It's Just Business - Wild Card Ebook

By Kelly Volpe

Hitmen, Adrian Marconne and Travis Luciano return once again to prove that it really is just business, but this time the shoe is on the other foot.

While trying to balance an endless bank account, an abusive boss, alcohol, women and doing what hitmen do best, overnight Adrian and Travis quickly discovery what life is like inside the real rat race.

As if living in New York City isn't hard enough without having someone trying to whack you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329778139

Book preview

It's Just Business - Wild Card Ebook

It’s Just Business

Wild Card

A Novel

Kelly J. Volpe

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© 2015 by Kelly J. Volpe. All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-329-77813-9

For those who fight their demons

day in and day out.

Chapter 1

Getting hit over the head with a 2 x 4 couldn’t compare to the massive, throbbing pain inside Adrian Marconne’s skull. It was the kind of pain that knocked you on your ass with the popular phrase, I'll never drink again spilling from your mouth like that final shot of tequila you probably shouldn't have had.

Adrian slowly stumbled down the hallway toward his door. Step after step he carefully trotted, partially propping his body against the wall for support. Moving an inch felt like he was moving a mile – a mile in a bed of quicksand where his feet felt as heavy as rocks. Despite the discomfort, Adrian was halfway impressed with himself for not tripping or falling while getting in or out of the elevator on this epic walk of shame; that had been a feat in itself. Although, the real accomplishment here was that he was still alive.

Standing at his door, Adrian reached into the pocket of his black jeans and began fishing for his keys. Really? he said aloud, feeling them slip not once, but twice from his fingers. This was proving to be more challenging than holding himself upright. Besides, these little metal objects weren't just keys right now, they were a sign of victory. If he made it inside, that would mean he had made it home and lived to tell the tale! It would also mean he would be rewarded with a large glass of water, a handful of aspirin and an incredibly comfortable bed. Though, at this point the kitchen floor would also serve as a viable option. 

Keys in hand, Adrian leaned against the wall letting his head tilt back with a thump. He sighed. His entire 32-year-old body hurt, and he wasn’t oblivious to the dreadful smell of liquor airing from his pores either, but he made it, disheveled hair, clothes and all.

It had been three days since he had returned home to his roommate, best friend, and partner, Travis Luciano. He’d be worried, sure, but Adrian knew that Travis had come to expect these types of things from him. Adrian had coolly called Travis three days prior declaring he was just fine; he had seen his psychiatrist, and was ready to take on the world having vented about nearly whacking his long-time friend (and short-term girlfriend), Carolina, only a week prior.

Unfortunately, sometimes Adrian would take on the world multiple shots of whisky at a time.

Adrian looked up at the golden chandelier hanging freely from the ceiling adjacent to his door. Its glow appeared to be stunted by a blurry alcohol induced haze. He found his brown eyes squinting to really even get a good look at it.

He’s going to kill me, Adrian thought to himself, dangling his keys from his left hand. But if I hang myself from that chandelier, I can beat him to the punch.

Despite his insightful and amusing internal commentary, Adrian carefully began opening the door to his overly luxurious Manhattan apartment, but as soon as he began turning the lock, the final step in this whole obstacle course, the door flung open from the inside. With a painful thud, the door smacked directly into Adrian's forehead. It pushed him backwards, making him stumble as if he were still drunk from last night. He threw the palm of his hand to his forehead and bunched over in shock, simultaneously feeling as if the bile in his stomach was considering making a visit to his mouth.

Motherfucker!

Mr. Adrian! I am so sorry! exclaimed his housekeeper. A sure look a panic covered her Hispanic complexion. Let me help! she said, trying to reach out to him while fumbling with an armful of cleaning products and an oversized Coach purse. She smelled like bleach and lavender perfume.

No, no, Marcie. It’s okay. I’m fine, he answered, putting his free hand on her thick shoulder. I’m so hung over I can’t even feel it. Of course, that was a lie; Adrian's hangovers provided him with the worst superpower you could ever ask for: heightened senses to pain, pain and more pain. Being numb would have been a blessing.

Marcie frowned with wrinkled lips. Mr. Adrian, I am so, so sorry. I just cleaned up and was in a rush to get to my next appointment! I should have been more careful, sir. I feel so bad – let me get you ice.

Adrian did his best to smile at her. Inside he was fuming, but he was so exhausted that he was ready to do or say anything that would get her to leave. No, really. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.

Are you sure, Mr. Adrian? Can I get you anything? she asked, trying to get a look at the damage she had done.

I'm-

But Mr. Adrian-

I'm fine! I'm fine! he politely smiled at her again, removing his hand from his forehead. See? He was beginning to become more agitated with her persistence. So agitated that part of him wanted to fire off a couple shots into her abdomen, but being a somewhat sensible man he realized that someone needed to clean his dirty laundry. Besides, you have to get to your next job. Trust me, I’ll survive.

Marcie looked up at his forehead. It’s not too bad, Mr. Adrian; just a little red. Oh! I feel terrible.

Don't worry about it! I told you, I’ll survive. If I can survive a couple gunshot wounds, then a little bump on the head is really no big deal.

She looked up at him, and finally cracked a smile. Her brown eyes surrounded by crow's feet lightened. You’re so funny, Mr. Adrian! I’ll go, but please forgive me. You and Mr. Travis are always so sweet. I'd hate to upset either of you.

Yeah, because we tip bigger than Tony Soprano.

You haven’t upset anyone. I’ll see you next week, okay?

Marcie nodded at him, still holding a sympathetic expression. She waddled toward the elevator, purse and Clorox in hand. Seeing her finally leave, Adrian let out a gasp and thought to himself that this was her lucky day, and ironically she didn't even know it. If he hadn't been so hungover, distracted and weak Marcie never would have made her next appointment, and he would have been asking Siri about housecleaning services while mopping up a blood stain.

Adrian watched her take a couple steps further down the hallway before she abruptly turned around.

Oh! Mr. Adrian! she announced, throwing her arms in the air as best she could without dropping anything. I found some type of note in your room under your music books. I didn't read it, but it looked like it was from a girl! It was kind of hidden, so I left it out on your piano so you wouldn't miss it!

Oh, okay. Great! Thank you! he answered, throwing on his award winning counterfeit grin again. Once Marcie was officially gone he dropped the smile, rolled his eyes and headed inside, locking the door behind himself.

It's way too early for this.

Inside, his apartment was so spotless it seemed to shine. Marcie had definitely earned her keep for at least another week. The beige carpet looked immaculate, as did the leather sofas and feather throw pillows. Nothing was out of place; no empty glasses or dirty dishes were in the sink or still left out on the oak dining room table. The house smelled like fresh linen, probably from the bed sheets having been washed. Even the pool table in the corner of the living room looked as shiny and new as the day the boys had purchased it.

Carefully, Adrian made his way to the kitchen. He felt a little better being back in the safety of his home (and even more so that Travis didn't seem to be there to castrate him).

He removed a bottle of water from the fridge and chugged the whole thing in seconds, using a couple of aspirin as a chaser. He leaned against the marble island counter top a moment, closing his eyes and pushing his face into his palms. Throb after throb shot through his head; these radiating pulses of pain were impossible to ignore and to add insult to injury his mind was racing, fixated on the only thing he had been trying to forget about over the past three days: Carolina Anderson.

Just my luck - she left me a fucking memento.

Carolina had been left in Adrian's room alone for a couple of hours before he had taken her to the airport with a one way ticket out of the big apple. As it turned out, she wanted nothing to do with him after finding out about his little white lie: he wasn't an undercover cop, but in fact, he was really a hit man for the mob (and to be sure, she really wasn't thrilled about being his next assignment, either).

Let's get this shit over with, he whispered to himself out loud after downing one more bottle of water and taking a shot of vodka - or hair of the dog, as some might say.

He left the kitchen, dragging himself through the living room, and past Travis' bedroom. He glanced inside, double checking that he was indeed alone; a sigh of relief immediately left his chest.

Travis' room was clean, though it usually was even without the housekeeper's help. Adrian eyed a large manila envelope placed on the middle of his bed, visibly sealed. Past that was a mirrored closet, and a big screen TV with a video game system hooked up to it. A couple free weights were sitting on a metal unit off to the side of the spacious room.

A little further down the immaculate