Chapter 44
Chapter
Forty-Four
Luna
“Come on.” Vince unbuckles my seatbelt, taking my hand and leading me back to the bedroom of his boss’s private jet. He closes the door and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. Patting the spot beside him, I sit.
“I’m sorry. I know that wasn’t the reunion you were hoping for,” he says gently.
“I don’t know what I was hoping for.” I fall backwards on the bed, looking at the ceiling. “That’s a lie. I was hoping…”
“Hoping what?”
“That for once in my life, someone would love me.” There it is. Out in the open. My biggest fear, laid bare.
Vince pulls me upright. “Luna, you can spend your life wishing things were different, but it’s an exercise in futility. Your parents never gave two shits about you,” he says bluntly.
Hot tears stream down my cheeks, and I duck my head.
He grabs me by the chin, forcing me to look at him. “Not because you weren’t good enough, but because they weren’t. You’re so damn smart. Too damn smart for your own good sometimes.” He shakes his head with a wry smile. “So quick-witted. So full of fire. So beautiful. The man that winds up with you is going to be one lucky son of a bitch, and that’s coming from an oddsmaker who doesn’t believe in luck.”
“Why can’t that man be you?” I whisper.
He smiles sadly. “Because I’m not a good man.”
“I don’t want a good man.”
“You say that now, but you’re young; years from now, when you’re older and wiser, you’ll see the truth in what I’m saying.”
“Older and wiser?” I spit. “I’ve been through enough in eighteen years to count as five lifetimes. How dare you tell me I don’t know what I want!”
I grab Vince by the face, slamming my lips to his. It’s brutal and desperate and my insides feel like they’re being flayed open and twisted.
It feels like… goodbye. And I don’t understand why.
Vince pulls back, wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. “You’ve given me your lips. It’s time for me to give you your freedom,” he says sadly.
“Who cares about that right now? You’re it for me, Vince. I love you,” I whisper the last part.
He cradles his head in his hands.
“Uh-huh. I’m not going to bare my soul to you, and you hide like a coward. Tell me how you lost your eye! Tell me whose fucking eyeball that is in your office! Tell me why you got so weird about the wolf stuffed animal! Tell me fucking something!”
“Pushing me. Always fucking pushing me.” He grits.
“Because you’re Bluebeard, but instead of dead wives, you’re hoarding secrets!”
He hops up from the bed. “You want my secrets, Luna? I’ll tell you a good one, and then we’ll see if you still think I’m it for you.”
Vince, a year ago…
“Come in,” I call, and the family’s underboss walks into my office. “Hey, bossman. Didn’t know you were in AC.” We greet each other with a double cheek kiss.
“Handling some business with Sergio,” Romeo says matter-of-factly, and I motion to the chair across from my desk. He takes a seat, reaching in his suit pocket and producing a folded document. “Here’s a copy of the bill we’ve been watching.” He slides it across my desk. “Just passed in the House and General Assembly; on its way to the governor’s desk.”
“No! What about our political greaser?” I rub the back of my neck. “I thought he was gonna handle this!”
“As did I. He’s being dealt with as we speak,” Romeo says in an ice-cold tone.
“What about the governor?” I ask, a desperate edge to my voice.
“Not enough pull on this one. Sports betting will be legal in Jersey come Monday morning,” he warns me.
I bring my hands to my head in disbelief. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? Legalized gambling will sink my entire operation!”
“What the family has always done when the government horns in on our action. Diversify,” Romeo tells me bluntly.
“This is my entire life; I can’t diversify!”
“Years ago, when AC opened casinos, did it hurt our bottom line?” Romeo asks, and I don’t answer, not in the mood for a family history lesson. “Sure it did, but I had to walk through a packed gambling hall to get to your office, despite casinos open 24/7 just down the street. Some men will always prefer a den of vice to the sterilized version.”
“Not when they can turn their living room into a den of vice with a sportsbook app at their fingertips,” I counter.
Romeo shrugs. “So you pivot.”
I run my hand down my face. “I’m not a fucking point guard. And speaking of point guards, you want to get in on the hoops action? I’ll let you in early on Game 3. New York -6, Boston -6.”
Romeo barks a laugh, walking to the door. “Go hustle someone else.”
“Love to, if not for this,” I grumble, waving the legislation.
Tossing the documents in the trash, I turn on the security feed to my bookkeeping center of operations. It’s a bustling scene: runners hustling in paper betting slips while my bookies frantically take bets over the phones. A fucking kingdom I’ve spent years building, and come Monday, I get to watch it crumble to dust.
My fist slams into the monitor; glass crunches, the feed glitches, before the screen goes black.
After picking glass shards out of my knuckles and wrapping the bloody mess, I aimlessly wander the club. Finding myself at the bar, I order a whiskey.
The bartender looks surprised at my request; I’m not a big drinker. And thanks to the stroke of a politician’s pen, I’m not a big anything.
He slides over the booze, and I tip back the glass, signaling for another.
There’s a loudmouth seated next to me, and I can’t help but overhear the conversation.
“My daughter’s going to go pro, bring in the big bucks. The World Championship this year’s a million dollar grand prize,” he boasts.
“World Championship of what?” I interject, the money having caught my attention.
“Chess,” he says .
Sure, and I can sell you some nice beachfront property in Kansas.
“Luna Barone. Mark my words, she’s going places.”
I turn my back to the blowhard, grabbing my phone. I’m not sure why, but I do a quick search. Finding Luna’s name listed on some chess federation website, it turns out her old man isn’t completely full of shit. Another search, and I nearly drop my phone: the grand prize for the World Championship of chess: one million dollars.
Pocketing my phone, I turn around in my stool. “Mr. Barone, is it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not sure if we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Vincenzo.”
“I know who you are. You handle the sports bets, right?”
“Right you are.” We shake hands, and I tell the bartender, “Get my new friend a drink.” Eyeing my mark, I ask him, “What would you like, Mr. Barone? On me.”
“Vodka. Top shelf.” He doesn’t hesitate.
Mr. Barone’s given a shot of vodka, and knocks it back like a world champion drunkard.
“Care to place a friendly wager on tonight’s New York/Boston game? I’ve closed my books, but I’ll let you in on the action, just this once.”
He pats his pockets. “I would, but don’t have the cash on me.”
“No worries. I’m happy to extend credit to a sophisticated gentleman such as yourself.”
He puffs up his chest. “What are the odds?”
Not in your favor.
I tell him, and he pretends like he understands what I’m talking about.
“Put me down for Boston.”
“Excellent,” I say, making a notation in my little book. “Shall we start with a dime?”
He snorts a laugh. “Let’s go big and say five dimes. ”
“You got it, boss.” Mr. Barone has no fucking clue he’s bet five thousand dollars on a game he’s sure to lose.
I keep the booze and the bets flowing all night. He won’t be able to pay me back, and that’s the point. It’s a future’s bet I’m wagering, not on Mr. Barone, but on his up-and-coming chess star daughter.
Look at me pivoting.
Vince
“You were right about your suspicions, why I would lend your broke-ass father money. He was a means to an end. My endgame was always you.”
“I hate you,” Luna says between sobs, running out of the bedroom.
Not as much as I do.