Sexting the Don: An Age Gap, Mafia Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)

What a fucking idiot.

I’m parked in my Bently on Rodeo Drive, the early afternoon sun slanting gently through the trees. My window’s cracked just enough for the cool sea air breeze to drift through the interior.

It’s another picture-perfect LA day. But I’m not here for the weather; I’m here to gain information.

And man, am I getting it.

Jimmy Charles is about as subtle as a shotgun blast in a monastery. I watch as the doors to the Prada store fling open, and the goofy motherfucker strolls out with a brand-new pair of sunglasses, wearing a big shit-eating grin on his face.

He doesn’t realize that, in a roundabout way, I’m the one who paid for those ugly things.

I sip my coffee, my eyes locked on him as he claps hands and backslaps with the pair of lowlifes he’s come with on this little afternoon shopping trip. The guys are similarly decked out in gaudy name-brand shit, enjoying themselves on my dime.

The money’s nothing; I’m not concerned about it in the slightest. If anything, it was worth spending in order to give me access to Jimmy out in the open like this, where his guard is down.

I watch as the three men step into a nearby bistro, and the hostess leads them to a table on the bustling patio.

Now’s the time to make my move.

After one more sip of coffee, I slip out of my car and step out onto the sidewalk. The streets are packed, and I waste no time weaving through the crowd and making my way to the bistro. I glance over at Jimmy and his boys before I step in. The threesome is laughing and carrying on, ordering expensive booze.

I grin. A liquored-up Jimmy promises to be even more of a clown than he normally is.

The big, brown eyes of the young, pretty hostess flick up at me as I enter, and a smile spreads across her face.

“Welcome to Bernadette’s,” she says. “Last name for the reservation?”

I glance over her shoulder. The place is a zoo. Is every table full?

That’s not a problem, sir.

I catch the eye of the maître’d, a trim, middle-aged man with a bald head and aquiline nose. His eyes flash when he sees me, and he stops what he’s doing, zipping over to the host stand.

“My name’s not on the list,” I tell her. “But your boss will sort all of that out.”

A confused expression flashes on the hostess’s face for a moment, and she opens her mouth to speak. But before she can utter a word, the maître’d arrives.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Martelli,” he says. “Truly an honor for you to stop in.”

I respond with a single, slow nod.

“One today?” he asks. There’s a quiver to his voice that makes it abundantly clear he knows just who he’s dealing with.

“There aren’t any tables open,” the hostess says quietly. “And it doesn’t sound like he has a reservation.”

“Find him a table,” the maitre’d hisses. “Your job depends on it.”

“No need for any of that,” I say. “That table, right there,” I gesture to the small, two-person table right behind where Jimmy is seated. “That would be perfect.”

“Those are the Mayers,” the hostess says. “We can’t just ask them to move.”

“That’s precisely what I’m going to do,” the maître’d replies.

The hostess, still sheepish, takes her pen and begins to write something down.

“Table for one, Mr. Ne—”

I reach forward, placing my hand on hers.

“No names are necessary. Thank you for your help.”

She stares up at me with those big brown eyes as if her fate is in my hands. She may not know who I am precisely, but she can sense she’s in the presence of someone important.

Without a word, I produce a pair of hundreds, tucking the bills into her hand before heading off with the maître’d. He rushes out onto the patio and speaks hurriedly to the well-dressed couple, letting them know the bad news that their lunch will be cut short.

They’re not happy about it, but they leave without arguing.

“Your table, Mr. Martelli,” he says, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Thank you. And please tell them that their next three meals here will be charged to my account.”

“As you wish, Mr. Martelli.”

I sit, Jimmy oblivious to my presence. The three men are laughing and carrying on, not a care in the world. I can tell by the looks on the faces of the other patrons out on the patio that their loud and obnoxious behavior is not appreciated.

Thankfully, Jimmy’s already three sheets to the wind and running his mouth. So, I order a bottle of Perrier and listen in.

“You guys seriously have no idea the kinds of moves G’s making.”

He’s referring to Garadino. It doesn’t take a cryptologist to crack that one.

“Yeah, we know,” one of them, a squat, fleshy-faced man with thinning red hair, says. “You’ve been running your mouth about it all goddamn day.”

“That’s because I’m fuckin’ happy about it, and you guys should be, too. A few key moves and G’s on top of this city. If you both play your cards right, you’ll be right along with me for the ride.”

“Where the fuck did you get this money, anyway?” the other guy, a string bean with a mortician’s face, asks. “You’ve been throwing cash around like your gambling operation actually paid off.”

“Came into a little cash. Don’t worry about it.”

You’re welcome, asshole. I sip my water and adjust my sunglasses.

“Are those guys still after you?” the redhead asks. “They’ll take your goddamn thumbs if they find out you went on a shopping spree while you still owe them.”

“I kicked them a little to shut them up for a couple of weeks. Figured I could use a little stress relief after all that bullshit.”

“Then what?” Stringbean asks. “You spend this, and you’re right back to square one.”

“Haven’t you been listening, dumbass? G’s making his moves soon. I’m not sure what he’s got in mind, exactly, but he told me that when all’s said and done, he’ll be the only game in town. That means not only will my debts be wiped out, but he’ll have a paying gig waiting for me.”

“Just like that?” the redhead asks.

“Just like that. He says he’s got some jobs for me while it all goes down. But for now, I’m just sitting back and waiting for my ship to come in.” To illustrate his point, he leans back in his seat, weaving his hands together behind his head, nearly bumping into a waitress behind him.

“Seems like there’s a hell of a lot of ‘ifs’ in that plan,” Stringbean points out.

“Yeah,” adds the redhead. “The big one being that if G decides to keep you around instead of putting one in your head after he’s done with you and buries your body in the ass end of the Inland Empire.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Jimmy says. “I’m too valuable. Trust me, he’s going to take good care of me, of us.”

Fucking idiot.

With that, Jimmy orders another bottle of something expensive to celebrate his newfound good fortune. I flag down the waitress, slip her a pair of hundreds, and take my leave.

I reflect on the conversation on my drive home.

Sounds like Garadino’s planning on making moves that he believes will make him the only game in town. Since the fucker hasn’t exactly sent me a discreet invite to discuss an alliance, that means he likely plans on bumping me off.

But how? And what the hell does Jimmy have to do with it? Why is a bigshot like Garadino planning on using a slimy little limp-dick like Jimmy to put his plans into action?

I pull onto Santa Monica Boulevard and fire off a text to Sean, letting him know I want to meet him at my place for a meeting in twenty minutes.

The shit’s getting complicated, and the fact that I’m screwing the daughter of the man who could be instrumental in a plot to end my life is only taking the shitshow to another level.

Sean’s forest-green Audi is parked in my driveway when I arrive. He’s already in the study, pouring two glasses of something dark. He’s the only man on this earth I’d allow into my home and to fix me a drink, but he’s earned such trust with sweat and blood.

“I figured I’d get the good stuff flowing,” he says, coming over to me and handing me a glass.

“Appreciated.” I say as I sip the whiskey, the warmth of the booze calming me down instantly.

“So, what’s the word, boss?” Sean asks as he takes a seat in the wingback chair across from me.

“We need to prepare for war,” I say bluntly.

Sean’s eyebrows arch in surprise.

“War?” he asks. “With whom?”

“Garadino. Got word he’s planning some big moves; decapitation strikes against me and some of the other family heads.”

Sean nods. “So, he wants to create a power vacuum and fill it himself.”

“What have you been hearing around town from the Garadinos?”

“Nothing at all. Been waiting for some news to report, but there’s not been a damn thing.” His eyes flash with realization, and he shakes his head. “Fucking hell.”

“Speak. What’s on your mind?”

“Garadino’s business has been too normal and calm, like he’s going out of his way to avoid appearing like he’s up to any bullshit.”

“Makes sense. I want to double the men surveying Garadino’s operations. Anything out of the ordinary, or especially anything not out of the ordinary, I want to know.”

“Got it.”

“And I want a team tailing Jimmy Charles twenty-four-seven. There’s more to him than I originally thought.”

“Is that so? What’s up?”

“He’s been running his mouth about an operation he’s planning, stealing from one of our warehouses.”

Sean snorts. “Slimy little prick. Boss, you give the word, and Jimmy sees his last sunset.”

The offer’s enticing, but now’s not the time.

Besides, I’d rather do it myself.

“Not yet. He’s too valuable as a source of intel at the moment. Just keep tailing him. I want a three-man team on him at all times.”

“Got it. He won’t be able to so much as scratch his balls without us knowing about it.”

“That’s all for now. I want a steady stream of information. When you know it, I want to know it.”

Sean throws back the rest of his drink. “Understood, boss.”

With that, he stands, sets his empty glass down at the bar, and leaves.

I take a few more pensive sips of my whiskey, processing everything that’s been going on. The night when I’d heard Jimmy shooting his mouth off about the warehouse I’d been with Mandy, and flashes from the evening appear in my mind’s eye.

Thoughts had taken hold during those moments, thoughts that I’ve never had about anyone before in my life.

I want her like mad, not just for sex but for keeps. I want to claim her in more ways than in bed. I want to make her mine.

But I’m overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. I feel as if I’m using her, taking advantage of her. I’ve never been the sort of man to feel this way. It would be impossible to run one of the largest crime syndicates in LA while being burdened by such sentiments.

I push the confusion aside, taking another long pull of whiskey. I’ll figure it out; I always do.

In the meantime, I’ll have my fun.