no control

• twenty seven •

elijah

After I dropped off the Expedition and all the shopping bags at the house, I called Aaron. He was working at the warehouse since I was with Gladys all day.

"Boss," he answered.

"Any news from the PD about the case?" I asked.

"Not yet."

"Okay. What about the orders and shipments going out today?"

"Things are fine. The boys are loading up the New York shipment into a plane now."

I raked a hand through my hair. "Good. Send me an ETA for the shipment once they take off."

I was about to meet with Marco and he would want an update on his arms shipment.

"Yes, sir," Aaron said. "Anything else?"

"No. Keep me updated about the case."

"Of course."

I soon arrived at the popular Italian restaurant, Mio Mundo. As I entered and bypassed the hostess, I moved through the dining area and then kitchen. The kitchen staff eyed me before quickly looking away.

I rolled a cart of olive oil out from a plain, industrial-looking door. Beside the door handle was a keypad. I tapped in my code and slipped behind the door.

A plume of cigar smoke hung in the air while I descended the dimly lit staircase. When I reached the basement, I was greeted by the sight of three strippers illuminated by neon lights.

My gaze landed on a familiar graying head of hair situated on a sofa in front of the stage. The music thrumming was slow, erotic, and Italian.

The restaurant upstairs was one of many that the Gambino brothers ran as part of their larger operation and served as a front for their more lucrative underground activities.

I nodded at the guard stationed nearby that I recognized from many visits to this secret club. He was there to protect Marco, who was puffing on a cigar at the bar.

I lowered myself into the seat beside him. His eyes were trained on the brunette twirling around on the pole.

"Zare," he grumbled with a cough. "How good of you to visit."

"It's been awhile," I ceded. "Are you well, Gambino?"

"Well enough. Not dead yet. And you?"

I shrugged. "I'm here to check on things."

A girl in a strappy excuse of a bra and matching red thong appeared beside me. She wore a smile that didn't meet her eyes, as enshrouded in eyeliner as they were.

"May I offer you a drink, sir?" she asked.

"Michter's, neat," I said.

She flashed me a grin before twirling off. I turned back to Marco and found him simpering at me.

"What?" I muttered.

"You usually like that one more," he said with a raspy chuckle.

I shrugged again.

I wasn't shy with women but he exaggerated. I was never partial to any one girl in this club and I'd fucked plenty of them—they were one of the Italians' many specialties. However, due to recent developments in my personal life, they no longer interested me in any capacity.

"I'm here for business today," I told him.

"What a shame."

My drink was brought to me and I took a long drag. "So, how is the situation in Harlem?"