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Authors: Mallory Monroe
Mick Sinatra 4: If You Don't Know Me by Now
MICK
SINATRA 4
IF
YOU DON’T KNOW ME BY NOW
By
MALLORY
MONROE
Copyright©2016
Mallory Monroe
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The Maserati
came to a rolling stop and Mick Sinatra and his son Teddy jumped out of the
front, while Angelo Jovanni, Mick’s enforcer, jumped out of the back.
All three men ran into the building, took the
stairs two at a time, and ran onto the hall past the dormant elevators.
Mick led the
charge.
He was accustomed to
crisis.
He was accustomed to getting
there before any shit jumped off.
But he
wasn’t accustomed to this. His ankle length white coat flared around his black
suit as his swift walk became a run.
Just thinking about it had his heart pounding.
Just thinking about it had him racing.
Teddy was younger, but he could barely keep
up with his father.
And Angelo couldn’t
keep up with either one of them.
Mick ran to
the condo and used the key Gloria had given him to unlock the door.
But the lock had been changed.
Another surprise.
She left her small apartment and moved into
the spacious two-story condo, a home nestled inside one of the most luxurious
condo buildings in Philly, less than three weeks ago.
She changed the locks then and gave him a
key.
Now they were changed
again
?
“I’ve got
it, boss,” Angelo said, knowing that he came on gigs like this for his muscle,
and he was ready to knock down that door if he had to.
But Mick didn’t give him a chance.
This was his daughter they were talking
about.
This was his daughter who was
screaming in that phone.
Every second
counted.
He did his own dirty work and
kicked in that door so savagely that the door fell off its hinges.
Teddy began
calling for his sister as soon as they got inside.
“Gloria?
Gloria?
Glori
!”
But there
was no answer.
Teddy and Angelo began
running throughout the condo in search of Gloria Sinatra.
But Mick stood still.
In the middle of the room.
He had to see what he could see, and rushing
around wasn’t going to show him the hidden evidence.
He looked at every piece of furniture.
He looked at every section of every wall.
He turned around.
He turned back around.
But he saw nothing.
No blood.
No signs of struggle.
Nothing.
“Dad, up
here!”
It was
Teddy.
And from the desperate sound in
his voice, Mick knew it was bad.
He ran
upstairs in mere seconds, across the landing and into the master bedroom.
Angelo was already there.
But even
though Mick was expecting the worse, he was still not prepared for the
bloodbath he saw.
Because blood was
everywhere.
On the walls.
On the bed.
On the knobs of Gloria’s bedroom door.
Mick’s heart was pounding when he walked through that room.
He saw blood, but no body.
Was it in the master bath?
“Nothing’s
in there,” Angelo said.
“It’s clean as a
whistle in there, boss.”
But Mick
knew something was there.
He could feel
it in his bones.
No kidnapper left this
much blood, and allowed Gloria to phone her father screaming, unless they
wanted him to find something.
They
wanted Mick to see this carnage.
But Mick
knew there was more to see.
He knew
there was more.
He tore that room upside
down.
He, with Teddy and Angelo helping
him, rummaged through every drawer, tossed the mattress, tossed the bedspring,
knocked over the dresser and chest, knocked over the dressing table.
But they found nothing.
Not in the furniture, not under the
furniture.
Nothing.
Until Mick thought again.
“The
safe
,” he said as if it was a revelation
in and of itself, and then he took off.
“What safe?”
Teddy asked, running behind him.
Angelo’s big
bulk ran too, but he was no match for the Sinatras.
By the time he made it downstairs, across the
living room and into the home office, Mick was already unlocking and then
opening a safe that had been tucked into a wall behind a painting.
There was some cash in it, some expensive
jewelry too.
But also a DVD.
When Teddy saw the DVD, he grabbed it.
He saw the
title of the DVD.
“Dad, look,” he said,
and handed it to his father.
The
handwritten name on the DVD was what caught Mick’s attention too.
For Dad
were the only words written on it.
For Dad
was the title.
Teddy stared
at his father.
He could see the agony in
Mick’s big, intense green eyes.
But Mick
was never so thrown that he couldn’t handle business.
“Put it on,” he ordered Teddy, and handed it
back to him.
Mick sat
behind his daughter’s desk as Teddy put the DVD into her laptop computer.
Teddy stood beside Mick, Angelo stood behind
Mick, and all three watched.
Within
seconds the beautiful face of Gloria Sinatra, Mick’s biracial daughter, a woman
in her early twenties, appeared on the screen.
She was sitting in this very study, exactly where her father was now
sitting, when she made the video.
“This is
difficult,” she said.
He could see the
pain all over her pretty face.
“This is
really hard.
But it’s been that kind of
a few months.
I tried to keep it from
you, Dad.
And I hope you never have to
see this.
I hope nobody does.
But . . .” Tears appeared in Gloria’s big,
sad eyes.
“I’m afraid, Daddy.”
Mick’s heart
squeezed in pain.
Teddy moved in closer.
“I’m afraid
Daddy,” Gloria repeated, “and I can’t keep overlooking what I know.
I can’t keep making excuses for what I’ve
found out.
So I have to do this.
I have to let you know that if anything
happens to me, anything bad, I want you to know who’s responsible.”
Teddy and
Angelo looked at each other.
What the
fuck?
But Mick didn’t move a
muscle.
He sat still and stared at his
terrified child on that screen.
“If anything
happens to me,” Gloria continued, and then she hesitated again.
“If anything happens to me, please know that
Roz is behind it.”
As soon as
Mick heard that name, he rose to his feet.
His face was frowned, his entire countenance was in disbelief.
Teddy was equally stunned.
“Roz either
did it herself,” Gloria continued, “or hired somebody to do it.
She’s the one responsible.
That’s where you have to look first.”
Mick’s heart
was hammering.
Teddy’s heart was
hammering.
And Angelo was
dumbstruck.
He looked at Mick.
“Roz?” he asked.
“But that’s your wife, boss.
Mrs. Sinatra is Roz.
What is she talking about?
That’s your wife!”
Teddy looked
at his father too.
His stunned eyes
unable to receive it.
But Gloria didn’t
tell lies.
Gloria didn’t hold
grudges.
Gloria loved Roz!
And Mick,
for the first time in all his life, was speechless.
Five Weeks Earlier
African-American
socialite Tamron Dawson-Blake walked into Anstrom’s and was immediately greeted
by Danielle, a gangly saleswoman anxious to please.
“Mrs. Blake, welcome back!”
“Thank you,
darling,” Tamron said as she held her clutch against her side and removed her
gloves.
She was married to Benny Blake,
starting wide receiver for the Philadelphia Eagles, and everybody knew her for
her charity work.
They also knew her for
her lavish lifestyle.
“Is there
anything I can help you with today, ma’am?
We have a new shipment of your favorite scarfs.
They came in yesterday.”
“Actually,
I’m good.
I’m meeting a friend of
mine.
Mrs. Sinatra.”
Tamron began looking around.
“Has she arrived yet?”
“I don’t
believe so, no, ma’am,” Danielle responded, looking around too.
But it was the name that stuck with her.
Sinatra Industries was one of the largest
companies,
and employers
, in
Philly.
Mick Sinatra was a name as well
known around their town as the players for the Eagles and the 76ers.
Could the person she was waiting for be
that
Sinatra?
She decided to test it.
“Mrs. Mick Sinatra has not yet arrived,” the
saleswoman said.
“I’ll just
browse around then,” Tamron said, “until she comes.”
“Let me know
if I can be of any assistance,” Danielle replied.
But as soon as Tamron left her side, and
began looking at the expensive clothes in the expensive boutique, she hurried
behind the counter, picked up the phone, and called the office upstairs.
She called the owner of Anstrom’s.
“Mrs. Benny
Blake is here today,” she said into the phone.
“Good,” the
owner responded.
“Treat her well.
We can use every large order we can get.”
“She also
mentioned,” Danielle continued, “that she’s waiting for the arrival of Mrs.
Mick Sinatra.”
A bump sound
was heard, as if the owner had quickly risen to her feet.
Danielle smiled.
“
Mrs. Sinatra
?” the owner asked with
sudden excitement in her drab voice.
“Mrs. Mick Sinatra is coming to our shop?
To
my
shop?”
“That’s what
she said.”
“Are you
certain, Danielle?”
“Unless
there’s more than one Mrs. Mick Sinatra, I’m certain.”
“I’m on my
way down.
If she gets there before I
can, you treat that woman like royalty.
Her connections could get us back on the map!”
The
saleslady smiled.
“Yes, ma’am,” she
said, and hung up the phone.
But it was
no laughing matter for Danielle either.
Anstrom’s was struggling in this economy.
Many of the elites who used to shop there had
either gone bankrupt, were near bankruptcy, or were too cautious with their
money to splurge.
If things didn’t pick
back up, their doors could shut in a matter of months.
Although Danielle didn’t see how one wealthy
woman could make the kind of difference they needed made, her boss seemed
hopeful.
So she was hopeful too.
Mrs. Parks,
the heavyset Caucasian owner, made it downstairs just as the doors of the shop
opened and Rosalind Sinatra walked in.
Although Danielle didn’t recognize her, the owner did.
She’d seen her in society columns, or on the
arm of that gorgeous Mick Sinatra at different high end functions around
town.
Many of the women in her circle
despised her for taking Mick away from them, but the owner knew Mick wouldn’t
give any of those females the time of day anyway.
She was just pleased that his wife was in her
shop.
“Get your
phone out,” Parks whispered to Danielle.
“Take a few snapshots as I greet Mrs. Sinatra.
If she doesn’t buy a thing, we can still make
it worth our while.”
“By posting
it on social media?” Danielle asked.
“Of course,”
Parks responded, and made her way toward the entrance.
It seemed
tacky to Danielle, but she wasn’t the one struggling to keep a business
afloat.
Her boss was.
She pulled out her cellphone and privately
did what she was told.
“Roz, you
made it!” Tamron said gaily as she hurried over to her friend.
She and Roz hugged vigorously.
Then Tamron leaned back and took a good look
at her.
“Don’t you look fab as usual,”
she said.
“Thanks,
girl.”
Roz began looking around as she
placed her clutch beneath her arm, and began removing her leather gloves.
She was dressed in a mid-length dark blue
jacket with a thick belt tied at her waist, and a flare-legged tailored
pantsuit beneath the jacket.
“It is so
cold out there!”
What Tamron
loved most about Roz was her style.
She
dressed marvelously, she thought, no matter what combination of clothes she wore.
She also looked marvelous, with her thick
black hair, her flawless dark brown skin, and her big, bright brown eyes.
And the fact that she was Mick Sinatra’s wife
only enhanced her beauty.
She had to
have something awfully special, Tamron knew, to wrangle a man like him.
“You’re shivering,” she said, rubbing Roz’s
arm.
“I can’t
seem to stay warm.
It’s so cold out
there.”
“Come on,
now, Roz.
I know your New York ass is
not complaining about our mild weather.”
“Oh, yes, she
is,” Roz said, and she and Tamron laughed.
It was only
after they began laughing did Mrs. Parks, the shop owner, decide to
interrupt.
She hurried over.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” she said.
“Hello,
Ethel,” Tamron said.
“Roz, this is Ethel
Parks.
She owns the place.”
The women
shook hands.
“Very nice to meet you, Ms.
Parks.”
“Very nice
to meet you, Mrs. Sinatra.
Am I
correct?”
Roz found it
strange when people she never recalled seeing before knew who she was.
But Mick was well known around town.
She was always with Mick.
She was getting used to it.
“Yes,” she said.
“That is correct.”
Then she began looking around.
“Very nice shop you have here.”
“Thank you
so much,” Parks said with a big smile.
“We cater to our customers one thousand percent.
So if you see anything you like, anything at
all, even if it’s not in your size, we can order it for you and have it to you
within a day.”
Roz liked
her customer service.
But she also knew
the place it was coming from.
“Why thank
you, Mrs. Parks,” she said.
“You’re
welcome.
Please let me know if you need
anything.”
And then she walked away.
“Desperate
much?” Roz asked.
“And how,”
Tamron said.
“Her sales have tanked like
a rock in the ocean over the last few months.
When she was flying high she barely knew my name.
Now she’s all up in my grill. Please.”
“Nothing
wrong with somebody doing all they can to stay afloat,” Roz said as they began
looking at clothes.
“I’ve been there
myself.”
Tamron
smiled.
“I forgot we used to be Broadway
actresses.”
“Struggling
Broadway actresses,” she reminded Tam.
“And it was pretty much
off
-Broadway
actresses most of the time for both of us, thank you very much.”
“But at
least we knew when to call it a day,” Tamron said.
“At least we didn’t let all of that
experience go to waste by waiting for that big break.
You made your own break with your talent
agency.
I’ll bet you aren’t struggling
anymore.”
“Thank God,”
Roz said as she made her way to the lingerie section.
“To God be the glory for my success.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the
struggle.
I haven’t.” She looked at
Tamron.
“And I never will.”
“I’ve
forgotten it already,” Tamron said defiantly.
“I act as if I never struggled a day in my life, and people respect me
for it.
You ought to forget about that past
stuff, Roz, just like I did, and move the hell on.
We’re doing fab now and that’s all that
matters.
As for all of those losers we
left behind?
I say tough.
If we could get up, they can too.”
Roz looked
at Tamron.
She never understood how she
could so easily forget her past.
It was
such a contradiction. Tamron gave to charities all day long, and hosted
giveaways to the poor every holiday, but she seemed to despise the people who
needed the help.
There was a time, not
that long ago, when Tamron was a telemarketer out there trying to make a living
too.
Then she married a baller who
happened to have a little money, and suddenly she was a rich socialite with no
sympathy for anybody?
Roz wasn’t cut
from that kind of cloth.
She would like
to think she was made of sterner stuff than that.
Like empathy.
Like compassion.
Like respect no
matter what station in life people found themselves.
Because Roz had been at the lowest station
herself.
“So how’s
the twins?” Tamron asked.
Roz
smiled.
“Spoiled,” she said, as she held
up lingerie.
“How else?
Mick is their father.”
Tamron
laughed.
“They’re spoiled rotten
then.
And it’s been what?
A month since you had those beautiful
babies?”
“Six weeks
and a day.
That’s why I told you to find
me a good place for lingerie that’s not my usual stores because I do not want
to hear it from those ladies.”
Tamron
smiled.
“You mean they’ll know why you
suddenly want to look sexy again?”
“Exactly,”
Roz said.
“Well,
honey, you have no points to prove.
You
kept your shape and everything.”
“That’s what
you think,” Roz said.
“I’ve got a few
more pounds to lose.”
“Mick’s
complaining?”
“Are you
kidding?
He thinks my baby fat is cute.”
“Cute?
Don’t you believe it!
He just wants you as unattractive as possible
to stave off all these hungry brothers out here.”
Roz
laughed.
“I’m sure that’s not it.”
“Don’t be so
certain now,” Tamron said.
“Men can be
very calculating, especially if they love you.
And for a man like Mick Sinatra to marry a woman?
Please.
He has to love your black ass something fierce.”
Roz laughed
again.
Tamron had issues, but she was
always good for a laugh.
“So, let me
guess,” Tamron said.
“Mick hired a nanny
to help you with the little ones, didn’t he?”
“A
nanny?
No.
Four nannies?
Yes.”
Tamron’s
small eyes stretched.
“
Four nannies
?”
When she realized others were looking over,
she lowered her voice.
“Are you out of
your ever loving mind?
Why would you
ever need
four
nannies?”
“It’s only
for their first year,” Roz said.
“And I know
it’s excessive. I told him it was excessive.
But Mick runs our household and if he says I’m getting four nannies, I
get four nannies.”