The Vetting Ch. 01

I slumped down onto the bed, which meant that my eyes were exactly at breast level, and I was transfixed.

"Up here, Justin."

I looked up at her dark eyes.

"I just wanted to say hello and welcome you to campus."

"Thanks. But I really want to know-"

She turned and started to leave. "Maybe you aren't as smart as I thought."

"Wait."

But she didn't. I watched her beautiful ass as it walked out the door and watched the door close behind her. I was too tired and too mixed up to follow. Tomorrow, I'd figure it out. I rolled onto the bed and was asleep before I could process anything.

xxxxxxxxxx

I didn't figure anything out the next day, or the next few weeks, because Anna Marie Raspoli was nowhere to be found. The few times that I saw her, or thought I saw her, on campus, she avoided me, and she never responded to my emails, texts or messages.

School was going well, otherwise. My classes were interesting, and my professors did cut me the occasional bit of slack with deadlines when they conflicted with road trips, but I never asked for, or got, any of the "special" help that some of the other guys got. And I started to play more—not a lot, but I started to get a reputation as a good route runner and possession receiver, even if I wasn't the fastest. I thought I was making progress, despite the occasional "stinger" or other minor injury that made me have to sit out some plays. In our fifth game of the season, I scored my first touchdown, and after doing an awkward celebration, I thought I saw Ann Marie Raspoli cheering in the stands, sitting next to a gray-haired older man, and I thought she was pointing at me. But it might have been wishful thinking.

That night, I went out with some of the guys to celebrate my first touchdown, and the fact that we were 4-1. Being underage didn't stop me from getting free beer all night, and the attention of some very pretty women. Especially a blonde named Talia, whose charms were obvious and on display. At about 1 a.m., I was leading Talia back to my room, and had every expectation that my first college fuck was about to happen when I saw Anna Marie Raspoli, again standing in front of my door, in slacks and a tight sweater, and that calm look. But this time, she wasn't alone. The older man, dressed in a blue blazer and white, button down shirt, was with her. He looked familiar.

"Hi, Justin. Congratulations on your first score," she said, smirking.

Talia looked at her, then me. "Is that your girlfriend?" she asked, annoyed.

"No. Just an acquaintance."

Anna Marie Raspoli did not look pleased. "I thought we were friends."

"Based on what?" I responded. "Friends don't ignore each other."

She smiled. "Friends don't pry."

I had no witty response. Talia jumped in. "So, what's going on?"

Before I could answer, Anna Marie Raspoli said, softly, "What's going on, sweetheart, is that you are going to say goodbye."

Talia looked at her, then at me, as if waiting for me to come to her defense. But I realized that would be a mistake. After a couple of awkward seconds, she turned and started to leave. She looked over her shoulder at me and said, "Your loss, asshole."

Anna Marie Raspoli looked at me and said, "Good choice. Let's take a walk."

I was not interested. "Look, Anna Marie, I'm tired, I'm sore, and I'm drunk. How about a rain check?"

She looked at the man, who had been standing, quietly, watching. "No. I thought that you would like the chance to meet my father, and he is leaving first thing in the morning."

Her father? I felt myself sobering up fast. "Um, of course, let's take a walk."

The man, Don Antonio Raspoli, reputed head of the Raspoli crime family, smiled at me, without any humor, and growled, "Good answer."

Anna Marie Raspoli led us outside, and two very large, black-clad gentlemen who I hadn't noticed before when I was focusing on Talia's abundant cleavage, fell in behind us. She led us to a long, black limo. "Since you are so tired and sore, maybe you want to take a ride."

As if I had a choice. I got in the limo, and Don Antonio sat across from Anna Marie and me. One of the big guys got into the driver's seat and the other got into the passenger seat. The car started to move and the partition between the front and back went up. Don Antonio reached out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Antonio Raspoli, Anna Marie's father," he said.

"I know that, sir."

He smiled. "Of course, you do. And don't call me 'sir.' Mr. Raspoli will do for now."

I nodded. I had no clue what was going on, and I knew, even at that age, that the best thing to do was to keep quiet.

Don Antonio continued. "My daughter wanted me to meet you. She says you have potential."

Ah, now I got it. He wanted to meet a football player who scored a touchdown. "Thanks, Mr. Raspoli. I think that I really can contribute this season."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't give a fuck about football," he growled, matter-of-factly.

"Then what-"

"She says that you are smart, clever and handle yourself well. That you will be successful."

I looked at Anna Marie Raspoli. She was looking at her father, her face composed, her nose prominent. She looked like a Roman statue.

"Um, thanks, I guess. Is there something you want from me?

Don Antonio looked a little annoyed, but then it passed. "What makes you think I want anything from you? Or that you could have anything I want? My daughter wanted me to meet you, and I like to meet promising young people."

This was not going well. I looked at Anna Marie and she seemed a bit disappointed.

"I'm sorry if I insulted you, Mr. Raspoli. I would never want to do that. I'm just tired and sore and more than a little bit confused. I don't like being confused."

He smiled. "Good answer, Justin. My advice to you, is never be confused."

The car pulled to a stop. Don Antonio and Anna Marie had a brief conversation in rapid Italian that I could not follow. One of the big guys opened the door, and I could see that we were back in front of my dorm.

"Good night, Mr. Raspoli. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Was it?" he growled.

"Honestly, no. But it was an experience."

He smiled briefly and nodded. I continued, "Good night, Anna Marie," and I started to climb over her to get out.

"I'll walk you to your room," she said.

"That's O.K."

"No, it isn't," she responded and slid out of the car. As we walked toward the dorm, the limo rolled away.

"Isn't that your ride?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"What do you mean?"

"What I said. I know that you were looking forward to being with that bimbo tonight, and I sent her away. I can't be responsible for your frustration—that would be rude."

By that time we were at my door, which I opened, and Anna Marie pushed me in and simultaneously kissed me. It was a kiss that, not surprisingly, was powerful and intense. But when we broke the kiss, both panting, she pushed me away. "You keep saying that you are sore. Let me give you a massage."

The idea was irresistible. "What should I do?"

She rolled her eyes, which made me feel bad, because for some reason I didn't want to disappoint her. "Get undressed and get on the bed, on your stomach. You've had massages before, right?"

So, I did. And Anna Marie Raspoli turned out to be an incredible masseuse. It was both soothing and erotic at the same time. And by the time that she finished the massage, she was also naked, and I got to see her beautiful body for the first time. Yes, we had sex that night, and it was probably the best I had until that point. She was both demanding and giving, creative and compassionate, uninhibited and tender, all at the same time.

When I woke up the next morning, she was gone, which disappointed, but did not surprise, me.

Later that morning, I tried calling her to politely thank her for a memorably evening, but was forced to tell that to her voice mail. And over the next week, the pattern continued—no response to electronic contact, and what appeared to be avoidance on campus.

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School and football, of course, didn't stop while I tried to figure out what either member of the Raspoli family, or Family, I guess, wanted from me. Because despite their protestations to the contrary, and Anna Marie's alternately intimate and icy responses to me, it seemed obvious that they had some interest in me.

In our next game, due to a couple of dings to the guys above me on the depth chart, I played more. I did pretty well, but the more I played, the more I realized that I had reached my level of ability. And after a couple of hits, I had trouble getting up. Defensive backs and linebackers at this level were bigger, faster and hit much harder than anything I had seen in high school. But I was beginning to get some recognition from the coaches, and even some nice mentions in the local papers.

I spoke with my parents regularly, and they were proud of my sports accomplishments, and also my classwork. I chose not to discuss my meeting with Don Antoino, or my relationship, such as it was, with his daughter.

We were contending for a bowl game, and it was all hands on deck. We were back at full strength, so my playing time had been reduced, but I was still contributing on offense and special teams. But then, the forces of randomness struck. His name was Jamel Anderson, and he hit me hard. All I could remember was lying on the ground, my body aching and tingling, and having trouble moving. I remember the crowd quieting, the trainers and doctor checking me out, and being taken off the field on a stretcher.

Obviously, as you can see, I wasn't paralyzed or anything. But after a thorough workup, the team doctor diagnosed me with spinal stenosis. It was simply a matter of bad genetics, bad luck, and too many hits. My parents had a bunch of high-priced specialists review the tests, and even flew one in to examine me. The general consensus was that I could play again if I wanted to, and that the risk of serious damage was slim. But there was a small risk of major trauma if I was hit just wrong, and the more I played, the more likely I would suffer chronic issues as I got older.

I met with the coaches and spoke with my parents at length, and a couple of my teammates, and at the end of the day, I decided to stop playing. I knew that I wasn't going to make it to the pros, and I had proven to myself that I could compete at a very high level, if probably not the highest. So, it didn't seem worth it to me to risk paralysis, or long term chronic pain. The coaches were disappointed but not devastated, supported my decision and told me I could remain part of the team through the bowl game, and I agreed to do so.

My situation was announced in the middle of a longer story in the school paper about the team on Thursday, and when I returned to my room after attending practice (where the coaches put me to work as essentially a coaching intern), there was Anna Marie Raspoli, again waiting outside my door. I was initially annoyed at the way that she showed up at random times, but never responded to me, then softened at the prospect of seeing her naked again and having unbelievable sex.

As always, it seemed like she could read my mind. "Not tonight, Justin. I just want to talk."

Again, Anna Marie Raspoli caused me mixed emotions. On the one hand, she just disappointed me on one level, while exciting me on another. Maybe this "talk" would clarify some of the many fuzzy things about our relationship.

"Oh, sure. Want to come in?"

"No, let's go out for a bite. My treat."

"Let me put my stuff inside and I'll be right out." I walked past her, getting a whiff of that scent that first beguiled me on the recruiting trip, and brought to mind our one night together. I looked at her, and she smiled that half smile of hers. I went into the room, tossed my stuff on the bed, turned and left, closing the door behind me. Anna Marie grabbed my arm and led me out of the dorm, to the parking lot and into her car, a late model BMW. I've never been a big car guy, but while this probably wasn't the top of the line, it was probably far from the bottom. I got into the leather seat, buckled up and got comfortable.

Anna Marie started the ignition, and she drove out of the lot.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Johnny's Steak House."

"Where's that?"

"A little out of town. My uncle is the owner."

"So, will I meet another Raspoli tonight?"

She looked at me, a bit peevishly, before returning her eyes to the road. "No, he's my mother's older brother. Not everyone in my family is part of my father's business."

"No offense intended. Really."

"Good answer, Justin. We'll talk at dinner, and you'll understand, I think."

We rode in silence, save for the radio, which was set to a jazz station. I realized that although I knew some interesting things about this woman, there was so much that I didn't know-not even her taste in music.

The restaurant was in an old building that had been restored beautifully, and there were a few expensive cars in the parking lot. When we entered the building, the hostess, a pretty woman a few years older than us, with the same nose as Anna Marie, hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Justin, this is my cousin Francesca Martelli, Uncle John's daughter. She used to babysit me when I was a baby."

"And what a beautiful baby she was," Francesca added. "Nice to meet you Justin. Follow me."

She led us through the dining room, which was about half full with older, well dressed couples talking and smiling. At the rear of the room was a staircase, and we went up into a private dining room. A table for 2 was fully set, with flowers and candles. It looked like a place you would take someone to propose. Francesca motioned to the table and said, "Dad will be out to see you in a few minutes." She kissed Anna Marie on the cheeks and shook my hand before leaving.

Anna Marie sat down facing the door, and I sat across from her. She looked beautiful in the candlelight. Before she could say anything, a tall, thin gray-haired man in a well-tailored suit entered the room. Anna Marie stood up, so I did, too. He said something to her in Italian, she smiled and said something back in Italian, and he hugged her.

Indicating me, she said, "Uncle John, this is my friend Justin Osland."

He reached for my hand, and shook it, enthusiastically. "Any friend of Anna Marie is a friend of mine," he said, in a deep voice that was surprising from a thin man.

"Thank you, sir." We sat.

"Nonsense, son. Call me Uncle John."

"Um, O.K., Uncle John."

"Bene. Now you are entitled to the family discount." He smiled. "Soup or salad?"

"Soup, thanks."

"Rigatoni or ravioli?"

"Rigatoni, please."

"Veal or fish?"

"Veal, I guess, thanks."

"Grazie." He turned and scurried out.

I looked at Anna Marie and she had that smile on her face.

"He didn't ask you what you wanted."

"He knows."

"Of course. I should have known."

"Yes."

The door opened again, and a waiter came in with a large bottle of wine. He showed it to Anna Marie, who nodded, then to me. I also nodded, although I knew nothing about wine. He poured me a taste, and it was probably the best wine I had ever had. Although my parents let me drink wine with dinner occasionally, this was richer and had a deeper flavor than anything they ever had.

"Delicious," I said, and the waiter filled both our glasses before leaving.

"I'm not 21, you know."

"Sssh—anyway, you're family." She smiled.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It is a Barolo, a fine Italian wine. This is from a vineyard owned by Uncle John's family. This is the only restaurant in the States that has it. If we didn't get the 'family discount,' it would cost around $500 a bottle."

I took another sip, and waited.

"You're waiting for me, right?"

"I am. I mean, I appreciate the dinner and all, but you said you wanted to talk."

"What about the company?"

"Of course, I appreciate the company. What man wouldn't?"

"Good answer," she said, smiling a full smile. She composed herself and said, "First, let me say that I'm sorry that you won't be playing football anymore."

"Thanks, but I'm O.K. with that."

"I know. But you'll miss it."

"I will. But it was the right call."

"Agreed. You understand that I was not interested in you because of football, even though that is how we met."

"I have no idea why you are interested in me, but so far I'm not complaining."

Her eyes narrowed. "So far?"

"Yes. Look, Anna Marie, you are beautiful, interesting, are amazing in bed and appear to be able to get good meals," I waved my hands to indicate the restaurant. "But you are also infuriatingly opaque, are controlling, don't respond to my calls or emails. And then—"

"And then there's my father."

"And then there's your father, and what he supposedly is. And it worries me."

"Don't be."

"That's easy for you to say."

She paused, and for a second I thought I saw a crack in her façade. "Not as easy as you seem to think." And just that quickly, it was gone. She picked up her wineglass and took a long drink.

"Sorry."

At that point a waiter came in with two minestrone soups. He offered pepper and Parmesan cheese, and I followed Anna Marie's lead in declining the first, and taking the second. After he left, I took a spoonful of soup. "This is incredible."

"Yes. After dinner, I'll introduce you to my cousin Lorenzo—he's the chef."

I waited, and she smiled before continuing. "Let me start at the beginning. What you have heard about my family used to be very true, now less so. My great, great grandfather Paulo came to America penniless and worked his way up to being a prominent man, maybe notorious would be a better word. His son, my great grandfather Bernardo, took over the family business and expanded it into new areas, some pretty unsavory, I have to admit. My Grandpa Vincenzo consolidated the family's power, but when Papa took over he decided to try to move into legitimate businesses, and the process is ongoing."

During this time, I kept eating the delicious soup, and Anna Marie occasionally paused to savor a spoonful.

She continued. "This restaurant was one of those legitimate businesses. Uncle John initially refused to take money from Papa—his side of the family was always against Mama's marriage because of the Raspoli name and reputation. But my father made it clear—he would invest in the business, but not interfere. And for 25 years, that is how it has been. Uncle John and Aunt Rita, and their kids, have made this restaurant a quiet success, and 5 years ago, they paid Papa back, with interest."

"Good for them," I said.

Anna Marie nodded. "Good for them. I know my father wanted to bring my older brother Massimo into the business, to keep the process of legitimizing the family going, but honestly, Massimo is a charming buffoon, and I say that with love, because he is a great brother. But Papa knew that he wasn't the heir he needed. I am."

"I have no doubt about that," I said, mopping up the last of my soup with a piece of crusty Italian bread.

"But you should know, I've told my father that I have no interest in anything illegal. None." She made a chopping motion with her hand. "And that if he wanted me to take over the business, it had to be all above board. He agreed."

A busboy came in and took away our soup bowls and spoons and reset the silverware for dinner. Anna Marie was quiet until he left.

"So, Papa and his associates are actually doing it. They are trading illegal businesses for legal ones, and by the time I finish business school, the transformation should be complete."

"That's great, but why are you telling me this?"