Chapter 1

Tony Juliana loved Christmas, loved the whole holiday season. He loved the spirit, the lights, the decorations, the Christmas trees, the gift-giving, the parties, the endless variations of Christmas music, and most especially the children’s laughter ... Tony even loved shopping, the more people the better. In fact, except for a few brief but seemingly endless moments every Christmas eve, it was his favorite time of the year.

Those moments were the ones he spent with his family.

Tony Juliana had little use for his family, primarily because they had no use for him except as the source of monthly transfusions of cash. He had tried, time and again over the years, to mend fences with his wife, son and daughter, but in the end all of his attempts came to nothing. He admitted that the pain of those failures made him bitter where his family was concerned. Indeed it left the relationship between them so estranged that he could, and gleefully did, violate the wishes of the Don, Victor Philouma, and live apart from them. Victor wanted all the Family men to be family men ... but there was just no way either side of the Juliana family was going to allow that to happen.

Except at the traditional Christian holy days of Easter and Christmas, Tony and his family had nothing to do with each other. Midnight Mass Christmas Eve and morning Mass Easter Sunday Tony and his family would be seen at St. Mary Cathedral, pretending with all their might that they were a real family ... as Tony not-so-jokingly said, “trying to fool God by sitting real close to each other and acting like we enjoy it”.

His wife and children had long before made it clear that efforts at personalized gift-giving were unwelcome; however, in the spirit of the seasons, they would gladly accept cash. The little envelopes with Tony’s words of warm sentiment gracefully inscribed on them would appear like clockwork from his pocket the minute they left the cathedral Christmas Eve and would arrive in the mail the Monday before Easter. He doubted they even read the inscriptions, he knew they didn’t believe them if they did.

There were no gifts for Tony, not even the courtesy of notes of thanks. Overall he was at peace with that ... he understood the dynamics of his love/hate relationship with his family, and also understood they felt the same ... without the ‘love’. He might on rare occasions become a little maudlin about it, trying to tally up his misdeeds where they were concerned and balance them somehow, as if entries in a ledger, against the amount of sheer enmity his family had for him.

To his way of figuring, the totals didn’t balance. They had never balanced and were never going to balance ... and there was nothing he could do that he had not already done.

And so normally he saw his family during those brief moments and the rest of the year he deposited money in his wife’s and children’s accounts and lived as though he had no family. He found satisfaction of his need for that type of closeness with Big Vic Philouma’s family, delighting especially in the time he would spend with his godson, Niccolo. He had to travel a bit to see him, as officially Nick was estranged from his father, but every second of the travel was made worth it by the joy of visiting with him ... to visit with the young man he wished his own son had become. Oh, there was the obvious question of Nick’s sexual preference, but a good man is a good man, no matter who he likes to have sex with, or how. And Nick had grown to be a very good man.

But the upcoming holidays were complicated this year ... complicated by a most welcome and lovely addition to his life.

He’d walked into the club, The Elysian Fields, looking to learn a little about bondage and domination, sadism and masochism and he’d walked out with a pet.

Not exactly the ending to the evening he’d envisioned, but once he’d seen her down on her knees, licking a man’s boot while the man sneered at her and her efforts, he’d found himself unable to focus his attention anywhere else. He felt that somewhat amazing considering the other sights and sounds of the club, but nevertheless such was the case. Something about the sight of her in her skimpy little black robe, flesh-colored thong barely hiding her sex, slightly plump ass cheeks bearing the marks of an earlier punishment, reddened strips across the tanned, brown skin ... it intrigued him. So for awhile he’d sat quietly at his table, surrounded by his boys, and studied the man she was serving.

When you played cards with the upper echelons of the Philouma family, you either learned to read people, people who were very used to revealing nothing by face or body language, or you lost a lot of money. Tony Juliana did quite well at poker ... even against Big Vic.

The man whose boot she was licking ... his pomposity and arrogance could’ve been sensed by someone both deaf and blind. It rolled off of him in waves so heavy Tony almost imagined he could hear them breaking against the tables and chairs. Yet behind it all was fear, the almost constant stream of looks and glances to gauge his effect upon others, the occasional almost imperceptible start as someone new entered with their retinue, the hurried but covert examination to determine if he and his were still drawing the most attention.

It wasn’t that he needed to worry, Tony decided, the women he had with him, all collared and chained, were as lovely a group as any Tony had ever seen in any of his travels. Black, white, Hispanic, oriental, all beautiful ... and all occasionally revealing their disdain, Tony assumed, for the man they served and his treatment of the woman on the floor.

He summoned a waitress with a wave.

“My dear, could you have the manager come to speak with me?”

“Y-yes sir ... is everything alright?”

Tony realized the poor girl was afraid she’d displeased him in some way. “Sweetie, everything is wonderful, although I will need a fresh glass of wine sometime in the next ten or fifteen minutes.” He pulled a twenty out of the inner breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. “Please know, it’s not to discuss you ... except when I will mention to your manager what an exemplary hostess you’ve been.” He scanned his memory for her name.

“But now, Lynette, if you could get the manager for me, and another glass of wine, I would very much appreciate it.”

She rushed off to fulfill his requests and Tony smiled again. “Lovely girl, but her attitude tells me her superior is not the easiest or kindest of people to work under.”

Grunts from his boys were all the answer he’d expected, and all the answer he received.

Twenty minutes and two hundred dollars later the obsequious manager, Mr. Papadopolous, had given Tony all the information on Dick Laney that Tony could want. Tony and his boys made their move. As the boys faded into the crowd, quietly surrounding Laney and his little court of admirers, Tony walked up to his table with a mocking smile on his face. He had this Laney punk down cold and he knew it. It was all over but the shouting.

“Mr. Laney?”

“Yes, and you are... ?”

“No one important, Mr. Laney.” Tony slapped down a wrapped stack of fifty one-hundred-dollar bills. “Five thousand in cash against the woman licking your boot that I can make you shit yourself by saying two little one-syllable words.”

“That’s ludicrous,” Laney replied, snorting in amusement. “Easiest money I’ve ever made. You’re on. What are your ‘two words’?”

Looking directly in Laney’s eyes, Tony curved his lips in a slight grin, savoring the moment before saying the two little words, “Kill him.”

Even over the noise of the club - the throbbing of Depeche Mode’s ‘Master and Servant’, the chatter of excited onlookers, the ever-present susurration of a hundred club-goers’ conversations outside the circle that surrounded Laney and his women - the clicking of hammers being drawn back could be heard by all concerned as four large-caliber handguns of various types appeared, all of them pointed at Laney’s head and all of them very close to their target.

No one, not even Laney himself, could hear him voiding his bowels and releasing his control of his bladder, but the smell and spreading wet spot on his pants made hearing it unnecessary.

Tony picked up his money and extended his hand to the dark-haired beauty kneeling at Laney’s feet. “Come, little one. You’re mine now.” He looked back at her previous owner with the same mocking smile. “Dick, the name is Tony Juliana ... in case you ever want to try ... regaining your manhood. Give one of my boys your address. Someone will be by tomorrow at noon to pick up this beautiful young lady’s things. Have them ready.”

Once he had her outside the club she stood silently beside him as they waited for the car, her eyes downcast.

“You’re quite lovely, my dear. I’m very interested in hearing all about you, but for the moment, please remain silent.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, her voice a lovely soprano.

Tony had avoided most of the follies of old men so far in his life. Oh, he’d had mistresses in the past, but it had been over ten years since his last such affair had ended. He and his bodyguards lived by themselves in a suite of apartments in the Arco building and while he’d availed himself of the services of call girls to relieve his loneliness from time to time, he’d never wanted to move a woman in with him. That had always been the final betrayal of his wedding vows that he just couldn’t bring himself to commit. Likewise, his wife had never even had one of her lovers inside the house that she and Tony had bought when they moved to Texas from New Jersey, much less moved one in.

And here was this young woman who fully expected to move in with him, keep his house, warm his bed and do pretty much whatever he told her to. He’d adopted a ‘pet’ ... almost in the literal sense of the word.

When he thought of the condition of his health, and combined that with his age, Tony Juliana realized, with a wry mental chuckle, that last gasps of propriety be damned ... he didn’t want to face the end of his life alone. If he was going to walk into the darkness, he wanted someone to hold his hand for as long as they were able. He’d had an idea what saving her was going to result in, a good idea courtesy of the manager’s information, and he’d done it anyway.

“No way to change the bet once the dice have been thrown, eh little one?”

“No sir,” she replied as she timidly slipped her fingers into his hand.

He bowed, took her hand gently, kissing it and slowly bent down to face her. “Then for both of us, Sugar, may Luck be a Lady.”

The changes she brought to his life kept coming.

When he and young Carol Riley had gotten home that evening, they’d talked about their differing views of the relationship. She was ready to crawl into bed with him, damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, he wouldn’t need Viagra, she guaranteed him. If he did require Viagra ... well, her response proved that by just describing what she would do, she could prove he wouldn’t need it in the first place. The girl gave him an erection the likes of which he hadn’t felt in longer than he’d cared to remember.

Tony wasn’t quite ready for that ... and told her so in no uncertain terms. She’d smiled at him and said, “Then where shall I sleep, sir?”

He’d moved her into one of the other bedrooms in his suite and that had been the end of it ... or so he’d thought at the time.

Two nights later, he’d awoken from a nightmare, flailing about his bed, grasping for his medicine, only to feel her take his hands in hers as she asked in a calm, but sleepy voice, “What do you need, sir? What can I do for you?”

Her touch and voice drove away the ghosts that had tried to follow him from his dreams and he replied “R-red pills ... bedside t-table ... two of them...”

In the faint glow of city lights that came through his window she’d found the pills, placed them in his mouth and helped him wash them down with the glass of water he kept by his bedside.

When he felt better, calmer, he’d asked her how she’d heard him. “I was asleep on the floor outside your door,” she replied.

“Whatever for?”

“How else am I to know if you need me, sir?” she’d answered, as if it was self-evident to anyone with half a brain. “Now, if you’re feeling better, scoot over sir.”

He had, and she’d started to slip off the extra-large t-shirt she was wearing.

“Now, now ... none of that,” he’d whispered.

“Yes sir.” And she’d let it fall back into place, slipped into his bed and held him close to her.

He’d expected to do something more, he wasn’t sure at the time quite what, but she just held him until he drifted back to sleep.

After that night there was no more talk of her sleeping anywhere but in the room with him. His bed was not all that large, and he was somewhat sensitive to the movements of someone in bed with him, an unfortunate effect of his age, so he’d had a daybed moved into the room for her. She slept there most of the time and in his bed with him a rare few nights. And much to his surprise, she’d made no further attempts to be sexual with him.

Over the years, Tony had forgotten what it was like to have someone with a curious mind around him. Carol had a mind as endlessly interested in the world as his own. There seemed to be few experiences or opportunities she was not willing to take advantage of and as he was using what he figured to be the final few years of his life to see and do all the things he’d never had time for before, she was the perfect companion. Some of their adventures weren’t successes ... as an example; they found themselves equally and completely unimpressed by fugu ... Parisian Frenchmen frayed both their tempers to the breaking point, and while Carol had no problem with Rio during Carnival it was far too frenetic for Tony. Neither of them was up to even trying haggis. Although she had expressed some enthusiasm for trying anything he was willing to, Tony wasn’t interested in any extreme thrills.

He told her, “Once you’ve been in a gun battle or two, been shot several times, the idea of jumping out of perfectly good airplanes or any such nonsense seems rather tame ... and unnecessary.”

It had been quite awhile since he’d been with someone whose devotion and loyalty to him wasn’t because of his previous position in the Mob. His boys were protective of him to a fault; the Don would have their heads in bowling ball bags if anything ever happened to him, and even a complete sociopath would show Tony some respect based on his service to la Cosa Nostra.

And muscle for the Philouma Family wasn’t chosen on the basis of high intelligence and sparkling conversational skills. His boys weren’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but very few of them were within forty IQ points of Tony. Every so often he played a little poker with them, making sure to lose much more than he won, but for the most part, he and they didn’t socialize much.

Life with Carol was a lot of ‘socializing’, and a loyalty and devotion that simply was, with no questions, no explanation. He didn’t understand that, she’d certainly shown no outward signs of such loyalty towards Laney, not the slightest hint of reticence or regret over leaving him. But she’d let him know clearly that she would be by his side until he removed her ... or until he himself left.

And then there was music, the overwhelming passion of Tony’s life. When at home, it was a constant, with something playing every waking hour, whether it be the church-like reverence of listening, and doing nothing but listening, to one of his thousands of vinyl LPs, or the ‘anytime’ background sound of the radio, most often tuned to the classical or big band station. Concerts and live shows, no matter how large or small the venue, were a regular thing, sometimes seven nights a week. With a light meal before and a late dinner afterwards, going to hear someone perform would take up most of an evening. And, if as often happened they were catching two shows, the evening became a long one ... something Tony found physically taxing.

In Carol he’d found someone who understood completely. While his family might consider his vinyl collection and stereo obsession a waste of time and money ... money they hoped to inherit ... Carol encouraged it and was an enthusiastic participant. Her love of music, her willingness to let it transport her on its wings, was the equal of his ... even though she didn’t share his fanaticism about sound reproduction and LP collecting.

And although he had a difficult time convincing her of it, she had a lovely voice and a considerable range. With his urging she began to sing to him, tentatively at first and then for longer and longer stretches.

On the nights when his past caught up with him in his dreams, something that occurred with greater and greater frequency as he got older, the little Irish woman would hold the old Sicilian in her arms and sing him back to sleep.

Most of all, Tony had forgotten what it was like to have a woman living with him. And he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it. The sights, the smells, the moments of shared intimacy in everyday life ... the companionship.

And one night, after a late supper following an evening at the ballet, Tony had taken her in his arms and kissed her, really kissed her.

She had been correct; he didn’t need Viagra where she was concerned.

So that year, his Christmas plans had an added complication ... he wanted to spend Christmas Eve with someone he loved. Someone he had grown to cherish and, as he came to accept the way she was, respect ... respect as someone who was exactly who she wanted and needed to be. He didn’t understand her, but he’d learned over the years that understanding wasn’t always necessary. And who was he to expect to understand everything anyway?

So one evening in early December, sitting at their table at Hudson’s on the Bend with their after-dinner drinks, he’d broached the subject with her. He talked with her about his family for the first time, explaining just how artificial and hypocritical their interactions were. He told her about his desire to spend Christmas Eve with her, instead of giving his family even the brief span of Midnight Mass.

Her response surprised him. “Sir, you owe it to yourself to go to Mass with your family. If you don’t, you’ll regret it. All of the enmity between you and them aside, they’re not coming to Mass with you twice a year to an attempt to fool anyone. Everyone knows what the situation is between you and them. They’re going to Mass with you for the same reason you’re going ... it’s the last vestige of a relationship that none of you are happy with, but that all of you realize is important, even if you can’t explain why.”

“How did you become so wise, little one?” he asked, covering her young and supple hand with his old and gnarled one.

“If I have any wisdom, sir, it’s from listening to the wise. You talked and I listened. Certainly there’s a lot of bad blood between you and your family, but if everything is as you’ve described, there are other things there as well.

“Besides,” she added, smiling at him seductively, “I’ll be waiting in the car with Andy. I’ll kiss you before you get out of the car and I’ll be right there, welcoming you back with open arms when you return.”

“Knowing you I suspect you might be tempted to be awaiting me with other limbs open as well, Sugar. Don’t yield to the temptation. Christmas Eve will be a very busy night, for both of us.”

“Yes sir ... what else are we doing that evening, if I might inquire?”

“Now, now, Baby Girl, don’t you know better than to ask too many questions around Christmas?”

Carol managed to control herself, helped by their flurry of activity in the weeks leading up to Christmas. With Tony’s love of music and the seasonal activities, their afternoons and evenings were jam-packed ... to the point of Tony requiring the rest of the hours of the day to recover his strength.

While he was napping one morning, Andy, their driver, came into the kitchen for a thermos of coffee.

“You’ve certainly been busy lately,” she observed, sipping a glass of juice at the table. “If you can tell me, what’s Tony had all of you doing?”

“Oh, it ain’t no great secret,” Andy replied. “This is the time o’ year for when he renews his charitable contributions. We check up on all the local organizations, programs and such that he supports three or four times a year, but this time o’ year’s the busiest. I swear, I gotta hear one more group o’ winos practicin’ ‘Silent Night’, I’m gonna go bugfuck. Prolly quit my job, become homeless myself an’ be right there with ‘em next year, croakin’ out ‘Away In A Manger’.”