Dante
“She called me her boyfriend,” I say, staring at the message Luna sent Wolfy.
I’m sitting in my burner car, waiting a few blocks from my next hit's house, doing some reconnaissance. I feel like I can’t breathe.
Luna called me her boyfriend. She introduced me to Olivia as her friend, but when talking to another man, she calls me her boyfriend.
My dick hardens so fast I think it’s going to rip through the front of my jeans.
I get lost in thought about the surprise I have planned for her that I forget to reply.
My phone lights up with Alex’s name across the screen after I hit send on my message to Luna. I hit accept so quickly that I fumble with my phone. “Yeah?”
“Nice to hear from you, too, Dante,” Alex says in an annoyed tone.
“Sorry. I’ve been busy, Alex. And I’m out on a job right now.”
“Well, you’re going to want to hear this. I have an update on information regarding your girl.”
“Well, out with it, Alex.” My turn to sound annoyed.
“You’re not going to like this, but one of my guys I have working the casinos said Johnny Costanza is looking for a girl that fits her description.
He overheard a conversation tonight at the blackjack table with Johnny, his brothers, and some guy named Greg Russo.
He said they were talking about a failed kidnapping, and it sounded like they were planning another before Johnny slapped the guy and told him to keep quiet. ”
“Where is the casino?” I ask through gritted teeth, my rage simmering under my skin, the darkness inside me ready to kill.
Alex is silent for a moment. “I can’t get into a fight with Johnny right now, Dante.
He controls the northern territory of Boston with his casinos.
I only have my guy working there to make sure Johnny isn’t planning something, just like I’m sure he has someone in bars.
I won’t put him or my business at risk from some girl. ”
“Some girl? I told you she wasn’t some girl. Luna is everything to me, and if you won’t help, fine, I’ll do it my fucking self. Send me the address, Alex.” I can’t believe him right now.
“If you get into trouble, I won’t be able to save you. You’ll be on your own, Dante.”
“I don’t need you! I haven't needed you in a long time, big brother. You left first, remember? I need, Luna. Send me the fucking address.” I hang up, gripping my phone so hard I hear the plastic case snap. “Fuck!” I roar, slamming my hands on my steering wheel.
My phone dings, it’s the message from Alex with the address. My next hit should be home within the next two hours. I’ll have enough time to get to the casino and still be able to get back here in time to finish the job and pick up Luna in the morning.
I turn my car on, shift into gear, and take off heading north.
I leave my car in a parking garage a couple of blocks away, and I walk up the street to the casino—the Crystal Palms, located in the northwest of Boston.
I double-tap the side of my glasses, and they zoom in as they scan my surroundings, pulling up information about the building from the internet.
The front of the casino is crawling with security personnel, and people are streaming through the revolving doors.
My glasses run a diagnostic, locating all the exits of the building for me, and I work on my story as I approach the doors.
The outside is flashy, with sparkling lights, probably to draw attention like the ones in Vegas, but in the middle of Boston.
I touch the frame of my glasses, sliding it across to turn them into shades. My attire is all black as usual, so I didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, but the security guard definitely gave me a second look as I passed by.
At least my tattoos are hidden for the most part.
I enter the Crystal Palms, the sound of slot machines ringing out, and cheers from happy people winning their bets greet me as I scan the boisterous room for the blackjack table.
My eyes soon meet their mark when a large man in a tan suit stands from a table in the back, collecting money from it.
He has a cigar hanging out of his mouth, and he laughs loudly in the other players' faces.
I’m guessing that’s Johnny. He has salt-and-pepper hair and a matching beard, and he looks to be in his late 40s. He blows smoke on the other players and slaps his hand on a meek-looking man next to him. The man has dark circles around his eyes, and he looks like he’s been losing sleep.
I approach the table cautiously, sitting down at the end of the table quietly, not drawing attention to myself. I place my money on the table, the dealer shuffles chips over to me, and a new round of blackjack starts.
“Place your bets!” The dealer shouts, and everyone at the table slides their chips up.
The dealer begins shuffling the cards, but I’m keeping my eyes on Johnny.
He puffs on his cigar and has a smug look on his face.
He looks in my direction, but I play it cool, cocking my head slightly to make it look like I’m looking at the dealer.
“Hey, asshole!” Johnny shouts. Everyone looks at him, including me, when we make eye contact. “No shades at the table,” he says, and then takes a long drag off his cigar.
I touch the frame of my glasses and unshade them, while simultaneously making my eye color appear brown.
The less they know about me, the better.
I adjust the volume on my listening device in the glasses; it picks up all the voices around me and filters out the background noise.
The temple tips of my glasses act as a bone-conductive headphone, making it so only I can hear what’s happening.
“Eager to lose more money, Johnny?” The man behind him asks, sucking his teeth.
Johnny turns, gripping the man by his shirt, getting face-to-face with him, and speaking low so as not to disturb the rest of the table.
“I wouldn’t be losing money right now if it wasn’t for the fuck-face over here taking down our company in Vegas with his shit deals,” he gestures to the man with the dark circles under his eyes as he flinches away.
He turns to face him, gritting his teeth, “I don’t know what our grandfather ever saw in you to give you that money or let you be in charge of anything.
You were his whore’s son. You deserved nothing. ”
“I told you, Johnny, once I won big out west, I was gonna come back here and invest it back into you all.” The man says, still cowering away.
Johnny sits back down at the table, fixing the quaff in his hair. “And how well did that work out for you? Two years, and all you did was piss it away, and fuck some stripper? She better be worth the headache, Greg, or I swear I’ll fucking kill you.”
The dealer finishes, and everyone looks at their cards. “Fuck,” I say under my breath. I have an Ace of Spades and a King of Hearts.
So much for not drawing attention to myself.
This is the best possible hand you could want sitting at a blackjack table. It’s a guaranteed win.
“She is. As I said, she was a stripper, and she was trafficked when she was young after her parents died. It’ll be easy to get her to do what you want; with a bit of persuasion, she can be made to do anything. A few good hits, and she’ll straighten up.”
I know now that he’s talking about Luna, and my heart stops.
Trafficked? Was Luna sold into sex work after her parents died? The darkness within me stirs, and I welcome it this time.
The dealer sets his cards down: an eight of Clubs and the other faced down.
The dealer calls for us to push our cards up, then quickly checks his face-down card. “Blackjack. Player wins,” he says as he points to me, and starts shoving the pile of chips at me.
The other players groan, but Johnny turns bright red. “What! No! I had an ace of diamonds and a jack of clubs! There’s no way he won that!”
“Sorry, sir, he has an ace of spades and a king of hearts. That beats your diamond and jack,” The dealer says.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me! You’re giving the kid my money!”
“I’m not a kid, and I’ll certainly be taking your money, fuck-face,” I say smugly, shoving as many chips as I can into my hoodie pocket.
Johnny turns even redder, and his gaze is deadly. “Of course, but sit for another game. You’ve only just sat down.”
I smirk, “I know when to quit.” I toss him a chip, “for your next round.” I shift my glasses back to shades and turn to find the desk where I can trade in the chips.
Across the room, I see the help desk, and bee-line for it. There’s no line, so I walk straight up to the counter, and an older woman smoking a cigarette is behind it, reading the paper. “Do I trade my chips in here?” I ask.
The woman takes a red basket out from under the desk and slaps it down on the counter.
“Put them in here, and I’ll toss ‘em in the machine, sweetheart,” she says with a thick Bostonian accent, never looking up from the paper.
I quickly unload my hoodie pocket into the basket and slide it back to her.
“Thank you, just a minute.” The woman gets up, takes a drag of her cigarette, and dumps the chips into the machine.
I watch the numbers light up red on the screen, fifty thousand dollars. “Oh, shit,” I say, under my breath.
The woman comes back with a check and a pen. “You’ll need to sign this waiver here. It says we’re not responsible for lost checks, so don’t lose the check.” She pulls the waiver from a desk drawer and slides it over, taking another drag.
I signed the waiver using one of my aliases’ names and slid it back to her. She hands me the check and cocks her brow. “You'd better leave quickly before the boys find you. They don’t like to lose money this large.”
“That’s the plan. Thank you, ma’am.” I stuff the check into my pants pocket, turning to leave before she can say anything back to me. I walk swiftly, making my way to an exit, bursting through the door to the outside.