It was a good question, and Carla was surprised by it. Maybe he's not stupid after all, she thought. He may not have paid attention when this stuff was explained to him before, but now that he is, he seems to be catching on very quickly.
“That's very true,” she agreed, “which is why an important early part of this plan will be to actually try to get more customers to eat here. With enough people coming in and out, the FBI won't have any way of knowing who's buying what, and whether they're using credit cards or paying cash. You can do that by offering special discounts, running promotional campaigns, maybe booking some live music...”
“Yeah, and I can also put that all-you-can-eat place out of business,” Gio said, nodding to himself. “Maybe arrange for them to fail a few health inspections or even burn the place down and have the arson inspector say it was bad wiring or something.”
“Let's stick to legal methods of expanding our clientele for now,” Carla said quickly, hoping Gio's mind wouldn't continue down that path. If the advice she gave him led to innocent people being hurt or intimidated, she doubted she'd be able to forgive herself.
“You can also invite your associates to come in on a regular basis,” she continued, “and to bring their families too. You won't charge them—which will incentivize them to keep coming in—and it'll look like you have plenty of customers to anyone who's watching the place. The main thing, though, is to make sure no one does or discusses anything illegal while they're here. If the FBI or the local cops have any reason at all to suspect the Mancinis are doing their deals and sit-downs here, they'll have no trouble getting warrants to have the place bugged.”
“Uh-huh,” Gio said. “That sounds like a real good plan. Okay, you're hired. So what do we do first?”
“I'll make an appointment with a bank for tomorrow to present our proposal and request a loan,” Carla said, getting up from the table. “I'll give you a call when I've set it up to let you know where and when to meet me so we can do that. Remember to wear a nice suit and a tie. Also, I'll need you to gather the documents that provide proof of your ownership of the house and Corvette.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where are you going?” Gio asked. “We should celebrate! Besides, you ain't even touched your food.”
Carla favored him with what she hoped was a motherly smile of indulgence, though she suspected it was probably more in the realm of a shit-eating grin. “I'm really not hungry,” she said. “Plus I have a lot of work to do before the meeting, and I'm sure you'll find plenty of ways to celebrate enough for both of us. Just remember to show up at the bank on time.”
“Fine,” Gio retorted, “but once the deal is done, you gotta let me take you out to a real dinner somewhere. A little wine, a little music...”
“As long as I can order for myself, you're on,” she said, patting him on the shoulder on her way to the door. “See you tomorrow, Gio.”
Behind her, Gio said, “I can't wait.”
As she left, she was sure she could feel his eyes locked on her hips and ass.
Chapter 9
Gio
Eight Days Later
Gio parked his 'Vette in front of a small, shabby-looking blue house. It was so far west that it was barely within the city limits, and the houses and buildings surrounding it were covered in gang signs and graffiti. Young men in white undershirts and baggy jeans eyed Gio from the street corners as he got out of the car, leaned in through the window, and honked the horn a couple of times so Carolyn would know he was there.
He had enjoyed working closely with her over the past week, and not just because of how she looked—though he still couldn't take his eyes off her whenever they were together. The meeting with the loan officer at the bank went smoothly, with Carolyn handling the money talk and Gio chiming in earnestly about how he'd always wanted his own restaurant.
The Laughing Fish was signed over within the next twenty-four hours, since Shimizu knew what would happen to him if he didn't.
And since the place already had the staff and supplies it needed, the only indication that anything had changed was the “Under New Management” banner draped over the door and the celebration of the first official night with Gio as the owner. The restaurant was packed with almost every middle- to high-ranking mafia member in Chicago, plus their wives and kids. Every table was covered with platters of exquisite maki, and wine and beer flowed like water.
For the most part, Shimizu stayed in the kitchen, rolling and arranging sushi with his head down and his mouth in a tight line.