TOMMY: House of Leone

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Chapter 1—Tommy

   

     “Sir, we’ll be landing about thirty minutes earlier than planned.”

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     The knock followed by the sultry voice of the stewardess has me blinking my eyes open as I lie on the bed. Another time, another place, I would have had her beneath me already. She’s just another faceless hire. That’s how I’ve felt about those before her—just nameless women to get off with. Not today.

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     When I don’t answer, I hear her leave. She knows I heard her and just didn’t want the company. Especially since her “news” wasn’t new. The pilot announced that same shit five minutes ago.

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     I stand and make my way to the small attached bathroom. It’s not as big as some of the other planes we have in the family, but it has a sink and a toilet. The one with the full shower is something my brother Vinny keeps on standby for himself. I don’t blame him. When you’re the oldest, you get the first choice on shit. It’s the way of the land. Also, he called dibs. In our family, that’s sacred.

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     I turn the sink on and roll up my sleeves before leaning over to splash my face with the cold water. A shower would do wonders for me, but a poor man’s bath works just as well. I grab the towel off the hook and pat my face before turning off the faucet and looking in the mirror.

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     Still my same devilishly sexy self, but with one small change that wasn’t there months before, something that draws everyone’s eyes before they actually look at me. The scar on my neck is healed, but it’s only been a few months, so the wound’s still marred with ugly red lines. It’s jagged and edged, just like the knife the doctor used to cut out the shards left behind from a bullet that went through me and shattered in the process.

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     That bullet wasn’t even meant for me. That’s what sticks with me more than the scar ever will. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to protect my sister’s man. I didn’t intend to get shot, obviously. I just jumped in front of him to protect what belonged to her.

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     I would have just had a minor scar if we were in the U.S. and had a medical team on standby, but we were in Russia. We had to use some random doc on the flight home, and it was a bumpy flight. And of course, all he had were basic things. Thankfully, drugs were a part of it. The group with me said I spoke some Russian to help, since they knew none, but I’m not fluent. That’s why I ended up like this, with a giant-ass scar on my neck and a fucked-up voice. It’s not as bad as it could be, though. People can still understand me. It’s just different from what I’m used to when hearing myself speak. Deeper. Rougher. Damaged. But at least I stuck to the family tradition. We Leones don’t go down easily. Or at all if we can help it.

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     I exit the bathroom and grab my jacket after pulling my sleeves back down and fastening them. I leave the jacket open, like the neck of my collar. Vinny might want us all to look the part of the businessman in suits and ties, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be comfortable.

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     Walking from the back of the plane to the front, I ignore the stewardess as I sit in the seat across from a man I trust. It helps that he’s a cousin.

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     “You send her back there?” I ask a second before she sets a whiskey on the side table next to me. I ignore her but notice my cousin, Dante, smiling with a wink sent her way before she scurries away to do God knows what.

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     “Didn’t know if you needed some help on the descent. You never did like flying.”

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     I sigh heavily and shake my head. “One time. I said it one time.”

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     He just shrugs. “Still counts.”

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     “And the fact that I said it, as an offhanded comment at best, while the plane was crashing doesn’t give me any kind of reprieve?”

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     He gives me a dull look. “If I recall, cuz, it was you who was making it crash.”

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     Now it’s my turn to shrug and pick up my drink, smirking as I glance out the window at the New York skyline. “I still plead the Fifth.”

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     “I would, too, if my brother shit a ton of bricks at the money he had to fork over to deal with that crap.” He huffs but drops it as we descend. “Plus, you know my philosophy: No harm in trying.” He winks again at the stewardess, and I look back out the window.

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     I really don’t like flying, but it’s a means to an end. And the fear came before I tried to fly that plane. Hell, that’s exactly why I tried. People always say that to conquer your fears, you need to face them. They’re wrong. But like everything else I’ve done in life that I didn’t particularly like, I did it with a smile.

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     I learned long ago that even if you hate it, a grin helps. It can change the chemistry in your brain until you think you actually like whatever it is you’re doing. It can also piss off the people around you. Which is the main reason I do it.

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     Or why I used to.

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     I clench the hand not holding my tumbler to keep from touching my scar. One night and things changed. One event. One second that had me not smiling as much. I went from being an idiot kid to this—calling myself “dumb” and “stupid” and “kid-like” when it hasn’t even been a year since the event. I’m the same age as before, but I feel a lifetime older.

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     It’s all the same for everyone else. Same days. Same jobs. Same outcome. Smile, don’t smile. Fuck, eat, sleep. All the same. For them.

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     I still eat and sleep. As for fucking? I have, but it’s more like something to pass the time or because it’s expected more than the joy of wanting to do it for the thrill. I still get hard, still have needs, but sometimes I think my hand is better than a nameless woman throwing herself at me and expecting more than a night in the sack.

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     Seven months ago, I was invincible.

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     Sure, I’ve broken a few bones here and there. Gotten into a few too many scuffles. But I grew up with family and friends, never went without food on the table or had to do shit alone. I always had someone there with me, either leading me or holding me back to not cause problems. But that was what I loved about it. I could cause issues, and yeah, sure, sometimes I had to clean them up. But most of the time, my other brothers or dad stepped in and sorted things. I wasn’t a spoiled little rich kid, just spoiled in that I never thought I couldn’t win.

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     Till I got shot. And while I was with people I trusted, I was still alone, bleeding out on a table in Russia, thinking it was over. Thinking I’d finally pushed too hard and challenged too much.

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     I’m still not sure if it was the lights or the Virgin Mary herself I saw when I was being sewn up. I remember hearing the doctor mumble in Russian that I wasn’t going to make it, that he only kept trying because he knew who my family was. He didn’t want them to come after him if he gave up too soon.

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     I realized death wasn’t something to joke about that night. Sure, I’ve killed before. Watched it, done it, told others to carry it out. But I’d never been that close myself.

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     Too close.

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     Now my hands shake when I think about it too much. Not out of fear, but anger.

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     I’m pissed as hell that life is different. That I can’t just laugh stuff off and fuck anything walking because it’s fun. No, now I’ve got to have fucking flashbacks and see that every step I take has seven repercussions.

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     Fucking hell.

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     Vinny would say I’m finally growing up.

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     Bobby would just snort at the obvious, and Danny wouldn’t say shit. He rarely talks unless forced. Milly might get it. We are twins after all. And she got close too. But she was always more grown-up than me. Those extra moments in the womb really did make me the baby of the family. And I guess it made me the only idiot.

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     To think I could grow old in life, especially this life. The life of a mobster, or so the tabloids say. I like to think that my brothers and I are just running a business. One that’s shady and only shows like one-fifth of what we actually do in public, but a business nonetheless. A family one. 

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     Mom said I was the life of the family. That my role was to liven things up when it got too dark. But if the fucking has died down over the last few months, you can sure as hell believe the laughing has as well. I’ve grunted out my mirth more times than Vinny, and it’s being noticed. My eldest brother is not one for jokes, and my humor was never something he found amusing. “Annoying” is what he called it. And I lived for that. To annoy him. It was funny as shit.

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     Now I don’t. Not that I don’t find it funny still, but my humor is gone. The jokes don’t come anymore. My one-line quips are dried up. I almost got my neck severed, and somehow I lost my gift of gab. And the desire to find it.

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     No one has called me out on it. Not yet. But I get looks. I see them. They try to hide them at first, thinking the wound is still fresh and all, but it’s been several months. If I’m not used to this crap by now, I should be getting over it. Or finding my old self again.

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     Or that’s what I hear. Not to my face, but people aren’t as quiet as they think they are. My family will never voice it, but their looks speak volumes. And those who do talk, they forget that while I might be the “funny, lively one” in the family, I’m also known for my skills at getting information.

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     Most probably think it’s because of how many women I sleep with. Sure, I’ve gotten information that way, but not always. And sneaking into places was both a challenge and a joy. If I had another life, I would have been a spy, I think. Secret Agent Tommy. Has a nice ring to it.

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     A ping from Dante’s phone pulls me out of my musing.

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     “Pretty sure those are meant to be on Airplane Mode.”

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     He scoffs. “And you keep saying you’re not afraid of flying. We all know that warning is bullshit. Besides, what’s the point of owning your own plane if you don’t get to change the rules?”

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     “It’s not your plane,” I deadpan.

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     He looks up from his phone with a smirk and a wink. “Not yours either, Tommy boy.”

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     Rolling my eyes, I look out the window.

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     “Your brother wants to see you once we land.”

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     “Which one?” I question without turning my head. Either Bobby’s going to be pissed at how much money I lost on the fight, or Danny’s going to want a full rundown on why I pulled some of his team into my little side business to look for a fighter who wasn’t on the official family roster. He’s got an issue with sharing his hired guns for those considered outsiders. And to Danny, that’s anyone besides the immediate family.

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     “Vinny.”

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     The big man himself.

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     Can’t be a good thing.

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     I usually annoy him too much for him to want to call me. But I’ve been off my game, and now it looks like I’m getting called into the principal’s office.

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     I just hope it’s better than last time. When I found out my sister wasn’t ever coming home again, that about killed me. And I’ve already dealt with enough near-death moments as it is.

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     “Knock, knock.”

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     “It’s customary to actually knock on the door and wait for an answer rather than saying the actual noise and then making yourself at home,” Vinny drawls without looking away from the papers he’s writing on at his desk.

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     I shrug as I plop myself into one of the stuffy armchairs facing his desk. It’s the kind that looks uncomfortable and is. Big bro’s way of making sure no one stays in his office too long. However, I find if you drape a leg over the armrest, it becomes infinitely more comfortable.

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     He raises an eyebrow, no doubt being able to see me in his periphery, but he still doesn’t look up.

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     “If I said who I was, I got half a mind to think you’d make me wait till you were done.”

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     “I would. Because I’m busy, as you can see.”

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     “Yes, but by coming in, I force you to either finish faster or stop altogether. Because, as Mom says, family comes first. Work can wait.”

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     He looks up with a deep breath and a glare on his face while also seeming bored. It’s really an impressive look, but it gets him to put the pen down at least.

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     I grin at him. Wide enough to annoy. Annoying him still brings me some joy. “You called?”

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     “Yes.” He takes a beat before he nods and stands, buttoning his suit before going to the bar on one side of his office and pouring drinks.

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     Must be after seven. Not that I’ve really looked at a watch, well, ever. What’s the point? Someone is bound to tell you if you’re early or late. Besides, I’ve got people who keep me on time for things I need to get to. And while I might not watch the clock religiously, Vinny does. And he only drinks the good stuff when he’s “off” the clock. Not that it doesn’t keep him from working at all hours of the night and day. The guy is the epitome of a workaholic.

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     He drinks wine at work functions, or any time he needs to appear that he’s letting loose but really isn’t. I mean, we grew up with wine on the table for every meal. That stuff is basically like water for us; we can drink it for hours and not feel the effects of relaxation. But bring in some whiskey and I’m all in for a good time.

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     “How was Michigan? Did you just get back? I heard there was a bit of a situation with a product you own.”

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     I snort at his words. Vinny doesn’t mind the fighting, be it men or women, but he never understood the underground part of it. He prefers to watch a paid fight from a box suite, not in an empty warehouse that has troughs to piss in and beer sold in plastic cups.

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     “Arrived just before now.” I give him a solid look before I continue. “Which I’m sure you already knew.”

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     I don’t miss the corner of his lip rising in glee for half a second before he goes neutral again. Vinny is as protective of us as Danny is. I’m sure he even had Danny monitoring the airfield and reporting in as soon as I set foot back on home soil. But that’s brotherly love for you. Honestly, I’d rather them smother me with caring, or whatever they call this, than leave me out in the cold. I’ve seen a few families do that, and I don’t want it. Who would I annoy if I were on my own? Myself? I’m too amazing to be bothered with myself. Apart from the fact that I was a stupid kid a few months back, and now I’m dealing with some mental issues about how long a person can live in this life. Besides that, I’m amazing.

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     “All is right in the world. The Hounds were able to figure things out with little help from Danny’s boys.”

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     He hums in acknowledgment, probably understanding what I’m not saying—that Danny doesn’t need to be in a hissy fit if no one from his team got hurt. Sure, he’ll probably still complain and shit, but not too much since no blood was spilled.

​     Vinny pours me a glass without asking, bringing it to me and toasting me with a silent clink from his own before taking a healthy sip. I do the same. I’m not an animal. I know my brother only gets the best; why waste it with a throwback? Also, like Bobby with money, Vinny is pretty stingy about sharing his few loves. And his liquor is one of them.

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      “So, who died?” No use in beating around the bush.

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     “You did.”

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