Sunday 12 February 2023

The American Outsider by Homa Pourasgari

 

 


"A charming read with characters who come to life on the page—and who live for a cause whose urgency shines through the story." – Booklife Review


Tessa Walker is a veterinarian with a strong, emotional connection to animals. As a teen, she witnessed the brutal slaughter of dolphins, and as an adult, she decides to do something about it. She leaves her home in Los Angeles and travels to Japan to speak out for them, but little does she know that she is embarking on an adventure that will change her life forever. From the urban metropolis of Tokyo to the historic Kyoto to the culinary city of Osaka, and the seaside town of Taiji, Tessa is determined to help Japanese activists stand up for her beloved mammals.

Along the way, the friendships and bonds that she builds with people in Japan, and the unconditional love of a stranger named Toshiro, open her eyes to a complicated society of conventions and traditions. Yet, her limited knowledge of the language and customs doesn't deter her from taking on a dangerous mission that could land her in jail.



Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon.in * Amazon.com


Read an Excerpt from The American Outsider

By the next afternoon, Tessa had already put the disastrous birthday party behind her. She realized that all her worries, concerns, and preparation for the dinner party—learning the proper things to say and do, choosing the right gift and gift wrap, dressing conservatively, and not expressing her true feelings—did not matter. The Yokoyamas had made up their minds to dislike her before they had even met her. Tessa had discussed this with Akira in the morning, and Akira reminded her that she had come to Tokyo to help save the dolphins, not worry about the opinions of others. “We are in this together for the long haul, and we both need to develop thicker skins if we want to survive adversity,” Akira told her. Tessa agreed and after Akira left for work, she went back to working on the Kyoto protest, promoting the cause on social media and making new contacts. Still in her pajamas, Tessa decided to take a nap and then do a bit of sightseeing before Akira got home. The doorbell buzzed as she laid down. She wasn’t expecting anyone. If they are looking for Akira, they’ll come back, she thought. It buzzed again and again. Tessa went to the balcony to take a quick look down at the persistent intruder. It was Toshiro. The guy doesn’t give up, she thought. Tessa was about to walk away before he could see her, but he lifted his head.


Homa Pourasgari spent hours in her father’s home office, writing, reading and letting her imagination carry her to unseen worlds. She moved to Los Angeles, California, at a young age. After graduating from Loyola Marymount University with a degree in business, she went to Paris for a year to study literature at the Sorbonne. Before becoming a full-time writer, she ran her own boutique, worked at a bank and a CPA firm, was a personal trainer and even taught spinning and cardio kickboxing. When she is not writing, she is stumbling, miming and pointing to find her way in a foreign country. Her latest novel, The American Outsider, is based on her travels in Japan.


Homa on the Web:
Website * Facebook * Twitter 





Monday 19 December 2022

Bad Girl Gone Good by Alisha Kay

 



When Aisha Rajput, the queen of raves and celebrity after-parties, is asked to plan a hospital fundraiser, she's convinced the sun finally rose from the west. And yet, she is determined to blow this brief out of the water for it is her one chance at redemption.

Seven years ago, she shattered Dr Kabir Pradhan's heart with a deliberate, conscious act of betrayal. The least she can do to make up for it is to save his hospital.

Aisha is the woman who loved him and broke him. The last thing Kabir needs is for her to do it all over again with his hospital. He doesn't want her, he doesn't need her, and he certainly won't tolerate her. Or so he tells himself.

When the hospital board leaves them with no choice but to work together, the stage is set for fireworks.

When the heartache of the past collides with the irresistible desire of the present, the future looks to be in jeopardy. Unless the Bad Girl goes Good and saves the day.
But can she?
And does Kabir even want her to, for like it or not, his heart has always belonged to the Bad Girl, hasn't it?



Read an Excerpt from Bad Girl Gone Good


KABIR

The Rajmata of Bannor looked positively hunted as she stared at me.
“She said she’s on her way, beta. I’m sure she will be here soon.”
My brow creased in confusion.
“Who is on her way? I thought we were meeting to discuss how to raise money for the new NICU.”
“We are! But you can’t raise funds without a proper fundraiser. And if anyone can organise a superhit, blockbuster event for you, it is she,” declared Her Highness.
What was the old lady smoking? We weren’t a Bollywood production house. Usha Kiran was a hospital with a reputation for quality healthcare. The manic gleam in her eyes made me very nervous, especially when she started throwing around words like superhit and blockbuster.
“She?” I asked carefully.
“Kabir, you can’t pull off such a big event all by yourself. You need an event manager.”
No. What I needed was for these old farts to get their heads out of their asses and come up with a plan to counter Her Highness’s schemes.
“Your Highness, we’re trying to collect funds, and I’m not sure how blowing up a huge chunk of money on a grand party is going to help us do that.”
The other members of the board nodded in agreement. The very thought of wasting money on a fundraiser made them turn ashen.
She shook her head in disappointment.
“Beta, sometimes you have to spend money to earn more.”
“Well, we don’t have much, to begin with, and I don’t think I can authorise such an expense when I could use the money to buy new ventilators,” I said apologetically.
I knew she meant well, but she needed a dose of reality. There was nothing glamorous about what we were trying to do here. We needed state-of-the-art incubators, ventilators with CPAP machines, as well as a well-trained NICU staff, all of which cost money.
“What if the board doesn’t have to spend a single penny? I will donate the money you need to organise the event,” she replied craftily.
“With due respect, Your Highness, why would you do that?"
She banged on the floor with the end of her walking stick.
“Because it is time to try something new. The world is full of people who have more money than they can spend in this lifetime. And some of them are even willing to share that wealth. You just need to know how to approach them. As for the ones that don’t want to part with their wealth, you need to know exactly how to lure and skin them,” said Her Highness, with relish.
Were we still talking about raising money? I had a feeling there was a ruthless serial killer lurking under that silk-clad grandmotherly exterior. I sighed as I resigned myself to an uncomfortable meeting with the event manager. But I would hear her out before I showed her the door. It was the least I could do.
I looked at my watch pointedly and nodded.
“Fine. Let’s see what this wizard of yours has in mind.”
There was a sharp knock at the door, and it swung open.
“I hope I’m not too old for one of your lollipops, Doctor Uncle,” called a voice that I hadn’t heard for years.
And yet, it hit me with the same force as it had seven years ago.
Her Highness rose to welcome her, but I stayed frozen in my seat, unable to do anything but stare at that familiar face. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck was Aisha Rajput doing here?
She walked into the room and greeted Her Highness with a warm hug.
“Now, where’s my favourite man?” she cooed, pulling away from the Rajmata of Bannor.
I clenched my jaw and stood up slowly to my full height as she turned towards me. When she spotted me, she swayed in place as if she had been dealt a body blow. I shot her a frosty smile that made her turn pale.
“Well, if it isn’t the OG Bad Girl,” I drawled.”


About the Author:
Alisha Kay writes funny, exciting and steamy stories, with spunky heroines who can rescue themselves, and hot, woke heroes who find such independence irresistible.
The first book in The Devgarh Royals series, The Maharaja’s Fake FiancĂ©e, won the grand prize at the Amazon KDP Pen to Publish Contest 2020.

Alisha on the Web:
Instagram * Twitter 










Friday 16 December 2022

Love Bait by Varun Pancholi

 

 



Pranay Oza is excited about his life’s new phase - COLLEGE. And soon enough, life offers him much more than he imagined. Falling in live with a college senior and the love being reciprocated through anonymous love notes was like a dreamy sequence from a romantic movie come true.

But then was this love or bait?

It is college election time too and stakes are high for all the aspirants for the President’s post. It is the last chance for all of them to prove themselves capable of moving into pro- fessional politics.

But can a fresher Pranay Oza be critical to the elections?

At this age, decisions are driven by passion and consequences can be life changing 


Book Links:
Amazon.in | Amazon.com

Read an Excerpt from Love Bait


Prologue

It was four minutes to midnight. Pranay climbed up the wall with the support of the tree trunk and took a pause to look around. There was no one to be seen, it was all silent and so he jumped on the other side as quietly as he could. He steadied himself and looked around again. Finding no sign of any movement, he quickly rushed towards the narrow pathway leading to the stairs, the one he had seen Amrita take the other night.

He quietly started climbing up the stairs. For once, he was happy the hostels rarely replaced a fused bulb on the stairways. It was not a dark night and the half-moon brightened the stairs enough for a cautious climb. His heart was racing fast, not knowing what to expect. He wanted to be quick but silent. “Why am I here? What do I want? Well, it’s a bit too late to think about it now.” But he firmly believed he was expected to be here at this hour.

As he reached the foyer, half way up to the first floor, he heard a creak. He froze in fear and almost stopped breathing to maintain absolute silence. The creak sounded like a door or window closed or maybe opened. He waited and tried to listen hard. But it was all very quiet apart from his drumming heart and his soft breath. The music from the common room remained faint. He concluded it should be one of the windows moving due to the wind.

He climbed up further and reached another small foyer.

There are two doors now, one to his left and one to his right. “It should be the one on the left,” he thought. It was a guess based on what he had seen the other night. He looked for room number but there was none, neither on the other door.

‘Left it is’ he decided. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Still not sure what to expect, he took a step forward to lightly knock on the door. But as his knuckle touched the door for the first tap, the door creaked.

The door was open. Indeed! He was expected! His breath was still shallow, his anxiety level still high and his heart still pounding. He slowly pushed the door open. It was dark inside and his eyes took a few moments to adjust. The window on the wall to his right was open, the curtains were drawn and the moonlight was filtering in from the borders. There was another glass window on the opposite wall the room which was closed. The light coming in from this window was just enough to create an outline of the bed underneath. It seemed there was no one on the bed. The rest of the room was dark.

He took a step into the room and straightened himself up.

The room was eerily quiet and he could not see Amrita around. Was she shy and hiding from him? On second thoughts he wondered ‘Am I even in the correct room?’







Varun holds a Bachelors degree in Engineering from MS university, Baroda. Additionally, he holds double Masters in Business from Symbiosis, Pune and HEC Paris.
After working in India & France, Varun currently lives in Bahrain with his wife and two daughters. He loves reading and this is his first rendezvous with writing.






Monday 12 December 2022

Holiday in Hiding by Lily Michaels

I am so excited that HOLIDAY IN HIDING by Lily Michaels is available now and that I get to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below. 

This blitz also includes a giveaway for a self-care box courtesy of Lily & Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.


About The Book:

Title: HOLIDAY IN HIDING: A Secret Santa story

Author: Lily Michaels

Pub. Date: December 6, 2022

Publisher: Pride Publishing

Formats:  eBook

Pages: 181

Find it: Goodreadshttps://books2read.com/Holiday-in-Hiding-A-Secret-Santa-story

FROM EXCITING AUTHOR OF LGBTQIA ROMANCE LILY MICHAELS

A Secret Santa story

Hiding from his past may wind up leading Liam to the merriest Christmas of his life.

Constantly looking over his shoulder has become Liam Carlson' s norm after five years in witness protection. Living with his new identity has come with a major downgrade in lifestyle and a lack of any meaningful connections. But when he loses his minimum-wage job and the rundown apartment he called home, he finds himself in the middle of a Texas state park waiting for the marshal in charge of his case to help with relocation. A sudden, ferocious storm destroys many of his belongings, including the tent that offered him some protection, but it also heralds in a sexy-as-hell park ranger, Jax Gallagher, who taunts Liam' s long-neglected libido.

Jax and his wife, Megan, have had an unconventional relationship from the beginning, with a military romance that blossomed into marriage. Their mutual desire to share their love with a third member resulted in several blissful years with another man that ended when they left the service and took on civilian careers. An unexpected visitor in the form of a drenched Liam is the first glimmer of hope since then that they can reclaim the happily-ever-after they thought they' d lost. Their attraction grows with every second they spend together. While they become closer, another lifesaving rescue also manages to open the door to a career Liam never fathomed.

But the truth of the criminal world Liam grew up in threatens to destroy the still-tenuous bond the three are forming and the bright future Liam never believed possible.

 

Excerpt:

Prologue

Nate—Liam

A perfect circle of cold steel penetrated through my thin cotton dress shirt. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and fought to keep my hands from shaking. They’d found me…again. It was only a matter of time. I’d known that.

Fuck.

“Don’t move.” The gravelly voice behind me uttered the completely expected command.

I rolled my eyes toward the inky sky, barely noticing the full spectrum of stars. “Exactly how predictable are we going here, Joe? Full-on cartoon villain or just generic mobster? I want to make sure I keep my expectations realistic.”

A laugh, roughened undoubtedly by decades of smoking, was the response. “Name ain’t Joe, but I know exactly who you are, Nathaniel Cogliano.”

“Left off the middle name there, Joe. That’s how you really strike fear into the hearts of your prey. Take a tip from my ma, since she’s the one paying you to be here.” I sucked in a lungful of air. “And I call all you guys Joe. No need to learn your name, since you pass through soon enough.”

The barrel pressed harder into my back and the man behind me growled. “You think you’re something special? I’ll have you back to the boss man, collect my money and send your ass to the bottom of the river before breakfast.”

That was the moment I knew I could smile. The banter had bought me enough time to center myself and call my nerves under control—a sad fact for ole Joe. I was exactly the protĂ©gĂ© my mother had always hoped I’d be. “The river? Really? Can’t we do something just a little more creative? Maybe a warehouse in midtown or a cabin somewhere upstate that you set on fire to cover the evidence? Work with me here, Joe. Bring something to the table so I remember who the fuck you are five years from now.”

“I’m about done with your ‘Joe’ bullshit, and you ain’t gonna live to see another day, much less another year.”

My grin widened. Irritating the latest thug who’d been hired to kill me was almost too easy. Getting the other man frustrated and off his game was the first step to controlling the situation. “Give me your real name or give me a reason to remember you—otherwise I’m just gonna keep calling you Joe, right up until I don’t need to call you anything anymore.”

I wished to every higher being I knew that I could see the man’s face. It was certain to be mottled and reddened from frustration. Fucking with these guys—the ones who were always hiding in the shadows waiting to deliver me into the hands that would destroy me—was one of the few pleasures I could find in my world these days.

Even a night at a strip club didn’t hold the same allure as it once had, which was a damn shame. But surgically enhanced tits shoved in my face weren’t enough to hold my attention when I was looking over my shoulder, literally and metaphorically.

The goon pushed the metal deeper against my spine and I counted to three in my head. As soon as my internal voice whispered, ‘one’, I spun around, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it behind his back until he let out a piercing scream and the firearm clattered against the pavement. I might be trying to claw my way out of the life of crime I’d been born into and live a more normal, law-abiding life, but the insidious part of my soul relished his painful cry.

The dark beast within me threatened to trample over all my good intentions, and a list of ways to break the hitman now kneeling before me in agony trickled through my mind. I tightened my hold on his arm just a fraction more and wrenched it back a little higher before I pulled my phone from my back pocket with my free hand and hit the number one contact on my speed dial.

Another anguished scream tore from the man’s mouth before I could utter a greeting. “Quiet, Joe. This is important business.”

“Fuck, Nate, what the hell did you get yourself into this time? You’re supposed to be lying low until the trial.” Deputy Xavier Brower’s frustrated and exhausted voice echoed across the line and managed to irritate my nerves that were still pulsing with adrenaline at the latest attempt on  my life.

The nearly animalistic howls ramped up another octave, and I sighed. He was going to wind up attracting a hell of a lot of attention that I wasn’t in the mood to deal with. I released his wrist, brought my knee up to his face and slammed it into his nose. Once he was flat on his back, I lowered my hand in a perfect slice against his carotid artery and he passed out before I’d even straightened my stance, grabbing my phone from the ground where it had fallen in the brief mĂŞlĂ©e.

“Still there, Deputy X?” Although the assault had been brief, the events leading up to it combined with the actions to make my breathing slightly labored. It had been a long-ass time since I’d done any hand-to-hand combat, either in training or out in the world. I was clearly getting too soft.

An annoyed exhale was his first response, punctuated by a weighted silence. “Yeah, I’m here. Send your location and restrain the guy. If you’re going to live long enough to testify against your mother and her crew then we are going to have to hide you away.”

They were words I’d known were coming for a long time, but I’d deluded myself into believing I wouldn’t have to hear them until after the trial came, right on the heels of that statement. “Pack your bags, Nate. You’re going into witness protection.”

 

 

About Lily Michaels:

A medical professional by day and writer by night, Lily is a huge believer in love being available for everyone. Her novels always include an over the top happily every after for her characters. 

If you want to connect with Lily, find her on Twitter or Facebook and check out her website and book blog.

Website | Twitter | Instagram | TikTokGoodreads | Amazon | BookBub

 



Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a a mystery gift box of self-care items perfect for a "book date night, US Only.


Ends December 17th, midnight EST.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday 23 November 2022

Me No Pause, Me Play by Manoj Kumar Sharma

 



This story revolves around Woman and Womanhood through lenses of Social Kaleidoscope.

The essence of this story is overcoming the intricacy and complicacy of Womanhood through innovative measures with calculated risks.
Though since ages wise men never ever denied the unique importance of Women in their lives, but, at the same time couldn’t restrain from autocratic patriarchy and disguised misogyny.
Even Nature’s unworded Laws cruelly dumped Women after manipulating them to the fullest.
How long Woman will have to continue bearing the ongoing sufferings?
Nobody knows, even Woman herself…
But, there are exceptions as well sometimes…
One key protagonist takes the Woman sufferings as challenge, and, not only resolves the physical health and mental agony, but, unexpectedly raises the bar to the next level of inspirational excellences…
After all its own belief system, which can create anything anywhere anytime…
Let incommunicado with our Ethos & Egos… 
Let the status quo of our Women should not PAUSE…
Let our Women PLAY ever and ever and ever and ever… for ever…

Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon.in * Amazon.com

Book Trailer:





About the Author:
MIRRRO fame self-styled author Manoj Kumar Sharma has brought his next Novel from a different genre altogether ‘Woman Fiction’.
Delighted by the Best Seller status of MIRRRO in specific multiple timelines, Awards from renowned Literature Houses, moral boosting reviews by book lovers, and, guiding critics, the Author do feel more responsibility for continual inclusive excellences to next levels.
Feel blessed as ‘MIRRRO’ been adjudged for prestigious Awards from renowned Literary Houses…..
1. Best Debut Author Award 2020 from ‘ICMDR’
2. Best Debut Novel Award 2020 among Top 100 Debut Novels from ‘CRITICSPACE’.
3. Best Fiction (Thriller) Award 2020 from ‘The Indian Awaz Foundation’
4. Best Thriller Book of the Year 2020 by ‘Literary Mirror’ 
5. Best Fiction Book of the Year 2020 by ‘AIY AGHAAZ’
6. Best Writer Award 2020 by ‘Yashassvi Awards’
The Story “Me No Pause Me Play” born out of day-to-day life in our society, where every now and then our Women are made to feel the pinch of Nature’s Laws and of Society’s hypocritical Patriarchy and Misogyny. 
We talk a lot and even do a lot for Gender equality, Woman Liberation, Woman Empowerment…but, the practical realities are far far away from the truth and still painful. 
Author is right now working on the sequel of MIRRRO and parallely working on few more Books of varied genres on various known issues of our day-to-day lives…but, in ways beyond innovativeness… 
As an overview the Author believes that Writing is a Soulful Act, blessed by Maa Sarasvatiji & Muse... not by the Author.

Author on the Web:

Giveaway:
1 Paperback Copy of Me No Pause, Me Play by Manoj Kumar Sharma (for Indian Residents)
1 Kindle Copy of Me No Pause, Me Play by Manoj Kumar Sharma (for International Residents)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday 18 November 2022

1 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks

 

1 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks Banner

1 Last Betrayal

by Valerie J Brooks

November 14 - December 9, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

1 Last Betrayal by Valerie Brooks

A complicated history. A deadly future. Can one woman survive another deep dive into the rotten underbelly of crime?

Angeline Porter craves a return to normalcy. But when the former criminal defense attorney receives an alarming text, she races in desperation to Florida only to find a ransacked apartment, a poisoned dog, and a missing half-sister. Determined to rescue her sibling, she follows a trail of shockingly incriminating clues and plunges into a life-or-death fight with the Boston mob.

Taking advantage of old ties with a charming FBI agent and trying to outsmart a violent syndicate boss with powerful federal connections, Angeline and dubious allies begin tracking down the kidnappers… until she uncovers a supposed protector’s crafty deception. And while a nefarious rogue agent, a long-lost relative, and a possibly corrupt cop close in, the gutsy woman makes the risky decision to go it alone.

Is her headlong race to save her sister about to zip her into a body bag?

1 Last Betrayal is the suspense-laden third book in the Angeline Porter Trilogy of femmes-noir thrillers. If you like bold heroines, riveting twists, and balancing on the knife’s edge, then you’ll love Valerie J. Brooks’ gritty descent into the underworld.

Praise for 1 Last Betrayal:

"Steeped in suspense, chilling encounters, and shocking twists, Brooks drops us into the dark underbelly of organized crime, and we love her for it."

Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author of The Weight of Silence and The Over

"A twisty plot, great locations, and a gutsy protagonist you’ll root for all the way. A fabulous finale to a sophisticated series that can also be enjoyed as a stand-alone title."

Kaira Rouda, USA Today and Amazon Charts bestselling author

"A seductive, intricately twisted suspense-thriller that’s nearly impossible to put down... get ready for a wild ride with plenty of suspense, action, and shocking surprises"

Kevin O'Brien, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Night She Disappeared

Don't Miss the Book Trailer for 1 Last Betrayal:

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: Black Leather Jacket Press
Publication Date: September 2022
Number of Pages: 298
ISBN: 9781732373242
Series:The Angeline Porter Trilogy, Book 3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Apple | BookShop | IndieBound | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

If I ever get out of this alive, I’m going to have a tattoo needled on my arm like others of my generation. Of what I don’t know. But if I’m alive, I’ll be able to make a decision then. I’m throwing off the conservative persona I once had as a criminal defense lawyer. My sister Sophie would be saying, “It’s about time.”

From Portland, Oregon, I’d hopped a red-eye and was on my way to Hollywood, Florida. I was back in the game and in the right headspace, ready to bring down the Boston mob once and for all while protecting Bibi, my sister Sophie’s twin. Bibi needed me. She was tough, but this mob had a new and younger crime boss. Talia “Shawn” Diamandis. She didn’t play by the old-fashioned rules of mobsters.

Like the rest of the world, there was no honor anymore among thieves, whether they be members of gangs, political parties, or religious sects. There was no “one for all and all for one.” That only happened in the movies. So, to energize my fighting spirit, I put on my headphones, pulled up “Rebel Yell,” one of Sophie’s old favorites, and put it on repeat. We used to jump up and down to that song in her living room—but that was before the mob.

Yes, I was back in the game, but I wasn’t happy that I had to leave my dog Tempest again. How I’d ever come to love a dog that much, I’ll never know. Maybe I relate to her being a rescue. More probable is how much we’ve been through together.

The plane dropped and bumped, almost spilling my coffee. The pilot announced that we were hitting some turbulence and to keep our seatbelts fastened. I shook my head. What did he know about turbulence?

Then the plane bucked and dropped hard, causing a few people to swear and the flight attendant to grab onto a seat. A child cried. I took a deep breath. The plane continued to buck and weave back and forth. Finally, it leveled out and a collective sigh went up from the passengers. My phone was clutched in my hand. It remained silent.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Why hadn’t Bibi texted me? Maybe, hopefully, she’d fallen asleep. Bibi and I had been talking and texting for the past twenty-four hours about Shawn and what to do about her. But what did you do with a mob boss telling you that you were part of her “organization” whether you liked it or not? As my sweet, dead husband Hank would have said, Bibi was in “deep shit.” I knew what that deep shit was like. I’d been in it for a few years.

Shawn sure had cojones. She’d already broken into Bibi’s apartment—and in broad daylight. What I found frightening was how thoroughly Shawn had prepared. She knew about Otto, Bibi’s dog, a dog that should have scared the daylights out of her. But Shawn had fed him a treat while telling Bibi that there would be a meeting of the three partners, and Bibi was expected to join them. Join them, as in becoming one of the partners.

My main question was “Why?” Why would Shawn take such a risk as to get into Bibi’s apartment just to tell her that she was expected to make this meeting? She could have met her in the lobby. I had a hunch: Shawn needed to know the layout of the apartment and get friendly with the dog. She planned on breaking into the place again. Again, the question was Why?

Bibi reported the “break-in” to management, a report was filed, and the police notified. Security camera footage was watched. But nothing seemed amiss. Shawn never showed her face and seemed to enter the apartment no problem, so she could have had a duplicate keycard. Nothing suspicious. Bibi was pissed because the police said she must have given Shawn a card. As I said to Bibi, a large wad of cash would have bought a duplicate from someone in the hotel or was there some type of master keycard?

My phone dinged, and I jumped. It dinged with two more messages. It was Bibi.

I’m in danger. I’m not paranoid! Otto keeps growling. There are footsteps outside my door and muffled voices.

I didn’t tell you this before, but I found incriminating evidence against the mob in Betty’s stuff. I created a safe place for it. You’ll figure it out.

If something happens to me, promise you’ll take care of Otto. You know what he’s like. He’s sweet and needs his ugly striped afghan. He also knows a lot.

I reread the texts. Fuck! It was 4:02 a.m., and we wouldn’t land for another two hours. I texted back.

Don’t answer the door, Bibi. Don’t let anyone in. Call the police.

I tried to stay calm. Footsteps and voices didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe it was nothing more than late-night revelers or an assignation. Yet my heart raced. Shawn had been there once. Why not again? I texted another message and tried to convince myself that she would text back and say it was nothing. Had Otto barked at the noise? He wasn’t much of a barker, more of a growler. He was a big gentle brute the size of a Shetland pony, but there’s only so much a dog could do against greedy criminals who were willing to kill people, never mind dogs. But Shawn had already made friends with him. OK, what else? Bibi carried a gun. Good. But you had to be willing to shoot to kill. I knew very few good people capable of that, even in a life-or-death situation.

I sent another text.

Do you still have your gun? Load and keep it handy.

A text came in. I almost dropped my phone.

It was my lawyer. I ignored him.

I squirmed in my seat. Why hadn’t Bibi told me about the incriminating evidence before? What had she planned on doing with it? I chewed a cuticle. Maybe she didn’t really trust me.

Being trapped on a plane made it impossible to do anything. I had to keep my wits about me though. Did Shawn know about the incriminating evidence? I doubted it. My bet was on Shawn targeting Bibi’s inheritances—two huge estates and all the assets. What a rat’s nest of relationships! Bibi’s godmother, Betty Snayer, had been the crime boss of this mob until she died trying to kill me in Kauai. But before that, Betty had taken in a young, homeless, talented black girl, my half-sister Bibi, and given her a life in the arts. Then Betty had fallen for Shawn, at the time a streetwise, ragged, coke snorter who had addicted Betty to sex and white powder. That left Bibi adrift as to Betty’s affections. So, there I was with a new half-sister who didn’t know I’d killed her sainted godmother. What a mess.

The first-class flight attendant leaned over the empty seat next to me. “Anything I can get you, Ms. Porter?” She smiled with her bright red lips, her eyes sparkling behind her cat-eye glasses.

“Scotch, please. A double.”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. After sending another message to Bibi, I waited. Again, nothing. Finally, resigned, I set the cell on the empty seat next to me, and when my drink came, I tried not to knock it back, but that was impossible.

Maybe Bibi had called the cops, but I doubted it. I knew she didn’t trust the FBI. Being African American, she probably didn’t trust the cops either, especially after they did nothing to follow up on Shawn. I rubbed my chest, drew in some air, and let it go. Sophie often scolded me, saying I held my breath when stressed. Taking advice from my dead sister? Better late than never.

I pushed up the window cover. The bright light made me wince. Below, the ocean bordered the serpentine edge of land. Lakes littered the middle of the state. The pilot announced we were flying over Orlando and Disney World. People oohed and aahed.

On the seat next to me, I found my notebook and pen under the New York Times, and as I flipped open the notebook, my hand trembled. I’d always been pretty good at compartmentalizing, something I found necessary as a lawyer, but it was getting more difficult. I needed to keep my mind busy until I was off the plane and could make calls. I wondered where Gerard was. I figured from our conversations that he was back undercover with the mob. When I told him I was heading to Florida to help Bibi, he told me not to and was upset when I wouldn’t back down. When he realized I wouldn’t change my mind, he said he’d meet me there. Fine.

I made a fist, squeezed, then shook out my hand, needing to write something down, maybe work through what I knew and come up with a plan of sorts. Since my law school days, I’d written to-do lists, observations, even lists of conjectures and theories about people and cases. It kept me focused. It also helped me solve dilemmas, and even, at times, find something that wasn’t immediately apparent. Clients were told to keep a journal of every move they made, with dates and times, plus anything that could help their case. People were unaware of the evidentiary heft a written journal provided when entered into court records. I’d won several cases on the written word alone when the opposition had what I called a wormy case.

But what to write?

The scotch had warmed its way down to my body, and I could feel my nerves relaxing, my brain focusing. I tapped the pen against my lower teeth. Going back to the beginning with Shawn, I wondered why Betty had been interested in her? Bibi said it was cocaine-fueled sex. I believed that. Betty was older and not a looker, so it could have been the excitement and ego boost. I believed Bibi when she said Betty took Bibi in because she saw her talent and wanted to support her. Being a cynic at heart, I figured Betty had done that to make herself feel good. I’m sure it made her look good to her wealthy patron friends. Bibi was beautiful too—a dark version of Sophie—dizygotic twins from different fathers. So that would give Betty even more cred for being inclusive. A great way to get grants for her non-profit art ventures.

There I go again—the cynic.

The flight attendant swooped in and removed my cold coffee. I ordered another scotch, a single this time, thinking about Gerard, my FBI special agent pain-in-the-ass contact. In the beginning, he’d suspected Bibi was another one of Betty’s lovers. Men. They always think sex is involved. Sometimes it was. I could attest to that.

So how had Shawn become the crime boss of Betty’s mob? Maybe Betty had put her in charge when she went to Kauai. I know that Betty was using heavily by the time she came to the island. She was in Kauai, doing a godmotherly thing—setting up a hit on Bibi’s brother who hated Bibi. Bibi was adopted and the parents favored her over their flaky son. Her brother lived communally on Kauai and dressed as the grim reaper to get peoples’ attention about climate change. So, he didn’t fit his parents’ mold. Bibi, however, was the golden child, always thankful for everything they did for her. But they died before the will was changed, and the brother inherited the bulk. Hating Bibi, he gave her nothing. Betty figured she’d get rid of the brother so Bibi would inherit. At least Betty felt she was protecting Bibi. I wonder if Shawn had put that idea into Betty’s head, thinking Bibi would eventually bring in even more assets to the “organization.”

When I met Betty in Kauai, I didn’t know I had a sister named Bibi. I didn’t know a lot of things. I was hiding out from the mob. They wanted the millions my sister Sophie stole. But Betty knew who I was. I was the one who had killed one of her partners—in self-defense. But that didn’t matter to her. She must have been overjoyed to think she could take care of two marks on the same trip.

I had to assume that Shawn took over the crime boss position when Betty and her bodyguard never made it back to Boston. Gerard and I thought Shawn was a minor character, one of those people who target the wealthy to live luxuriously for a while, snort coke all day, then when things go dumpster, they disappear. She fooled us.

Plus, I had to remember she was a good actor. Shawn had gone from messed-up street urchin to high couture. What really bothered me was her telling Bibi that she laundered the money for the mob. True? Or was that a way to entrap Bibi? If Bibi knew that, she’d be vulnerable if she didn’t join the mob. Shawn was smart, no matter her motive.

I sipped my second scotch. If I kept in lawyer mode, I could keep my shit together. So, who was Shawn? Did she have a police record? What was her M.O.? I’d lost the connection with Snoop, my hacker, just as she was going to tell me what she found on Shawn. I haven’t heard from her since, and that’s not good.

Shawn might be a psychopath, but she had to be a strategist, someone with patience, someone who had planned her ascent with the crime group. This was conjecture, but her actions pointed to it.

This felt good, building a case, listing all the possibilities, hopefully tracing them to their logical conclusion either with evidence or what I’d discovered in the process.

I listed questions about “Shawn the Strategist”:

  • Getting Betty hooked on cocaine: loosens the tongue, makes her vulnerable
  • Reason for admitting money laundering: trap Bibi into the gang; something else?
  • Need background check on her: laundering takes guts, know-how, and connections
  • Has Shawn already taken Bibi somewhere? Under guise of meeting?
  • How much does Bibi know about Betty?
  • Maybe Shawn knows more about Bibi than I do

I suspected that Bibi couldn’t live in Betty’s house all that time and not notice any illegal activities. But Bibi seemed to have no idea, and as she said, she’d been fully engaged in school, her art, and her friends.

The plane’s engine noise changed. We were approaching Fort Lauderdale. I slipped on my shoes and buttoned my military-style jacket, readying myself for landing. I’d dressed with a casual elegance so people would take me seriously but not authoritatively as with a suit. Instead of perfume or aftershave, the cabin smelled like a locker room, and I hoped I didn’t smell that way. I thought of how Gerard would smell when I met him. As if reading my mind, Gerard sent me a message.

I’ll get to The Circ before you. Meet you in the residency lobby.

Between my teeth, I hissed, “Asshole.” He’d insisted on meeting me in Florida, but I told him to do nothing until I got there. That was like pissing in the wind with him.

I finished the scotch. I couldn’t get off the plane fast enough.

The pilot came on the intercom and gave the usual instructions, telling everyone to take their seats, buckle up, seats upright, tray in position. The flight attendant quickly gathered up all the bottles and glasses. I snapped my tray into place, gathered up everything on the empty seat, and threw them in my satchel, something I’d bought because it was more like a briefcase but not a briefcase. The flight attendant had just buckled herself in when the plane dropped like a trap door had opened. Someone squealed. A kid cried. Then the plane leveled off.

With my heart in my throat, I forced my mind back to Bibi and Betty. From everything I knew, Betty wanted Bibi to devote herself to being an artist. What if Betty had recognized Shawn’s killer instinct and started grooming her to take over the business?

I checked my cell one more time. Nothing from Bibi.

The plane headed toward the landing strip. I held the notebook against my chest. As a defense attorney, I’d met many criminals and could usually sniff out the liars. Bibi’s panicky text from Florida was not something easy to fake. But I had no body language to go with this to assure me she was being straight with me.

Far too many unknowns.

I sat back, closed my eyes, and prepared for landing.

***

Excerpt from 1 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks. Copyright 2022 by Valerie J Brooks. Reproduced with permission from Valerie J Brooks. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Valerie J Brooks

Multi-award-winning author Valerie J. Brooks is the author of the Angeline Porter trilogy, femmes-noir thrillers starring a badass disbarred attorney.

NYTimes bestselling author Kevin O’Brien called her second novel TAINTED TIMES 2 “… a real nail-biter from first page to the last.” Heather Gudenkauf, NYT bestselling author of THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE and THE OVERNIGHT GUEST calls Brooks the Queen of the Femmes-noir Thriller and says her upcoming 3rd novel 1 LAST BETRAYAL is “explosive” and “Brooks drops us into the dark underbelly of organized crime, and we love her for it.”

Brooks is a member of Sisters in Crime. Her awards include an Elizabeth George Foundation grant and five writing residencies. She teaches workshops and classes on writing noir and creating plot twists. Brooks found her love of thrillers as a teen after turning in a hitman to the FBI.

She lives in Oregon with her husband, Dan Connors and their Havanese pooch Stevie Nicks.

Catch Up With Valerie J Brooks:
ValerieJBrooks.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @valeriejbrooks
Instagram - @valeriejbrooksauthor
Twitter - @ValinParis
Facebook - @FemmesNoirFiction
Pinterest - @ValinParis
TikTok - @ValerieBrooksAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaway entries!

 

 

ENTER TO WIN:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Valerie J Brooks. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

Monday 14 November 2022

Mistletoe and Holly by Judith Keim

 

 

The Desert Sage Inn Series, Book 4


Contemporary Romantic Women's Fiction

Date Published: 11/15/2022

 Publisher: Wild Quail Publishing


photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

A boy who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus and a woman eager to help him discover the joy of giving to others.

 

When Juanita Sanchez and the Desert Flowers—Willow Sanchez, Rose Bowers, and Lily Walden —open Juanita’s Kitchen, the food kitchen Alec Thurston and they formed as a charitable organization, a young woman named Ivy Barrett and her seven-year-old son, Benjy come into their lives. Ivy is appointed head of the kitchen staff and they all work together to open the kitchen before the holidays. But when Christmas decorations are hung and talk about Santa Claus begins, Ivy makes sure Benjy understands that Santa Claus has never been in their lives and he shouldn’t dare hope he ever would. Distressed, Juanita and her husband, Pedro, set out to show them the spirit of giving is still alive and well, even for those who don’t believe.


Readers of the Desert Flower Series will delight in meeting young Benjy and his mother. A sweet holiday story.



Other Books in the The Desert Sage Inn Series


 

The Desert Flowers - Rose

The Desert Sage Inn Series, Book 1


The power of love and the strength of women working together are proved once again.

 

The Desert Flowers – Lily

The Desert Sage Inn Series, Book 2


Three talented women brought together by a man’s love…

 

The Desert Flowers - Willow

The Desert Sage Inn Series, Book 3


The power of love and the strength of women working together are proved once again.


Available on Amazon


 

About the Author

Judith Keim, A USA Today Best Selling Author, is a hybrid author who both has a publisher and self-publishes. Ms. Keim writes heart-warming novels about women who face unexpected challenges, meet them with strength, and find love and happiness along the way, stories with heart. Her best-selling books are based, in part, on many of the places she's lived or visited and on the interesting people she's met, creating believable characters and realistic settings her many loyal readers love.

She enjoyed her childhood and young-adult years in Elmira, New York, and now makes her home in Boise, Idaho, with her husband and their two dachshunds, Winston and Wally, and other members of her family.

While growing up, she was drawn to the idea of writing stories from a young age. Books were always present, being read, ready to go back to the library, or about to be discovered. All in her family shared information from the books in general conversation, giving them a wealth of knowledge and vivid imaginations.

Ms. Keim loves to hear from her readers and appreciates their enthusiasm for her stories.


Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Instagram

BookBuzz

 

Purchase Links

Amazon

Apple

Nook

Kobo

Google


RABT Book Tours & PR

Wednesday 9 November 2022

Sister! by Thomas A. Burns Jr.

 

 


A Natalie McMasters Mystery, Book 7


Crime Fiction

Date to be Published: Dec 5, 2022

Publisher: Tekrighter, LLC


photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

What do you do when you find out your twin sister is a stone-cold killer? Love her anyway!

Twentysomething detective Natalie McMasters comes face-to-face with the awesome power of money and privilege in her latest adventure. After she finds out that she has a twin sister who’s committed a heinous crime, her son Eduardo falls into the clutches of a perverted billionaire who plays with peoples lives for sport. Getting into his futuristic walled estate is a piece of cake, but getting out again is another matter entirely. While her friends and fam battle endless frustrations trying to convince the cops and the courts that Nattie and Eduardo are in deadly danger, she plays a risky game with a malignant narcissist, his venomous consort, and some unexpected houseguests, fighting for the souls of her sister and her son. How can she ever succeed against such impossible odds? The twisted ending packs a punch you won’t soon forget!

Sister! is the perfect read for fans of Karin Slaughter, Ruth Ware and Mary Kubica.


About the Author

Thomas A. Burns Jr. writes the Natalie McMasters Mysteries from the small town of Wendell, North Carolina, where he lives with his wife and son, four cats and a Cardigan Welsh Corgi. He was born and grew up in New Jersey, attended Xavier High School in Manhattan, earned B.S degrees in Zoology and Microbiology at Michigan State University and a M.S. in Microbiology at North Carolina State University. As a kid, Tom started reading boys’ mystery series with the Hardy Boys, Ken Holt and Rick Brant, then graduated to the classic stories by authors such as A. Conan Doyle, Dorothy Sayers, John Dickson Carr, Erle Stanley Gardner and Rex Stout, to name a few. Tom has written fiction as a hobby all of his life, beginning with Man from U.N.C.L.E. stories in marble-backed copybooks in grade school. He built a career as technical, science and medical writer and editor for nearly thirty years in industry and government. Now that he’s a full-time novelist, he’s excited to publish his own mystery series, as well as writing stories about his second most favorite detective, Sherlock Holmes. Tom’s Holmes story, The Camberwell Poisoner, appeared in the March–June issue of The Strand Magazine in 2021. The sixth book in the Natalie McMasters Mysteries, Killers!, was released in September, 2021, and won the Silver Falchion award for best action/adventure book of 2021 at the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference. Tom has also written a Lovecraftian horror novel, The Legacy of the Unborn, under the pen name of Silas K. Hendersona sequel to H.P. Lovecrafts masterpiece At the Mountains of Madness. In addition to publishing the seventh Natalie McMasters Mystery, Sister!, he is currently working on a book of Sherlock Holmes stories.


Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Blog

Goodreads

Instagram

Tumblr

Bookbub


RABT Book Tours & PR

Tuesday 8 November 2022

Nunzio's Way by Nick Chiarkas

 

 

 

Nunzio's Way by Nick Chiarkas Banner

Nunzio's Way

by Nick Chiarkas

October 24-November 18, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Nunzio's Way by Nick Chiarkas

"In this city, you can have anything you want if you kill the right four people." ~ Nunzio Sabino

In Weepers (Book 1), Angelo and his gang, with a bit of help from his beloved "uncle" Nunzio Sabino, defeated the notorious Satan's Knights. Now, in this standalone sequel to Weepers, it's 1960 and Nunzio is still the most powerful organized crime boss in New York City, protecting what's his with political schemes and 'business' deals.

Against this backdrop of Mafia turf wars, local gang battles, and political power-plays in the mayoral election, the bodies begin stacking up. An unlikely assassin arrives fresh from Naples after killing a top member of the Camorra to avenge the murder of her family. She blends seamlessly into the neighborhood and with the focus on the threat from the Satan's Knights, no one suspects that Angelo's father and Nunzio are next on her hit list. Nunzio has lived his entire life by the mantra; Be a fox when there are traps and a lion when there are wolves. Will Nunzio be a lion in time?

Praise for Nick Chiarkas:

"Writers are always told, 'Write what you know.' Nick Chiarkas knows New York, organized crime, and how to write an engaging story. Nunzio’s Way is gritty and thoroughly gripping."

John DeDakis, award-winning Novelist and former editor for CNN’s “The Situation Room with Wolf Blitzer”

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller / Historical
Published by: HenschelHAUS Publishing
Publication Date: October 2022
Number of Pages: 261
ISBN: 978159595-908-6
Series: Weepers, #2
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

For those who have read Weepers a while ago, and for those who have not read Weepers, here is a brief description of Nunzio Sabino, as told by Father Joe to Father Casimiro (Father Cas) in Weepers.

***

“In 1920... Caffè Fiora was the Baling Hook, a tough bar owned by an ex-longshoreman, Stanley Marco, and his wife Sylvia—who was every bit as tough as Stan. The place was decorated with nets, anchors, and baling hooks hanging all over the walls. It had a long bar and small tables.”

“Sounds charming,” Father Casimiro said sarcastically.

“In a strange way, it was. The booze was good. The food was tolerable. And the dancers were okay—that is, except for one. Fiora Ventosa was a delicate breeze in a cigar-filled room. And when she danced, the room dropped silent. She was sensational.”

“A stripper?”

“Not completely, more burlesque. The dancers would take off this or that but never stripped completely. Each night of the week featured a different dancer. Fiora danced on Tuesday nights. And Nunzio fell in love with her.”

“How old was he?”

“Thirteen. We were all kids about the same age. There were five of us—me, Nunzio, Pompeo—Anna’s father—

George, and Nick. We would sneak in every Tuesday night. Sylvia knew, but let it slide.”

“Did Fiora know how Nunzio—”

“Probably. She would sometimes sit with us after her show. Thinking back, she probably thought it was cute, and compared to the rest of the clientele, we were safe, adoring fans. We would sit there and Nunzio would be transfixed. She was seventeen and Nunzio figured a four-year difference wasn’t that much. So, after watching her dance every Tuesday for seven or eight months, on the third Tuesday in January 1920, Nunzio decided to tell Fiora he wanted to marry her. Seems silly now, but back then...what did we know? Anyway, Nunzio had to work late, so we waited for him and then we beat it over to the Hook.”

Father Casimiro loved these stories. They gave him a history, like he belonged to the neighborhood. “Did he tell her?”

“When we got to the Hook, Stan was shoving everyone out of the place, telling them to go home. Somebody, I don’t know who, said, ‘You kids better not go in there tonight.’ We pushed our way in against everybody leaving. There were several overturned tables and a couple of people standing around looking down.”

“Looking down?” Father Casimiro dodged several kids running along the sidewalk.

“Sylvia was sitting on the floor crying. Fiora was lying on the floor, covered by a large flannel shirt. Her head in Sylvia’s lap. Stan was arguing with a big guy they called the Bear. He was six- foot-six and must have weighed in at over three hundred pounds. He was a foreman on the docks and a neighborhood bully. The Bear stood there in a T-shirt and said to Stan, ‘Don’t you say nothing, you hear me? Nothing.’ Sylvia shouted up at the Bear, ‘You sonofabitch, you killed this little girl.’”

“What? She was dead? He killed her? Why?”

“The drunken Bear wanted to see more skin. He yanked her off the dance floor. She fought and he broke her neck.” Father Joe lit a cigarette and handed the pack to Father Casimiro.

Father Casimiro lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Poor girl.” Cigarette smoke escaped with the words. He handed the pack back to Father Joe. “Nunzio must have been devastated. You all, just kids, must have been—”

“It was the only time I ever saw Nunzio cry. Ever. It was the most heart-rending, profound sadness I ever witnessed. Nunzio dropped to his knees and touched her face. Meanwhile, the Bear was standing over Sylvia with his two buddies, one on either side of him, and he said to Stan, ‘The girl’s trash; nobody’s gonna miss her. So, you and your wife keep your mouths shut.’ He reached down and grabbed his shirt off Fiora and started to put it on.

He continued, “That was when I noticed that Nunzio was missing. And then I heard the scream. It didn’t sound human. It was pain and fury. It was Nunzio, and he was in midair—he jumped from the top of the bar behind the Bear. In each hand, he gripped a baling hook—he had taken them off the wall. He looked like an eagle screaming in for the kill. The Bear’s arms were halfway in his shirt sleeves when the points of the heavy hooks pierced his deltoid muscles from behind. The hooks hit both shoulders and sunk behind his collarbone.”

“Dear God,” Father Casimiro shivered as he imagined the pain of a thick steel hook sinking into his shoulder muscle.

“The Bear roared and swung from side to side. Nunzio held on tight to the hooks, his legs flying from left to right, back and forth. The Bear’s arms were pinned halfway in his shirt. He kept trying to grab Nunzio’s legs. But with each movement, the hooks sank deeper.”

Father Casimiro was no longer aware of the people pushing past him, some smiling and nodding. The musty beer and sawdust of the Baling Hook filled his senses. He imagined the blood spurting from the hooks, and a thirteen-year-old boy hanging on—fortified by rage. Father Casimiro smoked and listened. “What about the Bear’s friends?”

“The two of them grabbed at Nunzio, and that’s when we—all four of us—jumped in. I was a pretty good boxer by then, and Pompeo was always a strong kid. Nick pulled a knife, and George grabbed another baling hook off the wall. The Bear’s buddies ran out of the place; they weren’t up for the fight. After that, the only ones in the Hook were Stan, Sylvia, the Bear, Fiora, and us. The Bear started spinning and coughing up blood. Nunzio just held on. We were trying to get them apart. But the Bear kept spinning, knocking over tables. And Nunzio was like a cape flying from the Bear’s shoulders.

“Then, finally, the Bear dropped to his knees, straight down, his arms dead, draped at his sides. As the Bear fell forward, Nunzio pulled on the hooks. The Bear growled and then whimpered as his face cracked the wooden floor. All the time, Nunzio held onto the hooks—pulling. He let go when the Bear rolled over on his back—hooks still buried in his shoulders. He looked straight up at Nunzio.”

“He was still alive?” Father Casimiro gasped.

“Only for a moment or two. Nunzio wasn’t finished, but Stan grabbed him and said, ‘He’s gone. You kids get out of here so we can clean up.’ Nunzio never fell in love again.”

“Did she have any family?” Father Casimiro asked, flicking his cigarette into the gutter. “I mean, Fiora.”

“Fiora was fifteen and pregnant with Natale when she arrived in New York from Genoa. The Cherry Street Settlement took her in and after Natale was born, they got her a room with Sylvia and Stan, who hired Fiora to tend bar and dance on Tuesday nights. Fiora Ventosa was born on the third Tuesday in March and seventeen years later died on the third Tuesday in January, and her only family was two- year-old Natale Ventosa. No one ever knew who the father was. Natale was raised by Sylvia and Stan.”

“What about the police and the Bear’s friends?”

“No police—Stan fixed that. But the Bear’s pals came after Nunzio. The five of us were inseparable. Nunzio was, is, a born leader. Battle after battle, victory after victory, we quickly gained a reputation. Eventually other guys wanted to join our gang. By sixteen, Nunzio was the most powerful gang leader in the city. When he was twenty, he bought the Baling Hook.”

“He bought it?”

“Stan had passed away a couple of years earlier, so Nunzio turned it into a pretty good restaurant—no dancing—and re-named it Caffè Fiora. He sent Sylvia money every month to cover Natale’s financial needs. He paid Sylvia more than she ever dreamed to run the restaurant. When Sylvia died in ’51, Nunzio gave the restaurant to Natale.”

“So, you became a priest to ...”

“The battles we won were hard fought and people were killed. We all...I killed,” Father Joe confessed. “At nineteen, I decided to become a priest and devote my life to saving as many kids in these neighborhoods as I could in return for God’s forgiveness. We have an uneasy relationship—I’m certain God doesn’t always agree with my methods, and I have some questions for Him as well. But I’m sticking to the deal.”

“What about the other kids? Did they stay in the gang?”

“No. Pompeo is a foreman at the meat market, Nick became a cop, and George is a foreman on the docks. But on the third Tuesday of each month, the five of us go back there, just like when we were thirteen, but now it’s the Caffè Fiora—and we play poker in the back room and talk about how fast time passes.”

“Does Natale know?”

“Sylvia told her the whole story. Natale loves Nunzio like a father,” Father Joe said as he and Father Casimiro passed Columbus Park and made a left from Mulberry Street onto Worth Street. “This is the end of Little Italy.”

As they reached St. Joachim’s, Father Casimiro said, “I think I’ll walk over to the Settlement. You want to come with?”

“Come with?” Father Joe teased. “Sure, I can use the exercise.”

“Does Nunzio ever worry about some ambitious hooligan wanting to take over? Or is that just in the movies?”

“Hooligan?” Father Joe smiled. “Nunzio is the top lion. He is constantly watched by the ambitious and the aggrieved. He can’t show weakness. He can’t let a single insult—especially a public one—go unchecked. Continued leadership requires constant vigilance and no margin of error. None.”

“Sounds stressful.”

“It is. The only time Nunzio can relax—really be himself, joke around—is with us, the kids who grew up with him, on the third Tuesday of the month.”

CHAPTER ONE

“The right four people”

“Pal, in this city, you can have anything you want if you kill the right four people.”

“Nunzio, we don’t have to kill –”

“We? Me and you, De?” Nunzio leaned back, a gesture as intimidating as a knife to the throat when it came from Nunzio Sabino, the most powerful crime boss in the city.

Nunzio sat at his private table with his attorney, Declan Ardan, in the dusk-lit Caffè Fiora on Grand Street in Little Italy. On the walls, ropes, hooks, and paintings of Genoa’s seaport, honored the birthplace of the owner’s mother, Fiora, her dark eyes still vigilant from the portrait above Nunzio’s table. The Caffè was quiet on this rainy St. Patrick’s Day. Two of Nunzio’s men sat at a nearby table. The guy who had come with Declan sat hunched over coffee near the entrance.

“No, I mean, nobody has to get killed; talk to your guys at Tammany. They respect –”

“You still got that scar,” Nunzio said. It’s bad enough in court; there, I do what he says. But not at my table. Since we were kids, this mameluke was a bully. I can’t give him an inch. Not an inch. “What about my guys?”

De touched the scar above his left eye. “Doolin said the Italians run everything now. He said, ‘If anyone can pull strings...’”

“Before you start pinning medals on my ass,” Nunzio signaled to a waiter. “Arturo, bring me and ‘Deadshot’ here a couple of espressos and Natale’s little cakes.”

“All I’m saying is–”

“Marone, you’re still talkin’?”

“All I want – ”

“I know what you want. You wanna be mayor.” Nunzio lit a Camel and tossed the pack on the table while exhaling through his nose like a dragon. “Listen to me, Brian Doolin is a piantagrane, a troublemaker. For an upfront payment he sells you a dream. Then when it doesn’t come true it was always somebody else’s fault. Like you, that time when we were kids, and you told me Eddie Fialco sounded on my mother. It was bullshit, you just wanted me to beat him up. You’re a piantagrane, like Doolin. It works for you in court, but Doolin just likes to cause trouble. Look, you got a kid who wants to go to college for a grand, your kid’s in. But mayor, forse si forse no?”

“So, maybe a chance?”

“Maybe.”

De stroked his scar absentmindedly. “You gave me this when we were kids.”

“It makes you look like a tough guy.”

“I once asked Joe why you hit me with that rock.”

“It was a brick,” Nunzio said.

“Joe said it was to save my life. I still don’t get it.” “You don’t have to.”

“But Joe was there.”

“Joe was with Pompeo and me and a bunch of us.

What were we, ten years old? We were cutting through the empty lot to school, and you – ”

“Okay, so I was taking kid's lunch money. They all gave it up except you. You were the smallest kid, and you just said ‘No’.”

“And what did you say to me?”

“That’s what I don’t get; I just said, ‘okay, maybe next time’ and you hit me hard with a brick. I swear I was knocked out for a couple of minutes.”

“You said ‘maybe next time.’”

“Yeah, that’s all.”

“But you never asked me again.”

“I thought you were crazy. I followed you home one day. I figured if I saw where you lived, I would get a better read on you. I trailed you into the cellar of 57 Canon Street. I saw a little bed in one corner and a pile of banana crates by the door – the only things in that dirt floor cavernous space. You were shoveling coal into the furnace, which explained why you always had soot on you. I was about to say something when a spider the size of my face jumped out at me from the crates, and I beat it the hell out of there.”

“You followed me?”

“How could you have lived in that cellar?”

“Instead of where?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in...I don’t know. Didn’t some family take you in?”

“Yeah, the Sas family. Good people.”

“Anyway, I never asked you for money again.”

“If you had, I would’ve killed you. So, the brick saved your life.”

Declan nodded. “Yeah. Got it.”

Three years later, a hulking longshoreman people called “The Bear” wouldn’t be so lucky. He was the first man Nunzio killed. At the ripe age of 13, his life and the lives of four of his friends, changed forever.

Nunzio drifted back to his childhood. He was six years old when his mother and he moved from Naples to the Lower East Side. Alone after his mother died, he learned to survive in one of the most notorious neighborhoods in the city. Where the narrow, trash-lined streets and alleys weaved together decaying brownstone tenements with common toilets, one per floor. He shoveled coal and guarded the produce stored there by the ships docked off South Street, to pay for living in the cellar.

After school, Nunzio mostly walked the streets. He recalled the putrid smell of decomposing cats and dogs covered with a trembling blanket of insects, rats, and things he didn’t recognize. Lying in the gutter against the sidewalk on Pike Street was a horse, with old and fresh whip wounds, shrouded in a cloak of flying and crawling insects. Plenty of other horrors and hardships confronted him throughout his life, but when he closed his eyes, Nunzio saw the horse.

“I know you’re not here to talk about old times. Whadaya need?”

“Nunzio, no one is better than you with –”

“Christ, without the bullshit.”

De lowered his voice, “Tammany Hall is on the outs

with the mayor, and they’re scrambling to find a candidate to run against him. So, if you would tell them that you would be grateful if they would pick me...”

“You tellin’ me what to tell them? Forget about it. Anyway, I like the deputy mayor; he postponed the Brooklyn Bridge deal as a favor to me back in ’57.

“Nunzio, did I do something to piss you off? Is that why your guys searched us when we came in today?”

Chinatown was pushing towards Canal Street; the Russians were gaining a footprint in Brighten Beach. And Pepe, Nunzio’s driver, bodyguard, and right hand since forever, told him there were rumbles of a hit on Nunzio. Someone or some group was always waiting and watching. He knew, like bosses everywhere, that everyone under him thought they could do a better job and thought the boss never did enough for them. This felt different. Pepe had heard it from one of his spies in Satan’s Knights. Pepe would get more information.

But all Nunzio said was, “I’m a little cautious these days. You know how it is.”

“I’m your lawyer; you call me when you need help. Right?”

“I pay you top dollar. You complainin’?”

“No, I’m saying we help each other. We knew growing up here, the only choice was to be a gangster or a victim. No offense.”

“You believe that crap?” Nunzio shook his head. “What?”

“You can be whatever you wanna be.”

“I try to be straight, but you know – ”

“Who you kiddin‘?”

“The point is, we have to trust each other.” De took a long breath and looked wistful as his eyes landed on the painting of Fiora. “I came here with you to see her dance. She was 16 back then, with a two-year-old kid.”

“Seventeen,” Nunzio said, “and the kid’s name is Natale.”

“And you were 13 and asked Fiora to marry you in this Caffè. Am I right?”

“I never got the chance.”

***

Excerpt from NUNZIO’S WAY by NICK CHIARKAS. Copyright 2022 by Nicholas L. Chiarkas. Reproduced with permission from Nicholas L. Chiarkas. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Nicholas L. Chiarkas

Nick Chiarkas grew up in the Al Smith housing projects in the Two Bridges neighborhood on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

When he was in the fourth grade, his mother was told by the principal of PS-1 that, “Nick was unlikely to ever complete high school, so you must steer him toward a simple and secure vocation.” Instead, Nick became a writer, with a few stops along the way: a U.S. Army Paratrooper; a New York City Police Officer; the Deputy Chief Counsel for the President’s Commission on Organized Crime; and the Director of the Wisconsin State Public Defender Agency.

On the way to becoming an author, he picked up a Doctorate from Columbia University; a Law Degree from Temple University; and was a Pickett Fellow at Harvard. How many mothers are told their children are hopeless? How many kids with potential simply surrender to despair? That’s why Nick wrote Weepers and Nunzio's Way— for them.

Catch Up With Our Author:
NickChiarkas.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @AuthorNickChiarkas
Twitter - @chiarkas
Facebook - @NicholasChiarkasAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaway entries!

 

 

ENTER TO WIN:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Nick Chiarkas. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours