by Ws Greer
“Mr. Baskov is ready for you,” a voice says from behind me. Tommy and I turn around to find a young, clean-shaven black kid in a dark brown suit staring at us. He’s got a bald head and a nametag that says his name is Anthony. “He’s in the lobby to your left.”
“Kinda sneaky, ain’t you?” Tommy says to the guy, who just smiles as we walk towards the lobby.
Tommy and I approach the lobby together, where there’s a few people seated in cream and red plush chairs. Some of them are on their phones, others are clicking away on laptops, but they all look like occupied business people—all except for two.
Standing in front of a table in the exact center of the lobby are two men—one large guy, and one average size guy with black hair that’s styled like he should still be in the eighties. The big guy is tall and heavier set with a bald head that’s covered in tattoos, and a black suit that’s struggling to hold his big body inside of it. The average guy is trying to hide the fact that he’s covered in tattoos too, but they’re still visible as they peek out from under the collar of his black suit when he moves, as if they’re trying to escape. His hands are covered in symbols I can’t recognize from a distance, but I know they’re traditional Russian mafia tats.
I don’t know who the big one is, but the average one is Abram Baskov. His father, Ivan Baskov, was the head of the Russian mafia in Chicago a few years back. But that didn’t end too well, which is why Abram has resettled here in St. Louis.
I can tell from the look of this guy that he’s not someone I’m going to have to worry about. He’s young, only twenty-four, with a five o’clock shadow to try to make himself look older. It doesn’t help though, because even with the hair on his face, the youth is in his eyes. He’s never hurt anyone before and he sleeps well at night. He’s not haunted by the faces of the men he’s killed. He’s not in the lifestyle, he just wants people to think he is because of who his relatives are . . . were.
“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Collazo,” Abram says as we greet them. He doesn’t extend his hand, so neither do I.
“The pleasure’s mine,” I reply.
“Please. Sit.”
The four of us sit down and order champagne, and a full two minutes goes by before either of us says anything. It’s a test to see who’ll break the silence first, and there’s no chance it’ll be me. We’ll sit in this bitch all night before I speak first.
Finally, Abram relents and speaks up.
“Alright, let’s not waste each other’s time, Mr. Collazo. I know why you’re here,” he says before pausing to sip his champagne. He’s confident. “And your visit is quite unnecessary, because there’s no way I’m selling my casino.”
I exhale to steady myself.
“That’s not the way I hoped this conversation would start, Mr. Baskov,” I begin, making sure to never break eye contact. “I know you have your pride, but you’re a very rich young man. You could buy another casino without me buying you out of this one, so there’s no need for us to start off on the wrong foot.”
“I don’t care what foot we start on. All that matters to me is that you know I’m not selling, and now that I’ve said that to your face and you’ve heard it straight from my mouth, there’s no need for us to continue this conversation.” Just like that, Abram and his goon stand up like they’re leaving.
But they’re not.
I clear my throat.
“You don’t know me very well, and I’d hate for you to get the wrong impression, so it’s important that I’m honest with you,” I begin, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m not impressed by your tattoos, or your little bodyguard in the suit that’s two sizes too small to try to make himself look bigger. I’m also not impressed with your money, especially since the only reason you have any is because you got a nice, fat inheritance and life insurance when your lunatic uncle, Ilia Baskov, murdered your pussy of a father so he could partner up with his enemy, Kelvin Carter, and become boss of the family. Which was completely pointless, because your uncle ended up getting killed in a shootout with Chicago PD anyway. I know you, Abram. You didn’t earn any of this shit, you didn’t work for it. It was handed to you, and I’m not fucking impressed. So, you can spare me the little rich kid attitude, and sit the fuck down before I make a scene in front of all your guests.”
Abram looks stunned, but he looks downright flabbergasted when he glances at Tommy and sees he has his hand in his jacket pocket holding one of his two nine millimeters.
Abram hesitates for a second, before finally exhaling.
“Sest’, Aleks,” he says to his bodyguard in Russian. They both sit, and Abram takes another sip of his champagne. “You have my full attention, Mr. Collazo.”
“Good.” I nod to Tommy and he tucks his pistol back into its harness. “Now, here’s the deal I’m offering. I’ll buy you out of your ownership of Lumiere Place for five million dollars, which is overpriced for the inconvenience of having to sell quickly and without preparation. See, I’m nice. Your staff and everything else stays in place for now. The only thing that goes is you. You sign it over to me, you take the money and pile it in with the rest of your inheritance so you can buy another hotel, preferably outside of St. Louis, because if you think you can escape your family’s fucked up past in Chicago by settling down here, you’re crazier than that suit looks on ‘ole Alex here.”
Abram looks pissed. He sticks his pointy nose up in the air and breathes in like the oxygen gives him confidence, and he needs all he can get. He sips the champagne again before finally sitting back and crossing his legs, mirroring me.
“Interesting offer, but allow me to counteroffer,” he says with a thin Russian accent. “I know you Italians are a prideful bunch as well, with your La Cosa Nostra bullshit, and your Omerta code of silence that no one in the history of the Italian mafia has ever kept. You’re not the only one who’s capable of doing research, Dominic Collazo. I know your family is having trouble once again, with Leo Capizzi soon to be arrested and spending the rest of his pathetic life behind bars. Acquiring my casino would go a long way to making you the youngest boss your family has ever had. But I also know you already own River City, so you too could buy another casino if you wanted. You Italians think you can just step on whoever you want to get whatever you want, and you’re mistaken.
“You come to my casino, you insult my family, you insult my father, and you think I would sell to you? You’re out of your mind. I will, however, do you a favor out of the kindness of my heart. I’ll help you. See, I’m nice. I’ll help you look like a big shot in front of your family by allowing you to become my partner, but you’ll split everything with me fifty-fifty. Anything you and your family bring in through Lumiere gets cut in half and belongs to me. That’s the deal, and it’s the only deal.”
“What is it with you Russians always trying to become partners? Let me make this clear for you, you fucking cock sucker. This ain’t Chicago, and I ain’t Kelvin Carter. I’m not looking for a fucking partner to split shit down the middle, and you should know better because that’s the same kind of idiotic thinking that got your father killed. Partnerships between families is bad for business, because there’s no trust. I’d tell you to ask your father, but we see where that got him. That ain’t how the Giordano family does business. That ain’t how I do business. You got a lot of balls to insult what we do in Our Thing, when your entire fucking family got wiped out just a few hours away from here. You should probably learn to keep your fucking mouth shut about things you don’t really know about.”
The tension is thicker than ever and I can feel it heavy on my skin. It hangs over us like a thick fog making the air hard to take in. My blood’s rushing through my veins and I’m more alert than ever. Beads of sweat are starting to form on Abram’s head and I can see his jaw tight with anger. I didn’t expect this to get so hot so fast, but I don’t fucking care. I’m ready. I tap Tommy on the leg under the table and he responds by pulling out the other nine millimeter he had stashed in his waistband.
He aims it at Abram under the table, and judging from Alex’s stiff posture and the nervous look on his face, he’s doing the same thing, with his pistol aimed straight at me.
Abram and I glare at each other, waiting for the other person to make a move. I wish for it. I want him to try something, so I can watch Tommy blow his fucking face off right here in the lobby. But he doesn’t. He exhales and I see his muscles relax.
“You don’t agree to fifty-fifty?” he says with a shrug. “Then you can take your five million dollars and shove it up your Italian ass. I’m not selling. So, make your move.” Abram picks up his glass of champagne and knocks the rest of it back before finally slamming it back on the table and folding his arms in defiance.
“You sure this is what you wanna do, Abram?” I ask, giving him one last chance. “Because if I walk out of here right now, you know what that means.”
Abram doesn’t budge.
“I’m sure if you’re sure, Dominic,” he says, his face cold and emotionless. “You see, your problem is that you think I’m afraid, but I assure you I’m not.”
“And your problem is that you think your fear, or lack thereof, makes a bit of difference,” I say as I tap Tommy again. He stuffs the gun back in his waistband so none of the patrons in the lobby see it, and both of us stand together. “Whether you’re afraid or not has no effect on me now, and it won’t have any effect later.”
That’s it. There’s no need to make any threats or to try to end the conversation like a badass. There’s nothing left to say, so Tommy and I turn around and walk towards the exit, leaving Abram and Alex at the table staring daggers into our backs. I don’t look back, because as far as I’m concerned, Abram Baskov is already dead.
“Well, that was fun,” Tommy quips as we exit the lobby and head to the main exit. I turn to him and smile, because we both know what’s going to happen next. We just have to figure out how we’re going to do it. It’s when I’m smiling at Tommy that I notice something behind him.
As we walk past the counter towards the revolving door, I see a woman setting her luggage at her feet as she speaks to the clerk at the counter. She has long brown hair that flows beautifully to the middle of her back, and her ass is pushing her jeans to the absolute limit. Something about the way she’s standing grabs my attention and doesn’t let go.
I stop walking and stare at her as the clerk checks her in and hands her the key to her room. When she grabs the key and turns around to pick up her luggage, my heart drops into the bottom of my feet.
I recognize her pale skin, her brown eyes, her pouty lips.
“Holy shit,” I say louder than I mean to, but I can’t help it. It’s her.
“Alannah?”
Alannah
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
It’s him.
He’s here.
He’s right here in front of me.
I just landed an hour ago. I haven’t even had a chance to check into my hotel room completely, and Dominic is already here. It’s really him. Oh. My. God.
He’s staring at me, and I’m staring back. He’s blinking, but I don’t think I am. I don’t think I’m breathing either, because the sheer beauty of this man is making it hard for my lungs to function properly.
He’s bigger than I remember, which should be a given since it’s been ten years, but my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders right now, so I’m surprised by it when I shouldn’t be. He’s about six-feet tall now, and at least two hundred-five pounds with thick arms and the same pink, pouty lips I’ve always loved. He’s gorgeous and intimidating, and I can’t stop staring. It’s Dominic. A bigger, sexier Dominic, wearing a suit that’s not quite black and not quite gray, but it definitely looks good on him.
“Alannah?” he says to me, his voice low, and sultry, and sexy, and holy shit.
“Oh my god,” I manage to utter. “Dominic. Is that you?” I know it’s him, but I don’t know what else to say.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is. I can’t believe this. What are you doing here?” He looks confused and adorable with that furrow in his brow that always turned me on and scared me all at the same time. His voice still carries the subtle Italian accent but has dropped an octave.
“I’m here,” I answer. I realize that sounds confusing so I try to clarify, but even that’s difficult right now. “I mean, I just landed. I’m here. I’m back. Umm, I just moved back here. To St. Louis.”
Dominic raises his eyebrows.
“You moved back to St. Louis? For good?”
“Yeah. My flight just landed about an hour ago. I’m just now checking into my hotel room until my place is ready. Umm, what are you . . . I mean, it’s really nice to see you. I was wondering if you were still here.”
He smiles before he answers, and I’m pretty sure my heart skips a few beats, then resuscitates itself.
“Of course I’m still here. I’d never leave St. Louis. I don’t understand. You’re here. You’re back,” he states like he’s confused by his own words. Then he suddenly snaps back into reality and looks at the man standing behind him, and I realize there actually is a man standing back there that I didn’t even see before, because I was too focused on Dominic.
This guy isn’t someone I recognize from school. He’s a little shorter than Dominic, but I can tell he’s buff even in his suit. He’s got really short hair and a scowl etched on his face like it’s permanent. The two of them together look like businessmen—the kind of businessmen that would hang you off the roof of a balcony if you owed them money.
Dominic whispers to the guy who I’m already convinced is a hitman, and while the two of them talk, I realize I’m standing here in a pair of jeans and a white Homegrown Alaska t-shirt that I soaked with my sweat on the plane. I’m a hot mess, and Dominic is over there dripping with sexy gorgeousness. Shit. I try to run my fingers through my hair like a brush but before I get two strokes in, Dominic turns and walks over to me. The other guy exits the building without saying a word.
“You’re staying in this hotel?” Dominic says, his expression harder now.
“Umm, yeah. Why?”
“You can’t stay here.” Dominic scoots his way behind me and places some cash on the counter. “She’s checking out. Now,” he says to the clerk, who looks puzzled.
“I’m not sure I understand,” the young clerk replies.
“You don’t have to understand. Just check her out of the room.”
“What are you doing?” I interject. “What’s going on?”
When Dominic faces me, his expression has softened again and he’s smiling.
“Nothing. Why pay to stay here when you can stay in a suite for free?” he replies.
Now it’s my turn to look puzzled.
“A suite? Free? Am I supposed to be this confused?”
Dominic smiles again as the clerk finishes checking me out of the room I never stepped foot in.
“I’ll explain on the way.”
As we ride in the back of the taxi, Dominic sits silently next to me staring ahead like he’s driving even though he isn’t. There’s been no explanation as to where we’re going, but I’m not concerned about it anymore. All I can think about is how Dominic is sitting next to me. Dominic is sitting next to me! He isn’t dead—the victim of some heinous murder with his body chopped up and buried in cement, never to be seen again. The lack of contact over the past decade has made my imagination go to extremes, to say the least.
Now that I know he’s not dead, I see him sitting here with his fancy suit and untouchable demeanor. He’s grown up to be the man I thought he’d be when we were in school. He’s obviously got money, and I can tell he’s the kind of man who demands respect.
So, I start to wonder. What’s he doing now that he’s all grown up? Is he still connected to the mafia like he was ten years ago? Is he a savage killer who likes to cut off the hands of his enemies? Or, is he really a businessman earning a living off of the hotel his father used to own? I don’t know, but I want to.
“So,
how have you been all these years, Dominic?” I force myself to ask, although my nerves want me to stay quiet.
Dominic peels his eyes off the windshield to look at me, his blue eyes piercing.
“I’ve been good. I’m a little stunned that you’re here, though. I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again.”
“I know what you mean.”
“So, you’re really here for good?”
“Yeah. I got a job at Mercy Hospital so I’m here to stay. I’m glad, too. I’ve always loved this place, and I never wanted to leave to begin with. I’ve missed St. Louis.”
Dominic doesn’t say anything, but he smiles like he’s got lots to say in his head. I smile back and we lock eyes again. It’s like it’s a game to see who’ll look away first, and I lose when the cab turns into the parking entrance of River City Casino & Hotel.
I look out the window and marvel at the large structure built to look like a castle in the front. It’s bigger than I remember, and you can’t tell it’s a hotel until you pull around back and see the windows to the rooms. The construction is marvelous and it just breathes fancy, with its pillars made of elegant white brick.
Dominic pays the cab driver with what looks to be a lot more money than the fare, then he steps out. As I reach for my handle so I can get out, I see two valets outside jump to attention and rush over to greet Dominic. I open my door just in time to hear them talking to him.
“Good morning, Mr. Collazo,” one says, nodding politely.
“Sorry, Mr. Collazo, I didn’t recognize you in the cab,” the other says with a bit of pleading in his voice.
Dominic shoos them away with a wave of his hand as he glances down at his phone, before stuffing it back into his pocket and speaking.
“It’s fine. Just help her with her bags,” he says, and the valets dive into action. When I try to reach for one of my bags, they tell me they’ve got it, and follow Dominic and me as we walk inside to the counter. Dominic directs his attention to the clerk who stands at attention like an Army soldier when he sees us approaching.
