Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 60

DOMENICO

The Raven Club’s private lounge wasn’t for eating or socializing. It was where deals were struck... and promises quietly died. And that was exactly what I was here to do.

To strike a deal with a power-hungry politician who wanted the world but wouldn’t soil their own hands to take it.

I took the corner seat, always the one facing the door. Nicolo stood by it, arms folded, expression blank. Luca, one of my best men, leaned against the wall near the minibar, watching, silent as ever.

The man I was waiting for had arrived early, but his nerves gave him away before he even opened his mouth.

"Mr. Gravano." His voice cracked slightly as he stepped in, carrying a briefcase and a smile that didn’t belong on his face. "A pleasure, truly."

I remained seated, pinning him with a cold stare. "You’re on time, Mr. Ventresca."

He adjusted his tie, a politician’s nervous tic that I was already used to. "I was told punctuality matters to you."

"It does." I gestured toward the chair across from me. "Sit."

He obeyed. The leather groaned under his weight. Sweat gathered near his temples despite the room’s cool air.

I poured two fingers of whiskey into his glass, untouched into mine. "Drink," I said.

He did, quickly. The glass clinked against the table when he set it down. "I appreciate you meeting me privately," he started, voice smoother now that the alcohol had kissed his lips. "I know your time is... valuable."

I let silence fill the space until he began to squirm again. Then, I said, "You said it was urgent."

"It is." He leaned forward, lowering his voice though no one could hear us. "I’m running for mayor. You probably know that already."

"I know." Everyone did. Ventresca was the kind of man who talked too much and paid people to listen.

"Well..." He cleared his throat. "The problem is... I’ve had some associates. Old business relationships. Not illegal, not really, just—well—gray areas." He hesitated. "And there are people who would love to drag that into the light."

"People," I repeated quietly. "Who?"

He fumbled with his briefcase, snapping it open. Bundles of cash, crisp, lined perfectly. My men didn’t move; they’d seen worse, larger, heavier.

"There’s more," he said quickly, catching my lack of reaction. "A first installment. Just to show I’m serious."

"I never doubted that," I said. "What I doubt is your understanding of what you’re asking for."

"I need this... gone," he whispered. "There are files, documents, recordings. And a few people who know too much. I don’t want them around when the campaign gets serious."

The man’s voice cracked on the word people. He didn’t have the stomach for the things he implied. He only had money. Most of them did.

I leaned back, fingers brushing the cool edge of my glass. "You think you can buy silence that easily?"

His throat bobbed. "With the right amount, yes."

"Silence isn’t something you buy," I said, my tone steady. "It’s something you earn. And once you have it, you protect it."

"I understand." He licked his lips, forcing a grin. "And I’m willing to pay whatever it takes. You name the price."

I studied him for a long moment, his manicured hands, the trembling fingers, the way his eyes darted to Nicolo every few seconds like a mouse watching a hawk.

"Money’s not the issue," I said finally. "What you’re asking for is permanence. And permanence has consequences."

He swallowed hard. "I just... can’t have my name tied to any of it. Not before the election."

I leaned forward. "Then make sure you’re the kind of man worth protecting. You’re asking me to clean up your mess, not build you a crown."

He flinched, then nodded rapidly. "Of course. I’m ready to be... better."

The hypocrisy made me want to laugh, but I didn’t. Instead, I said, "Give me names. Files. Locations. Anything that exists outside your control."

He reached into his briefcase again, pulling out a sealed envelope. "Everything’s here."

I took it, slid it across the table, didn’t open it. That was number one rule, never appeared too eager to take a job.

"I’ll look it over. You’ll get a call when it’s handled." I said with a raise of my brows.

"And the cost?"

"Don’t worry about the cost," I said. "Worry about trust."

Ventresca’s forced smile wavered. "I can trust you, Mr. Gravano. Everyone says so."

"That depends," I said. "Are you going to run your mouth after this?"

"God, no. You have my word."

"Your word means nothing to me," I said quietly. "But your fear, that I believe."

His Adam’s apple bobbed. "Understood."

We sat in silence for a moment. The clock ticked somewhere behind me, the steady sound of time cutting through his anxiety.

He stood too fast. "Then... we’re done?"

"For now."

He hesitated, then said, "If there’s ever anything you need from me..."

"There won’t be," I interrupted. "Politicians don’t keep promises, and I don’t ask for favors."

That finally shut him up. He nodded, gathered his things, and left without finishing his drink.

The door clicked shut. Silence.

Nicolo spoke first. "Pathetic."

I glanced at him. "Useful."

He grunted in agreement. Luca poured himself a drink and muttered, "You want us to move tonight, boss?"

"No," I said. "Not yet. Let him sweat a little. Fear keeps men honest."

They nodded. They understood my rhythm. I didn’t rush. Timing was everything, too early and the wrong eyes noticed, too late and opportunities bled out. I’d built an empire on that simple rule.

When they left, I stayed behind. The room felt smaller after business ended, quieter, heavier. The envelope sat in front of me, the politician’s neat handwriting staring back like a doom.

I lit a cigarette, let the smoke curl toward the ceiling.

Every man who came to me wanted the same thing: to make time forget them. To erase mistakes. To start over without the past breathing down their neck.

But time didn’t forget. It just changed the form of memory.

My phone buzzed.

I didn’t recognize the number immediately, but the voice that followed was familiar, calm, disciplined, and unmistakably my son’s.

"Padre," Paolo said. "I hope I’m not interrupting."

"You are," I said, though my tone softened slightly. "What is it?"

"I wanted to inform you that the Marino situation didn’t go as expected. He’s not interested in joining our side. For now."

"I assumed as much." Renato Marino wasn’t the type to bend easily. "What’s your plan?"

"I’ll be heading home tomorrow. It’s nearly my wedding anniversary, and I’d like to be with my wife."

A long silence hung between us, heavy enough to press against my chest. I could feel the weight of everything unsaid, every glance and thought bouncing in the space like static electricity.

"I see," I said finally, my voice tight, carefully measured. "That’s... wise."

But the words tasted bitter. Wise? Was it really wisdom, or cowardice? And why did my stomach twist at the thought of him coming back home, like some part of me didn’t want him to ever return?

"I wanted your approval before coming back, that’s why I called." Paolo replied, polite, formal as always. "I’ll arrive in the evening."

"Fine."

"Anything you’d like me to bring from New York?"

"No. Just yourself," I said. "You did well, son."

He chuckled lightly. "Always."

When the call ended, the silence that followed pressed against my chest. The word anniversary lingered in my head like an echo in a cathedral.

Reina.

That single name was enough to fracture the calm I’d built all day.

I stared at the empty glass on the table before me. My reflection in the amber looked back, older, colder, sharper than I remembered. I’d spent a lifetime mastering restraint, and yet the thought of seeing her back under the same roof as him...

I exhaled through my teeth, low and slow. Then I reached for the phone again, stared at the black screen until the weight of it felt unbearable.

A second later, it hit the wall. The crack of glass shattering echoed through the room, sharp and final.

Luca opened the door instantly, hand on his gun. "Boss?"

I waved him off. "It slipped."

He looked at the shattered phone, then at me. "Sure," he said carefully. "You want me to get you another?"

"Later."

He hesitated. "You all right?"

I nodded once. "Go."

He closed the door again.

I sat there for a long time, the smoke curling through the quiet, heart thumping hard against my chest.

Business was done for the night. But control... that was a different kind of work.

"I don’t want him to come back to her. Ever." I gritted out, squeezing the cigarette in my hand until it burned my skin.