Page 7 of Sinful Bargains

“How’s Adriana doing lately?” I asked out of curiosity. “Figured you might need some help around here after that hip surgery.”

“Oh, she’s a nice woman. Does everything I ask and keeps her head down. I like her,” he said with a small chuckle. “Glad you sent her my way.” The deep lines on his face creased as he grinned, a reminder of the years he’d put into this place.

Most people only saw an old man, a shopkeeper past his prime. But I knew better. Davidson had been a real player back in the day. During Prohibition, he’d turned this little store into a front, building the speakeasy downstairs and making a killing. As time wore him down, he passed the reins to the family,letting the operation run under new hands. Now, he watched from the sidelines—but his mind was still sharp, and nothing in this neighborhood happened without him knowing.

I gave him a nod. “Good. I’ll see you after.”

He simply smirked, stepping aside to let me through the back door where the real business took place.

I stepped intoThe Wise Guyto see Angela behind the counter. She was the only woman I knew who fit into this world like she was born for it—probably because she was. Every man in her family, from her brothers to her late husband, had been tied to the mafia. Angela had grown up around more wiseguys than anything else, and by now, she was just “one of us.” No one questioned it. DiSantis was already sitting in the back booth, waiting for me, but before I could head over, Angela called out, “Got a minute, Joey?”

I stopped at the bar, drumming my fingers against the counter. “What’s up, Ang?”

“My Enzo’s been running around with that new kid—Antonio.” She slid a glass across to me. “I don’t know where they came from or why they’re here. And I don’t know how much I can trust them. I met his mother down at the school, and she’s nice. Mr. Davidson adores her. Do you know anything about her?”

Before I could answer, the door swung open, and in walked Lucy. Her sparkly gloves caught the low light as she strutted up to the counter, her heels clicking against the floor.

“Angela, darling, make me a dirty martini, will ya? I’m parched,” she said, flashing that signature smirk before turning to me. “Hey, Joey.”

“Lucy.” I nodded, watching as she pulled off one glove with a slow, practiced motion. She always had a way of making an entrance. Lucy was Christopher’s daughter, a mafia princess in every sense of the word. On paper, she was the loyal wife ofHector, Christopher’s consigliere, but I knew better. She was sneaking around with Ben, but she’d never admit it.

I picked up the whiskey Ang poured me, letting the burn settle before answering. “I’m still working on the details,” I admitted. “But I think it’s safe to let kids be kids.”

She let out a small chuckle, shaking her head as if she knew better. I smirked, taking another sip before nodding toward DiSantis. “I’ll check in later.”

I slid into the booth across from DiSantis, my movements steady, deliberate.

“Joey! How’s it going?” he greeted me, his face lighting up.

I didn’t return the smile. “Vincent’s not happy with you. You need to watch your back—watch what you’re telling Hector.”

The grin faded instantly, his shoulders tensing.

“I went to bat for you,” I continued. “Told them you deserve a bigger cut, a seat at the table. Christopher backed me up. But if you take that seat, you’d better watch what you drink. Vincent doesn’t take kindly to requests.”

DiSantis exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers against the table. “I never meant to step on any toes, Joey. I just want what’s fair. My guys are breaking their backs for a small payout.”

I leaned back, my eyes steady on him. “Fair don’t mean shit in this life. You know that.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

“You’ll get your seat, but you need to tread lightly. Don’t give him a reason to think you’re a problem.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Look, Joey, I get it. But my operation at the docks—it’s making all of us money. The shipments are coming in smoothly, no hiccups, no heat. Luxury goods, artwork, electronics—you name it. We move it clean, we move it fast. We sell it for twice its worth. Hector takes his cut before I even see a dime. My guys are breaking their backs. I’m not asking for a handout, I’m asking for a fair slice of the pie.”

“I hear you,” I told him. “You’ve got my word. I’m going to make it happen because it will benefit us all.”

It would benefit us all. Lately, I’d been stepping up, taking more risks, and making bigger moves. Some things couldn’t always be settled with blood and broken bones—sometimes, you had to play it smart, treat it like a business. Power wasn’t just about fear; it was about control. And control meant knowing when to take and when to give. You couldn’t bleed a man dry and expect him to keep working for you. Sooner or later, that kind of greed came back to bite you.

ADRIANA

The morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains of our new home into the modest living room where I slept on the worn, floral-patterned couch. I stirred awake, my body aching slightly from the unforgiving cushions. It was far from luxury, but better than the hotel we’d left behind. And much better than the hell we’d escaped from.

I sat up, stretching my arms as my eyes wandered the small living room. The space was sparse but cozy, with cheap carpeting and walls painted a soft cream color. If you looked closely, you could find peeling paint throughout the house, but I told myself I'd repaint as soon as I got the extra money. All the furniture was second-hand. The living room had a small wooden coffee table and a worn chair in the corner with a lamp next to it. A small kitchenette occupied one corner, its white cabinets hanging slightly crooked, but functional, nonetheless. There was a four-seater table tucked away in the corner of the kitchen where Antonio and I had been spending plenty of time enjoying home-cooked meals again.

My gaze shifted to the closed bedroom door behind which Antonio still slept—the past few weeks had taken a toll on bothof us. We had wandered into Staten Island in the middle of a cold winter night, my wounds still healing. But now, with spring on the horizon, my wounds had disappeared—though the memories still haunted me every second of my life. I wished I could offer him more than just a tiny rental house, but it was a start—and starts, I reminded myself, were often humble. It was Mr. Davidson’s kindness that had made it all possible. I didn’t know why he’d taken such a liking to Antonio and me, but I wasn’t about to question it. His nephew’s property was affordable, and the rent arrangement was flexible—just what I needed while trying to find my footing.

I pushed off the couch, determined to start my Saturday morning despite the corner store being closed on Saturdays and Sundays. This was partly due to how uncomfortable the couch was, and partly due to the insomnia I had been facing sincethatnight. I padded to the kitchen and began preparing coffee, which I had become quite exceptional at, considering it was my main job at the corner store—ensuring the coffee pot was hot, fresh, and never empty. The steam curled toward the ceiling as I poured it into a chipped mug and sat at the small, wobbly table nearby. I clutched the mug tightly, savoring the warmth and the peace and quiet of the morning—something I was not used to, but had grown fond of.

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