High Stakes (6 page)

“I look like Jessica Rabbit.”

“I’m sure all those grease balls will appreciate it,” she chuckles.

The red-orange lip-gloss I apply completes the package. Goddamn, I look like a
real
woman. The dress hugs every inch of my curves and I tie up my hair, letting loose a few tendrils down my face. I’ve never looked this good in my life. I didn’t know it was possible.

“I’m going all out tonight. One last game. I want to get thousands and
thousands
.”

What was the difference between a waitress wearing a low-cut shirt to get bigger tips and this? Nothing at all.

Ah, but you’re not just doing it for bigger tips
, a slimy voice inside me says.
You want him
.

Of course, I want him. Any red-blooded female would want a man who looked that good in a suit. But he’s off limits.

After getting ready, it seems like a waste of my effort to descend into the subway, but I can’t afford a cab.

“Please be careful. Call me when you’re done.”

Her hovering behavior might be annoying to some, but for someone who has never had a parent care about where she was or what she was doing, it feels comforting. Like there’s at least one person in this city of two million people who cares about me.

I hobble down the steps of my dorm in my taupe heels, ignoring the admiring looks thrown my way, but secretly loving them.

How am I going to tell him I quit?

Every time I try to practice, the words freeze in my head. I can just see him glower. I remember the way he held my arm so tightly just because I wanted to take the subway and my blood feels like ice. It won’t be easy telling him no.

The subway is packed with students already fresh out of finals. Everyone’s dressed up, ready for a night on the town, and so am I. I take 7
^th
Avenue Local all the way to 50
^th
street, where the gargantuan, flashing screens are so distracting that I almost trip over a sidewalk. It’s so loud, so noisy—there are hordes of people on the sidewalks and cars honking nonstop. It’s New York City’s chaos at its peak. There are garish ads for every major company and the whole block looks like a flashing, out of sync rainbow.

I don’t know why the hell Vincent would host a card game in the middle of Times Square. Crossing the street, I bypass the superhero street performers and walk beside the theaters, where people are standing in line for
Wicked.
A giant Scientology building with at least ten TV screens blares with a constantly streaming welcoming video. Then I see it: The Paramount.

My jaw drops as the gilded doors open. It’s dark inside—extremely dark, nothing you would expect a hotel lobby to be like. Flashing purple lights and club music pounds through the carpeted floors. It looks more like a lounge than a hotel. A strange perfume smell fills my nose as I head for the elevators. Tacky wallpaper covers everything.

Heart pounding, I press the button in the elevator for the 22
^nd
floor and I try not to think about what I’m going to say, but of course I have to think about it.

I wipe my palms over my dress as the elevator rises to the 22
^nd
floor way too quickly. I step outside, and immediately to my left is the same bouncer from before. There are men standing outside, but neither of them is Vince and my heart slams against my chest, but I walk there anyway. I have a job to do.

One of them is the forty-ish man I recognize from before, Paulie. His head lifts up as he sees me approach. A shorter man, dressed in a suit, makes a startled movement.

“Whoa!” the other guy ejaculates as his eyes feast on me. “Who the fuck is this?” He doesn’t say it rudely. “‘Scuse my language,” he adds.

“New dealer,” Paulie explains, giving me a warm smile.

 “Hi, I’m Adriana.” I extend my hand to shake, but he takes it to his lips.

“Adriana, this is Nicky. He’s in our crew.”

Our
crew?

Nicky kind of gives me the creeps. He keeps my hand in his grasp for a little too long, and I don’t like the way he leers at me. It’s with a little bit more than admiration, it’s like he’s wondering if he’ll be able to fuck me at some point. I’m just not used to this kind of attention, but I smile and laugh like it’s no big deal.

The door opens for me and I step inside, not before hearing him whisper to Paulie, “She’s gorgeous.” My chest flushes with heat as I walk into an incredibly large suite with hardwood floors. All of its white, modern furniture is pushed aside to make room for the poker tables. The dealers are setting them up already. I try to look for Vince surreptitiously, but he’s nowhere to be found. Dismayed, I try to grab one of the unfolded tables to set it up myself, but a guard I haven’t noticed till now takes it from me.

“Let me do that.”

He’s a young guy, probably close to my age. He sets up the table for me before I have a chance to argue.

Hell, just let him. You can’t bend over in this dress, anyway.

When he finishes setting it up, I drag a chair and sit behind the table, watching the door as people start to filter in. The people joining the games are even more mismatched than last time. There’s no party this time. It’s clear that this is just business.

When people start filling up around my table, I find out that we’re playing poker. Awesome. I love poker so much more than Blackjack, because there’s so much more skill involved. It’s not just about what kind of hand you’re dealt. You have to be able to control your emotions and let the players see only what you want to see.

The young guy keeps a careful watch over my table as we begin the game. I can’t believe how much cash some of these guys are playing. Thousands and thousands of dollars in chips are casually flipped to the center of the table. A middle-aged man with sand-colored hair has a small mountain of chips. He wears sunglasses that cover half his face and doesn’t say much.

The night wears on with people filtering in and out of the hotel suite.

“So where are you from?”

One of Vincent’s men peers down at me like he doesn’t get why I’m here.

Honestly, neither do I.

“Um—I grew up in Brooklyn. I live in the dorms where I go to college.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

My face burns.
Seriously?
I look at the table and they’re all curiously still, as if wondering the same question. “Uh—no.”

The small talk continues between the men and me. Every one of them slides over a tip to me when they finish. One of them swears when he loses ten grand, but other than that it’s pretty civil. I have to keep reminding myself where I am and who hired me to be here. It just doesn’t seem real.

The door swings open and cries of “Cesare!” make me snap my head to the left. Vincent stands there in a dark suit, he kisses the man who greets him on both cheeks, and they slap each other’s backs before he turns around. I avert my eyes and realize that someone’s waiting for me to trade them cards. I take them and deal two cards.

There’s a brief lull in the game and I look up again to search for Vince. He’s making the rounds on all the tables, checking if everything’s going okay, and finally he turns towards mine and his approach pauses as his eyes fall over me. I reach up and undo my hair, letting it fall down my back in waves. Their eyes flicker towards me, but I act like I haven’t noticed anything. He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks, like he can see through what I’m doing.

“Hey!”

A voice snaps at me, and I realize I’ve neglected the game.

“Sorry, sorry!” I rush back into it, dealing and shuffling the cards.

“We know Vince is pretty to look at, but try to focus on the game, eh?”

The whole table roars with laughter as I try to ignore how red my face must be.

Vince slides around me so that I can’t see him, but a sudden weight pushes my chair down and I can feel him grasping the head of my chair.

“She’s prettier than I am, that’s for sure.”

The guys all nod in affirmation as a nervous, high laugh leaves my throat. Vince’s compliment embarrasses the hell out of me, but at the same time it’s uncommonly kind. But they’re all pretty decent men. So far, I haven’t experienced any nasty comments, or unwanted grabs, or any of the uncouth behavior you’d expect. His weight leaves and he stands against the wall. Dark eyes watch every move that I make. It’s not like last time, when he was trying to catch a mistake. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

When the players leave, I remain seated as my heart ramps up again. I’m trying to steel myself to tell him—to tell him—

He’s towering over me. Vince sits down next to me, close enough for our knees to touch. He takes the box of my chips and smiles.

“Looks like you did quite well for yourself. I’m glad to see you followed my advice.”

The tone indicates he’s glad I took his advice for more than just the money. I feel his eyes all over me, but it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. He’s not leering at me. He’s just a man appreciating my beauty. There’s no lust in his gaze.

Vince takes his cut and I’m trying to make a sound through my mouth.

Go on, tell him! Say you’re done.

“You’re not going to tell your friends about this arrangement, are you?” His tone is suddenly sharp and a switch flips. All of a sudden, his posture over me is menacing, his dark eyes flashing.

I’m taken aback. “No! No, of course not. I know who you are, that would be—”

The darkness recedes so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it. His smile cuts me off, almost as if he never meant anything by it. He looks almost harmless. The charm, the lightness in his voice—it almost makes me forget how dangerous he is.

“Of course, you wouldn’t. You’re a good girl. Aren’t you, Adriana?”

There it is again. That faint note of condescension that makes me bristle. Or maybe he just thinks I’m a cute little thing. Not to be taken seriously.

It boils my blood.

“Yo, Vince! We goin’ out still?” A man calls from across the room.

He takes my hand in his as he stands up. For the first time, I feel how rough his hands are. The calluses scrape against my skin. I use the gentle pressure in his palm to stand up.

“Some of the guys and I are going out. Come with us.”

“I don’t know.” It’s late and the whole point of today was to quit working for him. It’s in shambles, and I feel guilty about it.

The gentle squeeze of his hand reassures me. “
Come
.”

How can I refuse?

* * *

The city is waking up.

Times Square is flooded with people, who make the traffic horrendous. Vincent doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it, probably. He guns the engine when it’s green, weaving around pedestrians effortlessly while I try to pluck up the nerve to quit.

Stop fooling yourself. You’re not quitting. Not with another three thousand in your purse.

He’s perfectly polite and cordial in the car, and it puts me at ease. Maybe this whole mafia thing is overblown. Maybe they’re not that bad.

“Where are we going?”

“West Village.”

I know I’m probably not supposed to ask questions, but I’m intensely curious about this man. “Is that where you live?”

He grins. “You want to know where I live, eh?”

My face burns and I’m upset at how easily he gets to me. “No, it’s not—I just—goddamn it,” I groan when his lips pull into a brilliant smile, laughing at me to let me know he’s fucking with me.

“I’m in the Upper West Side,” he says when the laughter dies down.

Do you have a girlfriend?

Just the idea of asking him something so personal makes me wince.

I keep thinking of things to ask him, but I’m so painfully shy, so worried that I’ll offend him that I keep my mouth shut. I’m not normally like this, but everything about him, down to his disarming smile to his charm, makes me nervous. There’s also the fact that he’s a fucking
capo.
Maria and I watched a couple episodes of
Sopranos
to find out exactly what that meant. It means that he’s a man of considerable power. He has a group of soldiers that he commands.

All my information is from TV shows and movies, really. It does little to comfort me. All it does is make the myth surrounding him even more powerful, and maybe that mystery gives him more power, too. People like me have no idea what his world is like, but I have an idea that I’m going to find out. I can’t help it. I’m fascinated.

The West Village is far away from the madness in Midtown, filled with cute little shops and upscale restaurants and bars. He parks the car and we get out. Right away, I spot Nicky and Paulie walking side by side. Their heads perk up as they spot us.

“Hey Vince!”

“Hey.”

I fall behind as Vincent and Paulie walk together, talking. Nicky walks with me, looking a little too happy to see me.

“Did you have a nice time tonight?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Did anyone give you a hard time?”

“Nah, everyone was nice.”

“Let me know if anyone gives you shit. I’ll take care of them for you.”

He smiles like he’s just joking, and I give him a shaky laugh. I have no idea whether he’s serious, and the harsh glare cast on his face from the streetlights makes a chill travel up my back. We approach a restaurant after walking a few blocks. There are too many restaurants in New York for me to recognize this one, but the interior is very dimly lit. Rows of simple, clean wooden tables with white chairs. The walls are a cool, steel blue, barely lit up by dark orange wall lights. It’s a wonderful restaurant for a date.

Vince strolls up to the hostess and gives his name. She leads us right away down the narrow restaurant into a private room surrounded by walls of wine. The pale wooden tables are pushed together, white chairs surrounding the rectangle. We take our seats, Nicky pulling out mine, and Vince sits down at the head of the table, just a couple chairs from mine. He quickly orders several bottles of wine and the waitress pours glasses for everyone. The door to our private room opens and more of Vincent’s men filter in, taking their places quietly.