Candy walked off and disappeared into the night. The next customer was not too far behind, and I watched as Billy dealt for another two hours, until nearly one in the morning before abandoning the corner and walking off into the park. That presented me with a problem. I knew the routes out of the area, and at the time I was limited in my options. The buses and link trains were shut down for the night, and I was miles from home, and the way I was dressed, getting a taxi was a long shot.
I cut northwest, avoiding the park but still making my way to King Street Station, which would be closed for another four and a half hours before it would open. However, I was able to safely pull out the burner phone that I'd taken with me downtown, and dialed Tomasso.
"Yeah?"
“All done. Can I get a pickup?"
"No can do," Tomasso said, "we're rolling on another situation. Can you get yourself back home?"
I sighed, nodding even as I spoke. "Yeah. It'll take a while, but I can do it."
"Good man. If you really need it though, I can call in a favor. Is there something to the rumors?"
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine. But yeah, you're going to need some presence down here."
"Okay. Talk to you tomorrow."
The phone went dead, and I put it away, groaning. I knew that Tomasso was a busy man, after all, even in the Mafia we did have to put in work. But still, I’d hoped that by two in the morning things would have calmed down for the night.
Sighing, I turned toward my apartment. Even if I broke into a jog, not a good idea when you're carrying a pistol at night, it would take me nearly an hour to get to my place.
"No use whining about it," I muttered, walking away from the station. Maybe I'd get lucky, I thought. Maybe there would be a taxi driver who'd be willing to take a risk on a grungy looking guy out that late heading toward the poorer neighborhoods, if he saw the money in my pocket.
As I walked, I distracted myself, trying to think about my trip to Vegas coming up. I was excited honestly, as I hadn't been there in years, not since a lucky Christmas bonus and a friend scoring discount tickets on Southwest had me and him sharing a room at the Hard Rock, where we blew our entire gambling budget in about three hours, but still had the time of our lives going around, getting drunk off our asses, and later on, when my friend had found a UNLV girl who was willing to do a little partying, I'd split off on my own, walking the strip nearly all night, just enjoying the city. I watched with knowing eyes as men who were in the positions I wanted to be in at the time took care of business, cool and collected. They were the guys I wanted to be, and now I had the chance to be one of them. I'd left Vegas just a broke working kid who had a bad rep and a dream. I was coming back still with a dream, but with my self-respect and knowledge that I was fucking going places.
Except for getting a taxi. I staggered into my apartment at nearly four in the morning, twenty-three hours after I'd gotten up that morning, having walked the entire distance from King Station to my apartment, locking the door behind me with tired hands and bleary eyes. I set my alarm, praying I'd get up in time, laid down, and hoped Carmen didn't have any major new ideas to go over for practice in two hours.
Chapter 14
Carmen
It was six fifteen when Dante staggered in the door, wiping at his eyes and drinking a forty ounce Pepsi. "Mornin'."
"You're late," I replied, a little miffed when he just shrugged in reply. "Well?"
"Work was long last night. I overslept," Dante said, stifling a yawn. "My bad."
"Not a good day to be off," I fumed, going over to the counter. "Our outfits arrived from the tailors."
He groaned and took a drink of his Pepsi, draining at least a quarter of the bottle in one swig. "Great. I hope they’re not too bad. I signed up to dance, not to prance around like a fairy.”
“Your whining aside, we need to run through the compulsory. We were a bit off with that third transition step, which throws us off for the next two in terms of timing. If we screw up three transitions, we're going to suffer on points."
"Okay, okay," Dante said, setting his bag down and yawning again. "Can we at least do the costumes first, give me a chance to wake the fuck up?"
I grumbled, but nodded. "Fine. I'll go first, I've got the more extensive stuff anyway. Let me get the first dress. You start changing into your tux out here."
I had three different dresses that I would wear for the competition, the first two of which were classic ballroom gowns, although to support my breasts I had a heavier duty shelf bra built into the bodice, giving the insides a ribbed, corset like appearance. Unfortunately for me, that meant that getting into each dress was a bitch, and I spent over five minutes wiggling and gyrating myself into the thing.
"Glad I didn't choose any with sleeves," I muttered as I finally got the first dress on. It closed with a zipper on my left side that was cleverly hidden by a fold of the imitation silk, while I'd just have to grin and bear the heavy duty zipper a few inches under my armpit. I pulled on my shoes and walked out, my anger kicking up a notch when I found that Dante was slumped against the wall, his eyes closed and snoring lightly, his garment bag unzipped and a shoe halfway off his foot.
"Get up," I said, coming over and nudging him with my toe. "I need your help."
His eyes opened, and he heaved himself to his feet. "Okay. Which one is this again?"
"The compulsory dress," I said, looking at the purple and black outfit in the mirror. Dante's outfits were much simpler, the first two being the same base tailed tuxedo with a change of shirts to coordinate with my dresses. "Help me with the zipper?"
He came around to my left side, blinking as he searched for the zipper before grabbing hold. He pulled, and I hissed as he caught some of my skin in the teeth. "Ouch. Watch it, dumbass!"
"What did you say?" Dante said, stepping back. He looked hurt and shocked, and I turned to tug at my dress, ignoring his expression as I tried to free the little pinch of skin. "What did you call me?"
"I called you a dumbass," I repeated, freeing the skin with a hiss. "Fuck, that's going to bleed. Get me a tissue?"
He turned on his heel and walked away without a word, going over to the counter and grabbing a facial tissue and handing it to me. I jammed it into the dress, deep enough that it would absorb any errant blood from the teeth. I looked myself over in the mirrored wall, twirling and checking the flow and drape of the dress, satisfied.
"All right, let's just cut to the showpiece dress," I said, walking back to the back and starting to take off the purple dress. As I did, I hissed again when I saw the cut on my left side. The zipper had gotten me good. "I can't believe you did that."
Dante didn't say anything, and I turned, walking out in the half open dress I was trying to take off. I was sure he was sleeping again, but instead I found him closing up his Pepsi bottle and zipping his bag. "Where the fuck are you going?"
He turned, his face stony with anger. "I have slept one fucking hour in the past day. I had to walk ten miles last night all told, and I don’t have the fucking time or patience to put up with someone who is going to yell at me. I'm going to go home and get some sleep."
"What do you mean, get some sleep?" I yelled. "This is our last practice before we go to Vegas! We've got work to do!"
"You think yelling at me is going to get it done?" Dante yelled, turning on me. There was fire in his eyes. "You think calling me a dumbass is going to get that done? You think . . . oh, fuck this. I'm outta here."
He turned and walked out of the studio, not slamming the door only because of the fact that the door was on a hydraulic arm. I was stunned, pissed off, and charged after him. "Wait! What about your outfits?"
"Fuck it, just bring them to Vegas," he yelled back through the rolled down window of his car. He fired up the engine, revving it twice. "As long as I don't split the fucking pants, I'm fine. See you later."
Dante peeled out of the parking lot, and I stared after him, feeling like an idiot in a half-open dress and he
els. I gawped for a moment before wheeling and going back inside, closing the door and stomping back to my living area. I wanted to tear off my dress I was so angry, but I couldn't. At least a little part of me had heard his last words. He was coming to Vegas, at least. I carefully pulled the dress off and laid it aside, sighing as I partially calmed down. Regardless of how pissed off I was, I had to get the rest of my outfits tried on, and then I had to try and figure out how I was going to get through the next four days.
I was still fussing with my third and most complex dress when I heard a knock at my studio door. I couldn't see much because I was fussing with my headdress, which was pissing me off even more as it didn't seem to want to cooperate, and didn't look into the mirror. "If that's you Dante, I'm still pissed at you right now. Get your ass in here and help me with this thing."
I heard the door open and someone come in, chuckling. "You know, you look hot as hell. But yelling is certainly not what you expect of a ballroom dancer."
I turned, my feet getting tangled up, and I tripped, falling on my butt as I saw Adriana standing in the entryway of my studio, her bemused smile turning to a look of concern as she came across the floor to check on me. "Are you okay?"
"Yes . . . no . . . fuck!" I said, tears coming to my eyes as I felt my anger and frustration combine with the now fresh pain in my butt. I wiped at the tears, hissing and trying to control my feelings. "Help me up?"
"Sure," my best friend said, offering me her hand. "I didn't know that such a little bit of fabric could be so dangerous."
I could hear she was joking, but still I cried harder, wiping at my eyes still. "Yeah well, it happens to even the best. Even Baryshnikov fell on his ass from time to time. What are you doing here?"
"Dropping off my BMW," Adriana said. "Remember, you and Dante were going to borrow it to go to Vegas? Cargo space for the costumes, Bose surround sound to listen to your music, and all that? I thought I'd bring it by early, so that one of you guys could give me a ride up to the house. I'm supposed to have an afternoon get together with Uncle Carlo. He's got some friends who want to commission some pieces. Did practice end early or something? It's only seven forty-five."
"You could say that," I said, sighing. "Dante walked out on practice about fifteen minutes after he got here. He was pissed at me, I was pissed at him, and he just stormed off."
"Ouch. What happened?"
I waved at the door, shaking my head. "He walked in, fifteen minutes late, sucking down a Pepsi like some frat boy who pulls an all-nighter with some lame excuse about working late. Then he falls asleep while I'm putting on my first dress and pinches my skin with the zipper when I ask him to zip me up. So I called him a dumbass, and then he . . ."
"Whoa, wait. What did you call him?" Adriana asked, horrified.
"Dumbass. I didn't mean anything by it. I was angry and in pain," I said, moving on. "Then I go to change again, and when I come back out because I think he's fallen asleep again, he says he's going to take off. We yelled at each other, and next thing you know, he's driving off while I'm standing in the middle of the parking lot with my boobs half hanging out."
Adriana shook her head. "Get changed and come with me. We can have some brunch at my place, and I can fill you in on some Bertoli family history that I guess you should have been made aware of long ago. Maybe Daniel can join us for brunch. He'll be able to fill you in on Dante's past better than I can."
Adriana wouldn't say any more on the drive to her place, and walking in through the connecting door to the kitchen, I was still perplexed. "Come on, you can't hold out on me forever."
"Hold your horses," Adriana replied. "What do you say to some waffles? I've got a big box of Eggos in the freezer, so they're not exactly gourmet, but the syrup's real maple, and I can make you some sausage while they cook."
"Fine, if you're not going to tell me until you have some food in front of me, I'll go for that. But know that I've learned something about you in the years we've been friends, and it doesn't bode well for our conversation."
Adriana turned, the box of frozen waffles in her hand, raising an eyebrow. "What's that?"
"Every time you want to give me difficult news, you tend to do it with food. The more luxurious or sweet, the worse the news. I guess I can at least be eased by the fact you aren't offering me ice cream."
"Ooh, ice cream. That would go good on top of the waffles," Adriana teased. "Actually, I wanted to wait until Daniel got back too. I texted him in the car while you were driving. He said he's dropping Johnny off with Mom and Mariana right now. The three of them are going to the beach. He'll be back in five or ten minutes, which is just enough time for me to get this done. So sit down there, chill out, or if you can't, you can get the tea and OJ ready."
I decided to help out, and I was just setting the bottle of syrup on the table when Daniel came back. Even though it was a Bertoli tradition to keep to Italian cars, he stuck to the Beamers, perhaps just as a way to keep his own independence. "Hey guys. By the way babe, Margaret said that she's more than happy to keep both kids until five if you need it. I've got my own meeting this afternoon, so it'll be on you to pick Johnny up. Hey Carmencita."
"Hey Daniel,” I said, a smile coming to my face. For a year I'd had a bit of a crush on Daniel Neiman, even after I knew he and Adriana were getting married, but it had tempered over the past two years, to where I could admire him as a handsome, attractive man, but not want to jump his bones. Besides, now he’s my best friend’s husband, but he still looked like the so-called 'Terminator' that he'd been when he was a full time Bertoli enforcer. "Got a hug for me?"
"Of course, little one," Daniel said, coming over and giving me a squeeze. "I got Ade's message. Seems things didn't go well today. Wanna give me the run-down?"
"After Adriana gives me the waffles," I said, taking a seat. "It's apparently one of those days."
"Those what?" Daniel asked, confused.
"Carmen seems to think that whenever I have bad news or difficult news for her, I buffer it by stuffing her full of food," Adriana said with a chuckle. "Considering how often Johnny insists on having her over for dinner now, you'd think we deliver bad news to this woman on a weekly basis. Here, eat up."
Adriana set a pile of three waffles in front of me, butter oozing over top of them. She set a matching plate in front of her husband while taking one for herself. "Only one?"
"I had breakfast already, but I guess I can grab a workout after this, before the meeting with Uncle Carlo," she said. "So go ahead, tell Daniel what you told me."
I repeated the tale, Dan's fork pausing when I used the word 'dumbass,' and he winced. "Ouch. Not a good choice in words."
"What is it with that word? Adriana had the same reaction when I told her."
Adriana sipped at her tea and sighed. "Okay. Let me tell you what I know, but Daniel can fill you in on more. I told you before that it wasn't my place to say, and maybe it isn't, but I feel like if I don't, I'm doing you and Dante both a disservice. Well, let's start with Dante. He's actually third generation Mafia, like me. I never met his grandfather, but his father was Bobby Degrassi and was one of my father's top lieutenants. But Bobby Degrassi was shot by the cops a few months before my father was killed, and the family saw a big decline in their positions within the Bertoli hierarchy. Dante was a fringe associate before he tackled Eduardo into the pool, which is why he was working parking that night. Hell, Tomasso was being nice even letting him into the party, the way the family operates. I know Pietro would have just had Dante sitting on his ass outside the front door the whole time if he'd been put in charge."
I nodded. "I got that impression, that he wasn't in the family's good graces. But why? I mean, he's shot up the ranks recently, being part of Tomasso's crew. Tomasso and Luisa seem to have nothing but good things to say about him. Pretty remarkable, considering he's spent years getting the short end of the stick, I gather."
"The way Dante's father was shot, there were rumors that Bobby was a rat,” Daniel said,
setting his fork aside. "They were never proven, and if you ask me, I personally didn't believe them, but they persisted. You gotta understand, Mafia types tend to be paranoid about that kind of thing. In their spare time, because they do have a lot of time sitting around in twos and threes doing nothing but trying not to pick their noses, they gossip. Mafia men, hair salons and Southern Baptist churches, three groups that run on gossip. And with Bobby being dead, it was easy to discuss and let the legend grow. By the time I became active within the family, the legend had practically grown to the point that Bobby Degrassi had a hard wire phone line to Louis Freeh's office and was giving the FBI daily play-by-plays on what we were doing. It was why I decided that it was bullshit. The bigger and more outlandish a Mafia legend gets, the lower the chances are that it's actually true."
I sighed. "Okay, but how's that affect him?"
"Mafia men see rats as something genetic," Adriana said sadly. "So for Dante, he was always looked at with suspicion by everyone. His mother wasn't into the Mafia lifestyle, and so she wasn't going to defend the family reputation. Instead, a lot of their family money was lost because it was tied up in Bertoli businesses, and not exactly in Class-C stock either. Oh, Dad at first, and then Uncle Carlo, made sure she got her fair share on it, but later on, she got cancer, which wiped out the rest of their funds. And Dante had a few mistakes as well."
"Which is where you screwed up, by the way," Daniel admonished me lightly. "For a while there, right after he started with the family again as an associate, no matter what he did, he'd screw it up somehow, either through a mistake or just bad luck. So he picked up a nickname of his own. His dad had been Big Bopper Bobby Degrassi, because of his heavy hands. Dante . . . he was Dumbass Degrassi."
I paled, the forkful of waffle in my mouth falling numbly from my mouth to splash down on the plate. "Dumbass Degrassi?"
Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 12
