The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,52
and it wasn’t just one person. A moment later, a half dozen of Carmine’s biggest, burliest soldiers filed into the room. Their jackets were unbuttoned, the pistols in their belts visible, and the men lined up in front of the bar, blank expressions fixed on Salvatore.
Salvatore looked around at the new arrivals, as well as all the muscle who worked in the speakeasy. His rage was still bubbling, but he closed his mouth, pressing his lips together so tight they blanched.
And Carmine had had enough.
“Get the hell off my property,” he snarled. “Now.”
Salvatore turned another glare on him, and he started to speak, but hesitated again after another glance at the row of well-armed bimbos who were waiting to fill him with daylight if Carmine gave the word. In a rare moment of intelligence, he put up his hands and took a step back, staying upright this time as porcelain crunched under his heel. “Fine. But this ain’t over, Venetian.”
“No, it’s not.” Carmine motioned toward the bar. “Because you need to pay the lady in charge for the damage you did to her bar. Not to mention chasing her customers out.”
“I ain’t paying for—”
“Or I can speak to your uncle about it. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to compensate her.”
That had Salvatore pressing his lips together even tighter, his jaw working so hard his teeth must’ve been grinding painfully. “That before or after he finds out you slugged me?”
“Depends.” Carmine grinned, narrowing his eyes. “Do you need your uncle to settle your debts and your differences with other men?”
He was genuinely surprised smoke didn’t start curling out from Salvatore’s ears. Even more surprising was that the man pulled out some cash and stalked over to the bar. Carmine’s men parted, giving him just enough space to squeeze in between them, and the whole room was still and quiet while Salvatore and Giulia negotiated a price. Carmine stayed back; Giulia was probably livid enough that she’d needed his intervention, and she’d tear his head off if he tried to take over here too. As long as Salvatore didn’t forget himself, then there was no reason for Carmine to step in.
Eventually, they came to an agreement. Salvatore counted out a stack of bills, slammed it down on the bar, and shoved the rest of his cash into his pocket.
“Thank you,” Giulia said brightly, collecting the money.
Salvatore muttered something and headed for the door, but Carmine stopped him. “Oh, you’re not going yet.”
“What? I paid your sister, and you can’t just keep me here.”
“No, but you’re not going to leave this place a mess.” He gestured at the ransacked lounge. “Be a gentleman for once in your life and pick up the furniture.”
With a sarcastic laugh, Salvatore brushed past Carmine, but the bouncer stayed in front of the door. Salvatore motioned for him to move. “Out of the way.”
The bounced turned toward the bar. “Miss Battaglia?”
“He can leave once my lounge looks like it’s supposed to.”
Everyone shifted their attention to Salvatore. His cheeks flushed red, and he was clearly about to try to shove the bouncer aside, but must’ve thought better of it. Big Paulie was bigger than Carmine’s usual bodyguard, and he wasn’t afraid of no one.
Salvatore grumbled something under his breath, and Carmine got maybe a little too much amusement out of the idiot’s humiliation as he righted every table and every chair that hadn’t been broken. Carmine considered making him clear away the glass and porcelain but decided against putting anything sharp in this loose cannon’s hands.
When Salvatore was through, Carmine escorted him to the door, and he slung an arm around his shoulders. “Show your face in this bar again,” he growled between clenched teeth, “and there won’t be anything for your mother to bury. Am I clear?”
Through the rage, a satisfying flicker of fear crossed Salvatore’s face, and he nodded.
Carmine let him go, and no one said a word as the bouncer pulled open the door and Salvatore il Sacchi strode out into the night. He shouted something at his men who were no doubt still waiting in the alley, but the closing door cut off most of the words.
To his own men, Carmine said, “Thank you, boys. That’ll be all.”
They all nodded, and someone murmured, “Yeah, boss,” as they all filed back out of the speakeasy.
Carmine leaned against the bar where Giulia was counting out what she’d taken from Salvatore. Voice quiet, he asked, “You all right?”