Chapter 9
GINA
Late that afternoon, I stand in front of one of the many mirrors in my fancy apartment. My focus is on the stranger staring back at me.
The black hair is still a shock.
Does it actually look good?
The lady at the salon insisted it was the most expensive piece in the shop, crafted from genuine human hair.
That fact alone makes my skin crawl. Every time a strand brushes my neck, I wonder whose head it grew on and why they had to sell it.
Then there’s the dress.
What will Dante think?
I catch myself wondering what Mary would have worn for a night out with her husband.
Angie promised me the new dress was “club appropriate.” I suppose she’s right.
But it feels like I’m showing more skin than fabric. If my mother saw me in this, she’d freak and reach for her rosary.
The doorbell jolts me out of my thoughts.
I roll my eyes, knowing it’s Ciro. He has a key, of course, but he rings anyway.
Probably his way of showing respect.
“Just one minute!”
I cross over and fling the door open, nearly tripping over my heels.
“Uncle Silvio!”
“In the flesh,” he says. “And how is the dear bride tonight?”
He smells of expensive tobacco and something with a metallic bite trailing after him.
Silvio leans in to give me a kiss on each cheek.
“For your wedding, you were draped in white. Tonight, you are a vision in black. A changed woman so soon?”
He arches an eyebrow, and I feel a heat crawl up my neck that has nothing to do with the wig.
“Oh, it’s not like that. I was just shopping with Angie.”
“Angie,” he repeats, making a dismissive clicking sound with his tongue. “That girl...”
He trails off, his silence speaking volumes about what he thinks of my only friend in this city. “May I come in, or will we stand in the doorway all night?”
“Of course, Uncle. Please,” I say, leading him to the sofa. “Can I get you water, coffee? Anything to drink?”
“No, no. I just came to say hello.” Silvio takes a seat, pulling up the legs of his trousers.
He gives me a knowing smile. “My nephew must be so happy.”
I have no idea if Dante is happy or not. Especially where I am concerned.
Though I smile politely, the expression feels tight on my face.
“So glad to have met you and Dante’s brothers at the reception. I understand Dante’s mother passed long ago. But his father passed only recently. Was he like Dante?”
“No, not at all.” Silvio chuckles, though there’s a sharp edge to the sound. “Dante is his own man.”
The conversation flags, and a heavy silence settles between us.
I don’t dare introduce a new topic, but I’m curious about the true reason for his visit.
“Should I call Dante to tell him you’ve stopped by? Are you supposed to meet him?”
“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he says, getting up from the sofa. “And I see that you’re doing fine.”
He pauses, his eyes lingering on my new dark hair and the short dress I still wear.
“Maybe you’d like to see my casino.”
“Oh, yes!” I tell him, eager to see Dante’s place of business.
“Angie told me all about the nightlife around here today. She says Dante’s club is glamorous, but she didn’t say much about the casino.”
“That’s because she hasn’t been invited. Very few are allowed inside,” Silvio says.
“Why? Is it private?”
He nods. “It’s private, and it’s illegal.” His voice drops into a mock-serious tone that makes me laugh.
“To quote the police commissioner, it houses a ‘den of thieves.’”
“Does it really, Uncle?”
“Well, you’ll be the judge of it,” he says, gesturing toward the door.
“It’s where people go to gamble, and where the Riccis make enough money for Dante to buy this ten-million-dollar penthouse. Come. My car is waiting downstairs.”
I look at myself in the mirror one last time. Part of me thinks about changing into something more conservative. Then again, the girl in the reflection looks like she belongs in a den of thieves.
I follow him out to the elevator, my pulse racing.
Downstairs Silvio settles me in the back of a long, black limo.
We weave through slightly industrial-looking streets until we reach a building that looks like a box of black glass. It’s sleek and modern, with an elegant sign that spells out Dante’s Inferno.
Silvio leads me around to a back entrance.
“After you, my dear,” he says, opening the door to a bank of elevators.
When the door opens, the interior is finished in a polished silver material that reflects everything—including my own long, black hair.
A wave of discomfort wells up in my stomach. What is Dante going to say when he sees me? Will he like it?
We descend below the first floor to level minus-two.
“This is the casino floor,” Silvio says as the doors slide open. “This is where the magic happens.”
Before I can even see the room, the sound hits me: the mechanical trill of slot machines and the sharp smack of pool cues.
The air carries a very faint aroma of smoke, the majority likely pulled away by high-end HVAC machines. The male clientele appear to be mostly in their fifties and sixties. They’re wrapped in expensive suits, their faces tight with focus.
I don’t see any women gambling, but there are plenty of scantily dressed girls walking around.
The cocktail girls wear revealing uniforms that look like a more erotic form of a classic bunny outfit, minus the tail.
Their legs are encased in sheer stockings with a dark seam running up the back and blatantly shocking string bikini panties.
I pull in a breath as one bends over to pick up a napkin she dropped. Two men jab each other and stare.
“My office is this way,” Silvio says, guiding me through gamblers, scantily clad servers, and flashing lights.
By the time he sits me down in his office, I’m vibrating with a new kind of nerves.
“Relax,” he says. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, Uncle. Your casino is beautiful. I’m so glad you showed me. But can I see Dante?”
“In a moment,” Silvio says. “First, I’d like to ask you about—”
He’s cut off by a sharp knock at his door.
Silvio doesn’t look annoyed. If anything, he looks like he was expecting the interruption.
He shouts for the visitor to enter, and the heavy mahogany door swings open.
Two men in fancy, expensive suits enter. They’re dragging a struggling man between them.
The guy looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties, his once-sharp suit now stained with sweat.
His wide eyes dart around the room, and when they land on Silvio, they fill with a frantic, absolute panic.
Silvio watches with a calm, terrifying patience as they haul the man to the center of the rug. “Ah, Steven. We meet again,” he says, approaching the man. Silvio’s voice is friendly, but I sense something that makes my pulse spike. “You have my money?” he asks, towering above the man.
“No, no, but I will get it soon,” the man stammers, his eyes darting toward me in pure, raw terror.
Without a single word of warning, Silvio kicks him square in the balls.
The man screams in agony and crumples to the floor, clutching himself. Silvio doesn’t stop.
“You don’t have my money,” he says flatly, kicking him again in the same place.
With that, Silvio’s movements grow frenetic. He isn’t the benevolent uncle anymore. He’s a machine of violence.
Unable to believe what I’m seeing, I let forth an involuntary scream.
Silvio stops mid-kick.
“Something wrong, niece?”
I look at him breathless for a moment, not even sure I can speak.
“Take her outside,” says Silvio, jerking his head towards one of the lackeys that dragged the unlucky Steven in.
The man comes toward me and escorts me to the door.
Once I’m outside the office, I sink down into one of the plush leather chairs and try to stop from being sick.
Though the office walls are soundproof, I imagine the constant pummeling of the poor man’s face.
Just when I think it’s over, I hear what sounds like a gunshot.
Alarmed, I look around me, but the scantily clad girls continue to distribute fancy cocktails to men playing at the gaming tables.
But surely someone heard that shot!
I feel the urge to tell someone, but I remember the stories Angie told me. If I show weakness now, it could be worse for me later.
So this is the world I married into, I think with a shudder.
“Ah, Gina,” says Silvio, all smiles as he exits his office, shooting the cuffs of his expensive suit. “Sorry you had to see my little act of discipline. But people have to know they can’t take advantage of my generosity.”
His phone rings. “I didn’t realize how busy my day was going to be,” he says after answering it. “Let me take you to Dante now.”
“Sure,” I say, my legs feeling like lead as I follow him out of the room.