Carmen shut me up by grabbing my face and pulling me in to a kiss, a gesture we were sharing more often than ever. "Now that you've shut up, the answer is yes, we are ready. Our routines are as solid as we can make them, the only thing that'd happen if we kept pushing the envelope would be that we get into our own heads, which I take the blame for last time. That, and we'd increase the risk of injury. So chill out, get your bag, and let’s go. You need a rub down and a nice soak in the hot tub. I've already arranged for someone else to take over classes for the rest of the week, or canceled them outright, so I'm free all day. Come on."
We drove back to the mansion, and I was again surprised when I walked in to find a banner strung up across the stairs to the second floor. "Happy Birthday?"
"Well, yeah," Carmen replied, hugging me. "Did you really think we'd let your birthday go by without celebrating it? Happy twenty-seventh, Dante. Come on, the rest of the group is in the dining room. They all agreed to let me give you the first greeting.
Carmen was correct, with the entire Bertoli family waited in the dining room, the table having been brought back in from the garage. "I swear, if you ever want to do another competition, I'm just going to rent you guys a warehouse or something," Angelo, the Don’s youngest son, griped as he shook my hand. "It's easier than carrying this heavy thing."
We feasted, chocolate and tiramisu cake, and at the end, amid much clapping from everyone, I danced with all three of the Bertoli women, Luisa being last, while Carmen danced with the men.
"You planned this whole thing, didn't you?" I asked Luisa as we circled, just relaxing, nothing too complicated. "It has your fingerprints all over it."
"You’re family," Luisa replied, giving me a smile. "As is Carmen. Happy birthday."
Chapter 20
Carmen
"It's not as big as Safelink Field," Dante noted as we got out of the taxi in front of Madison Square Garden, the sound of New York a physical presence on our bodies. "So why are my palms sweating?"
"I don't know," I said, feeling the same way. "Maybe because it's the most famous arena in the whole world? Look, the sign on the front says so."
Dante glanced up at the sign which towered above our heads, reading my exact words and hummed thoughtfully before looked over at me and shrugging. "Come on, let's go inside before the locals figure out we're from out of town."
We shouldered our practice bags and went over to the entrance, where we were promptly redirected by a security guard to another side of the building which had been designated for the competitors. We followed the paper signs which had been put up directing us around the concourse, taking a moment to enjoy the pictures and banners which decorated the walls.
"You know, I thought that this place would be more, I don't know, industrial, or maybe darker?" I said as we walked. "It's pretty futuristic. I bet when the rest of the lights are on, it's quite a scene."
"I agree," Dante said, pausing in front of one picture. "Huh, Ali-Frazier, the Fight of The Century. I watched that with Tomasso and Luisa during my training, they wanted me to understand head movement."
"So when are you going to start calling him Tom or Tommy, now that he calls you his brother?" I asked, half smiling.
"Don't know," he replied, smiling. "Maybe after we're national champs."
"I like the way you think.”
We walked hand-in-hand into the arena itself, looking down on the floor. The floor was still set up for a Knicks game that would take place that night, the entire floor being changed over between midnight and seven the next morning to the unlined floor the dance competition would take place on. "So do you think they pull all that hardwood up, or do they just put the dance surface on top?"
Dante shook his head. "I don't know. I know they have ice hockey games here too, so there has to be some way to get it up. I see the check in table though, we should get down there."
As it was, we actually ended up getting to use the Rangers Locker room, after being strictly informed that the Rangers logo in the middle of the room was never to be stepped on. The logo was surrounded by velvet ropes like you would see at a movie premier, although I could tell that the changing curtains that were strung up were temporary.
"Guess they couldn't get separate men's and ladies' rooms," Dante said as he set his bag down. "I'm glad that we left our costumes at the hotel though. I don't like sharing a whole locker room like this with the other couples, it just is too ripe for pilfering."
"Technically it's only about a quarter of the couples," I noted. "Still, it's going to be crowded in here. Four divisions, eighteen couples per division? That's nearly a hundred and fifty competitors. I'm betting more than a few teams will change in the hallways."
"Well, let's get changed and try out the floor," Dante said as he unzipped his bag. "You know, I'm feeling pretty good. Even if my ass is going to blow out my pants after that birthday party."
"Oh please," I laughed, sitting down and pulling out my own practice heels. "As hard as you've been working, I was worried we'd have to take them in. If anyone has to worry about the size of their ass after that party, it's me."
"I think it's a good size," Dante joked back, and I felt warmth run up my neck before I bent over to get my shoes on. "In fact, I think it's perfect."
Trying to think of something else to say, I said the first thing that came to my mind. "How's the hand?"
He held up his right hand, which I had to admit took me a while to get used to in terms of appearance. The bullet that had taken off his finger caught him right at the base knuckle, and the doctors had been forced to smooth the whole area over, leaving not even a nub, just a little break in the line between his middle finger and the curve of his thumb. He wiggled his three fingers and thumb, giving me a strained smile. "It's feeling good today."
I sobered and finished my shoes. Our conversation died away, but a minute later Dante stood up, shouldering his bag and holding his hand out to me. "Shall we?"
I took his hand gratefully and walked out with him, stopping as we came around to the big tunnel that led to the arena floor. "Dante, just a moment," I said, unable to let it go. "What's up with your hand? You were hiding something from me back there. We said we weren't going to do that, remember?"
He turned and shook his head. "I wanted to tell you afterward, but I guess it doesn't matter. The docs took a look at my right hand, and they think that my hand is going to be partially frozen. Not a lot, enough that I can still workout and lift with straps, and I'll be able to fight, but despite Daniel's best efforts, I'm not going to be able to properly hold . . . well, what I need to do my job."
A gun. Everything came down to guns with the Bertolis, it seemed, and I shook my head. "Then don't. You got your respect back. You became the man that you've always wanted to be. Move on and find the next stage for you."
“Like what?” Dante asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well . . . after we win, you know I'm going to need some staff at the studio," I said, looking down. "Maybe a business manager?"
"And a dance partner?" Dante asked with a smirk, not hurt or offended at all. "We'll talk about that back in Seattle."
We went out onto the court, which had been divided into halves by a line of tables. There were about a dozen other couples on the court in various places, all of them looking like they were about as dazzled as I felt. The competition would run two floors at a time, with two teams going on parallel floors for the compulsory round, and the two flights dancing simultaneously in front of two panels of judges for the wildcard round, all of which would take place in the morning and early afternoon. Things would change for the grand finale, the showcase dances, where the floor would be reconfigured into a single performance space and take up the entirety of the evening competition.
"It's massive," I said, feeling a bit dizzy looking at the huge roof arcing over our heads and the scoreboard hanging down. "Are they really going to show our performance on that thing?"
"I believe so," Dante said wonderingl
y. "We're going each be like twenty feet tall or something."
"Some of us won't have a problem," a haughty voice next to us interrupted, and Dante and I looked over to see a tall, statuesque blonde woman who had the perfect ballroom dancer's physique standing with an arrogantly frosty look on her face. She was all legs and lines, the perfect sort of partner for the right sort of man. Her partner came over, and he was definitely the Ken to her Barbie, with perfectly coiffed hair, what looked like capped teeth, and a sparkle to his blue eyes that seemed artificial it was so perfect. "This is old hat for Tom and me."
"I see," I replied, trying to not fall for the bait. "Carmen Esperanza, from Seattle. Nice to meet you."
"Wendy Wilson, from Martha's Vineyard," the blonde said, barely shaking my offered hand. "This is my partner, Tom Coleman."
"Pleasure to meet you both," Tom said in a falsely hearty 'ain't we all just happy as shit?' voice. He was cocky and arrogant, and not in the attractive way either. His eyes crawled over me as he shook my hand, and my smile was not because of his look but rather that I saw Dante's left hand clench as he also noticed Tom's lascivious look. "Is this your first trip to the Big Apple?"
"For me, yes, but Dante's been here before," I lied through my teeth. "So you two have danced for a while?"
“We’ve been training at the same school for the past seven years," Wendy interjected, "Since we were in junior high school. We've done plenty of competitions, but always with other partners. When this one came up, we decided to join up and seize the brass ring before we turn pro. It's going to be a great launch pad for us. What about you two?”
"Just doing this for the fun of it," Dante interrupted. "Carmen's dance studio could use the boost, too. Are you guys studio owners?"
"My father owns the biggest dance studio in Massachusetts," Wendy replied. "He used to dance with the ABC. I had an offer from them, but turned it down since I wanted to express myself more than just through what they offered."
I was about ready to sock the bitch when Dante saved me by cracking a joke. "I understand. You don't really have the build for the American Boxing Commission. I'd hate to take a punch on that chin."
Wendy's false, bitchy smile disappeared, and Tom's face changed into a glower, but our conversation was cut off as a competition organizer came over to the line of tables in between the halves of the court and picked up a microphone. "Okay, everyone, can I have your attention please?"
Wendy and Tom gave us snippy, nearly synchronized head turns as the organizer came over, and I reached back, taking Dante's hand again as I smirked. "All right, thank you. My name is Wesley Montoya, I'm one of the facility engineers for the competition tomorrow. I wanted to give everyone a chance to listen to how the sound system is going to be tomorrow, since that might be a little different from your Regionals, then answer any questions you might have. Now, in addition to the normal MSG system, those of you who are interested can look up and see a couple of the big speakers embedded in the scoreboard overhead, we're going to have monitor speakers on each of the four corners of the dance areas, similar to what you see on the court right now. Listen carefully, just give me feedback if you want to."
Wesley took out a walkie talkie and brought it up. "Okay, cue the mixed track please."
Dante and I listened as a medley of songs came over the sound system for the next three minutes. I wasn't the only one who was enjoying it and grooving a bit, even if I felt a little bit like we were trying out for a remake of Capital Cities' "Safe and Sound" with the various groups in all sorts of different dress and styles conglomerating together.
We left MSG and spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening being unabashed New York tourists, taking the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building and touring the World Trade Center site. We thought about going up the tower, but decided against it after seeing the line. Instead, we headed back to our hotel, Dante taking my hand again in the elevator as we walked toward our side by side rooms.
“Join me for dinner?" I asked, biting my lip as I stood outside my door. "I was thinking of just getting some room service."
"Let me change clothes, and I'll be right over," Dante replied. "What's on your mind?"
"Just relaxing, having fun. Maybe a little light food before the competition. Tomorrow night after the competition I expect you to take me to a full on New York pizza shop.”
Dante smiled and reached up, stroking my face. "You know, people are going to say we're dating."
"Aren't we?" I asked. "We have had breakfast together nearly every day for five weeks now. I think that’s a little more than dating."
Dante laughed. "Some people would call that being married," he said, taking out his room key and unlocking his door. "Give me five. I'll knock on the connecting door."
He retreated in his room, leaving me slightly awestruck in the hallway. Dante and me? Married? Smiling at the silly idea, I went inside, where I quickly changed clothes into a pair of light pants and just a sweatshirt. I knew what I wanted, and while I wasn't going to advertise it, if it happened, I wasn't going to let an overly heavy brassiere get in the way.
It was actually closer to ten minutes before Dante knocked on my connecting door, and I opened it, my pulse skyrocketing when I saw what he’d changed into. "I didn't know you had packed a tank top. And no shoes?"
Dante smiled and stepped through the door, looking down at his arms. "I thought you said nice and comfortable."
"I said relaxing, but I guess that shirt qualifies," I said as I stepped aside, letting Dante all the way into my room. I was hypnotized by the flex and movement of his muscles under his skin, a graceful collection of masculine beauty that was even more impressive than he'd been the first time we had sex. His shoulders and forearms were the most impressive, and I felt my fingers itch with desire to feel his skin. "Jesus, how'd you hide that from me?"
"Very carefully," Dante said with a laugh. He'd pulled his hair back, having not cut it since we started dancing together. “I want to show you a little something when we get back too."
"Are you going to tell me?" I asked as I crossed the room, taking a seat in the other chair in the room. "Or are we playing Twenty Questions?"
“Nope, you’ll see later. First, let's get some food ordered. Where's the menu?"
The menu was actually part of the in-room television, a supposedly convenient setup that left me thinking it lost the hotel more business than it saved in terms of front desk workers. I ordered a tuna salad and, in a moment of indulgence, a chocolate parfait, while Dante chose a light chicken pasta. Sitting back, I twisted a lock of my hair around my finger while we looked at each other, both of us knowing what would happen. It wasn't like it had been explicitly planned, just that it was inevitable. "Careful. Your Italian roots are showing."
"Like you, I'm not full blooded one way or another," Dante said. "My father was Italian, but Mom was Spanish. Castilian, to be precise, which most people don’t notice.”
A knock came to our door, and we looked over at the clock, shocked at how quickly the food arrived. We'd been staring at each other for longer than I thought. "I'll get it."
A cart was wheeled in, and Dante took care of the tip, the room service guy leaving with a smile. "What did you slip him?"
"A twenty. Now, let's eat, and then I'll show you my surprise."
Dinner was an exercise in foreplay on both of our parts, as we savored each bite, sensually taking each bite and chewing slowly, our eyes never leaving each other except to fill our forks.
"Come on," he said when the last of my ice cream was gone. "I promised you I'd show you my surprise."
"Come on where?" I asked, and he took me by the hand, leading me to the bed and laying me down.
"I may not be as good as you, but I spent the past few weeks learning about massage. Now, I know that with us dancing tomorrow that a deep tissue massage isn't the best idea, but I was thinking a little relaxing rub down wouldn’t hurt.”
I smiled and sat up. "You have oil?"
"In my room," he said. "Wait here, two minutes."
In the time he was gone, I quickly stripped off my sweatshirt and pants and stripped away the bedspread, lying chest down on the sheet. When Dante came in, I heard the thump as he dropped the bottle on the floor, and I smiled, turning my head to look over at him. "See something you like?"
He recovered quickly enough, picking the bottle up off the floor and coming over, scooting onto the bed to kneel next to me.
I turned on my side, pulling him slightly with me and he shifted quickly, laying out next to me. Our lips met, and I felt something shift inside me, something that I hadn't expected, even with the reality of what was happening between us for the past few months staring me in the face. I opened myself up to him, completely and fully, pulling him in closer until we were wrapped around each other, our legs and arms fully entwined. Dante's left hand stroked my back, and when I pushed into him, he rolled onto his back, letting me feel both of his hands on me.
I sat up, looking down at him, and smiled devilishly. I reached down, grabbing the neck of his tank top and pulling hard. The thin cotton parted like tissue paper, and Dante looked down, somewhat surprised. "What? Easier that way.”
"Remind me never to get you seriously pissed off. Well, more than I have," Dante replied, bringing his hands up behind his head and stretching out. He gave me a little smile, not so much cocky as confident and eager to show himself to me.
I let my fingers trace between the clear definitions of his muscles, and rested my hand over the left side of his chest, above where I could feel his heart beating strong and sure.
I leaned down and kissed him again, my nipples sending little sparks of electricity through my body dragging over his chest. I grinned and kissed my way down, finding Dante's nipples and nipping at them with my teeth, our eyes locked. I giggled when he hissed and laughed at the same time, the hard bulge of his cock pressing into my lower stomach teasing me of what was to come.
Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 18
