forehead as I watch this kid run over to another girl and smack her on the butt. The girl screams, and the chubby boys runs to another girl and pulls her hair. He’s just going around tormenting every girl he sees, and I don’t see any teachers around to stop him.

Eventually, the chubby kid sees me. I suddenly feel anxious as he runs in my direction, but my dad taught me to never let a boy touch me in any way I didn’t like. So, when the kid reaches me, I have no plans of letting him get away with smacking me on the butt. I press myself into the seat of the swing so he doesn’t even have a chance.

I don’t recognize this kid from my class, but I probably wouldn’t even if he was my classmate. He stands there for a moment, looking at me with a strange grin, then he walks behind me and tries to smack my back, but I jump up before he can. He tries to run around me again, but I turn around and make sure we stay face to face.

Stop it, I say to him, which seems to irritate him.

Don’t tell me what to do, he responds, before he steps closer to me and tries to pull my hair.

I reach up and smack him on the arm, knocking his hand away. From the sound of the impact and the look on his face, I know it hurt. I may have done it a little harder than I meant to, but I can tell he doesn’t care. He looks angry now.

That hurt! he yells, just before he reaches for my hair again.

I turn around and try to walk away from him, but the next thing I know, I’m shoved in the back. I fall forward and land face down in the sand under the swing. When I try to get up, I feel something on my back, then I feel his hands on the back of my head. The chubby boy is sitting on me and pushing my face into the sand.

Stop it! I scream, as tears sting my eyes. The pain of my cheek grinding into the sand is too much to take. Please stop!

Shut up, he responds.

I try to lift my head, but he pushes it back down and now my nose is in the sand and I can’t breathe. I try to scream, but I can’t even open my mouth. I try to breathe, but I snort sand instead. I feel panicked, and I’m terrified, but only for a second.

Suddenly, the weight on my head and back is lifted off me. I hear the thud of a person hitting the ground, followed by a yelp of pain. When I raise my head, I see the chubby boy on the ground looking up at someone standing over him. He has his back to me, but I can tell he’s bigger than the chubby boy. He’s wearing black pants and a black, long-sleeved shirt, and he has short black hair. The chubby kid looks up at him like he’s scared to death, and he doesn’t say a word as the kid turns around to face me.

When he looks down at me, he has a scowl on his face that frightens me. He has blue eyes and lips that look too big for his face. Something about him reminds me of an evil villain I’d see in a movie—he’s the guy beating the crap out of the hero.

Are you okay? he says. His voice is deeper than every other boy’s voice I’ve ever heard.

Umm, I begin, but the chubby kid steals my attention when he gets up and walks towards me.

She hit me first, so I’m allowed to hit her back. So, move, Ugly Dominic, the chubby kid says with a chuckle.

It all happens so fast after that.

The big kid snaps around and punches the chubby one in the face. Chubby stumbles backwards, but the big one grabs him by his shirt and throws him on the ground right in front of me. Sand goes flying everywhere as the big kid jumps on top of the chubby one and punches him in the face again, just before grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head over so that he’s looking at me.

Apologize, the big kid says, calmly. Look at her and tell you’re sorry. Now.

The chubby kid looks up at me as blood streams from his nose and tears fall from his eyes.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, he says, just before he loses it and starts bawling like a baby as he cover his nose with both hands.

I don’t even know what to say. I look at him for a second, then I look up at the other kid. At first, I was terrified of him, but now I’m not sure what to be.

The big kid lets the chubby one go, then helps me up off the ground. As I stand, he reaches down and starts knocking sand off my clothes while I struggle to get it off my face and out of my hair. The two of us walk away from the crowd of kids who are gathering to look down at the boy on the ground bleeding and crying.

He won’t mess with you, anymore, the kid says. He looks at me with an expressionless face, and my heart pounds with anxiety.

Thank you, I reply, nervously.

You’re new here, right?

Uh-huh.

My name’s Dominic, he greets, but he doesn’t smile so it’s not very comforting.

I’m Alannah, I reply, just as the door behind me swings open and three teachers come out. The two women go tend to the crying boy who’s still on the ground, but Mr. Bishop comes trotting up to us.

Dominic, can I talk to you for a minute? he says. He doesn’t look happy. I was told you beat up Billy Hannigan. Punched him in the face and threw him on the ground. Is that true?

Yeah, is all Dominic says in response.

Why’d you do that, Dominic?

He was trying to bully Alannah. He says it like he’s not even concerned with getting in trouble.

He bullied Alannah, so you bullied him? Is that right?

Yeah, that’s right. That’s what he gets for putting his hands on the girls.

Well, that’s not how we do things, Mr. Collazo. Violence is not how you solve your problems. I’m going to need you to come with me to the principal’s office.

Dominic shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world as he starts to follow Mr. Bishop towards the school. Before he steps inside, he turns around.

Bye, Alannah he says, then he smiles for the first time. Why would he smile when he knows he’s about to be in trouble with the principal?

I feel tingly all over as I smile back at him, but before I can say bye, he’s already inside.

For the rest of the day, I don’t speak to anyone except Mr. Bishop.

The only kid I speak to my entire first day of school is Dominic Collazo.

Dominic Collazo

I got suspended yesterday.

My father, Donnie, puts his Cadillac in park and stares straight ahead. He lets out a sigh of frustration before he turns to me. He’s completely clean shaven with blue eyes that are enhanced by his thick glasses. His black hair is slick and the scars on his left cheek remind me of how hard a life he’s had. I’m proud he made it through it all. He’s one hundred percent Italian, thirty-five years old, and doesn’t take any crap from anybody. He’s my idol.

What’d you do? he asks, glancing towards the windshield at the packed parking lot in front of us.

I punched Billy in the face. He was being a jerk.

A jerk, huh? What was he doing?

He was running around putting his hands on all the girls. Smacking them on the butt and stuff. He even tried to shove this new girl’s face in the sand. He wouldn’t let her up so I took care of it.

I see a smile stretch across my dad’s face.

Good. He deserved it, right? he says, grinning.

Yeah, he did.

And you did what you felt you had to do, right? You handled it?

I did.

Good boy. It’s unfortunate, but that’s what you have to do sometimes. I know you’re only eleven, but sometimes kids your age are assholes and need to be dealt with. I’m proud of you. I bet your mother was pissed, wasn’t she?

I chuckle to myself, remembering how mad my mother, Gloria, got when the principal called her and told her to come get me. She doesn’t like having to leave work to come deal with the school, and she was extra mad because this isn’t the first time she’s had to do it.

"Yeah, she was really mad," I reply.

I bet she blamed it on me, didn’t she?

Kind of. She said some stuff about how I’m growing up to be like you, and it makes her sad. I told her I loved both of you, and that I was sorry about getting suspended. She calmed down after that.

Dad laughs a little, but stays focused on the parking lot.

Hey, you did the right thing, Dominic. Okay? No matter what your mother says about it, you did the right thing. A man isn’t supposed to hurt a woman. That’s the rules. If a man hurts a woman, that’s breaking the rules, and breaking the rules is cause for punishment. So, I’m proud of you, son.

I feel the tingling sensation of pride spread through my body. Thanks, Dad.

Fuhgeddaboutit, he says, smiling at me.

I know the words are forget about it, but the way Dad says them makes me laugh. That’s his Italian roots making their presence known. I don’t know why, but I love it when he says it.

My dad’s eyes snap forward when there’s movement in the parking lot. He leans forward and squints, trying to see who the man is getting out