Chapter 13
At first, we just wanted to check out what kind of shop a nightclub had that included a tattoo studio.
But the moment I walked in, it became clear that Gina had her own agenda.
The attendant told us that the artists hailed from every corner of the globe; they were the best, the most sought-after, the crème de la crème.
He rattled off names that flew over my head, yet he also mentioned that only a select few could afford their craft, which was why these artists travelled to find clients rather than the other way around. I realised I was one of those few.
Gina gave me her best puppy-dog eyes.
“Do you know how expensive tattoos are, V? This is my only chance to get one for free!”
The employee furrowed his brow.
“I mean,” Gina corrected, “it’s the only day you could give me this gift. Please?”
I slapped a stack of bills on the counter.
“I hope you have an idea of what you want,” I said to my friend.
The tattoo artist working that night, Dixie Liu, a woman with short blonde hair and silver teeth, made room for us in her schedule.
“It’ll have to be something small,” she said. “I don’t have time for more, sorry, girl.”
This was the third—or maybe the fourth—tattoo for her.
She had once told me she got a new one every year since she turned sixteen, the earlier ones carefully concealed from her mother.
This year would be the exception: two tattoos in less than twelve months.
I think the last one was in July; she had tattooed the Pisces zodiac symbol (two fish forming an oval) between her breasts and spent an entire week doing topless at home until she got tired of seeing it twenty-four hours a day.
In the end, she chose a delicate dragon, resembling a Christmas candy cane, winding around her ankle. The tattoo machine vibrated when it hit a spot near the bone, creating small drops of blood that slid down her foot, and I had to sit down to avoid fainting at the sight.
When we left the studio, I felt overwhelmed, and Gina wouldn’t stop shouting. It was two-thirty. The music had become louder again, more enveloping, as if they had added sound amplifiers that weren’t there before. The lights hurt my eyes.
I think my blood pressure had dropped. I have hemophobia. Fear of blood. My body knew I was heading for trouble.
“Let’s find a place where I can sit,” I told Gina.
She responded with something I didn’t understand. I saw her mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear her words.
“Let’s go,” I shouted over the noise.
I started walking toward the room where we had parted ways with Enzo, unsure if there were other quiet spots where I could sit and wait for the dizziness to pass. Gina trailed behind me, or so I thought. By the time I reached The Square, the central space of Club Montari felt like it had shrunk.
The crowd had multiplied—or was it the effect of the mirrors?—and there was no space to sit. The sofas had disappeared among the commotion.
Where was that room? Backwards. I had to go back. I had just left The Champs.
I cursed under my breath.
I had to go to The Peak or The Champ, the two alleys Gina and I had walked through, buying all sorts of extravagant things that weighed down my purse and now seemed to pull me down, inviting me to sit on the floor and give up.
I was walking toward the opposite side of the club.
I turned around, hoping to see the familiar yellow sign indicating
Alright, at least I was in the right alley.
Hoping to see Gina, as confused as I was, following my steps. I found myself alone and dazzled by a red sign that said I was entering Serrano. I have no idea how I got there. Or why I kept walking forward instead of looking for Gina or calling her on the phone.
People were walking in all directions, and I pushed through them with difficulty.
I was surrounded by cheerful voices and loud laughter.
Formal exchanges of two kisses on the cheek and handshakes.
Luxury and appearance. Darkness and dirt and drugs and shady deals and someone getting beaten up in a secluded corner.
Another someone stepped in, and the fight ended with a handshake.
Then I understood what Enzo had meant. There was nothing rich people liked more than playing at being poor. Club Montari was an organized chaos. A dangerous but safe place. A sham. The mirror streets could well be made of solid gold; no one would blink twice.
I weaved my way through the throng, my steps unsteady but purposeful, propelled by the liquid courage coursing through me. The crowd seemed to part effortlessly as I advanced, though whether I was heading in the right direction was anyone’s guess.
Then, through the haze, I spotted a door flanked by a bouncer, the same imposing figure I remembered from the quiet room where Enzo and I had parted ways. Miraculously, it seemed I had found my way to the right place.
I couldn’t recall the exact amount I’d paid to get in, but it had to be far more than what I’d shelled out earlier. The room before me was anything but quiet.
At the entrance, they swapped my cash for heavy, round tokens that clinked ominously in my purse.
My senses were overwhelmed; I could barely discern the cacophony of sounds around me.
The rhythmic pounding of my heartbeat drowned out the noise, and my head spun with each step I took.
I caught the faint chime of a slot machine, the whirl of a roulette wheel, and the tense silence of a betting table waiting for a dealer’s card.
I had stumbled into a casino.
All I could think about was sitting down.
So, when a woman dressed in a black tuxedo took my arm and said something like, “Welcome. What would you like to try first?” and tried to drag me toward the betting area, I tried to leave.
I couldn’t shake her grip on my arm, stumbled on the red carpet in the lounge, and ended up falling on a sofa.
I breathed a sigh of relief, the room’s chaotic noise fading slightly as I sank into a plush couch.
Whenever I felt dizzy, sitting down always helped me recover my balance.
I stretched my legs out, feeling the cushion’s softness beneath my ass.
My vision gradually began to clear. I attempted to stretch my arms back and ease the tension in my neck, but as I leaned back, the couch seemed to shift.
“Vera? This can’t be happening.”
It couldn’t be. I’d just punched my boss’s nephew in the face. I blinked, convinced that the dizziness was playing tricks on my eyes. Bastian Saidi looked back at me, his expression one of sheer disbelief, as if he had just encountered a ghost.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
He’d stolen the words right out of my mouth. His eyes travelled down my dress and my bare legs, settling on the floor. His curls were dishevelled, and his gaze was outlined with eyeliner and silver glitter.
“What are you doing here?” I spat out the words.
Bastian recovered from the shock before I did. He lifted his head, and in an instant, arrogance flooded back, wrapping around him like an old, familiar cloak.
“I asked you first. You’re the one who fell on top of me! I think I deserve an explanation.”
I realized my mistake almost too late. My rear hadn’t hit the sofa; it had landed squarely on Bastian’s lap.
“I tripped!” I blurted out, my face burning with embarrassment.
I scrambled to my feet, stumbling slightly on my heels. Bastian’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist to steady me. My heart raced, not just from the jolt but from the close contact, too.
I was fine—just startled, really.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I mumbled, turning away quickly. I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “I’m looking for someone.”
But Bastian wasn’t letting me off that easily. He stood up, still gripping my arm, and positioned himself next to me, blocking my path.
“Are you alright?” His voice was deep, and the concern in it sent a shiver down my spine.
“Yes,” I replied, taking a step forward. Bastian mirrored my movement, not letting go.
“Then answer my question.”
“I don’t owe you any explanation,” I huffed. “Let me go, Bastard.”
A step to the left. Bastian’s body blocked my path again.
“Oh, no, no, no. You can’t fall on top of me and just walk away!”
A step to the right. He appeared in front of me, quick as a bullet. It felt like we were dancing in the middle of the casino. I made Bastian let me go, flailing my arms like a child having a tantrum. I didn’t care who saw me. There was no other way to win.
“Let’s make a deal,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’ll tell you on one condition.”
Bastian licked his lip, intrigued.
“What’s that?”
I pointed to a spot behind him. He turned around.
“Let’s play a game.”
The roulette round I had seen as soon as I entered the casino had just ended. The dealer looked for new participants, and the waitresses tried to attract those who had just entered the lounge to the table. Bastian smiled.
“Is that all?”
I had never played roulette. God, I had never even been in a casino. I didn’t know the rules or the secrets of the game. But I had a lot of money and a bunch of questions.
And nothing to lose.
Wherever Gina had gone, I was sure she could wait for me a bit longer. We approached the table.
There were three other players around the green-felted table and, as soon as the seats were all filled, the dealer called for the game to start.
The other players began placing their bets.
Bastian pulled out two stools for us. He placed his jacket on one, and I sat down, watching the hands of the group of players move chips around the table, announcing their chosen bets. Red. Six-line. Full.
I realised that, thanks to many hours of watching TV, I knew the basics of American roulette: the dealer throws a ball onto the wheel, it spins several times, and lands in a slot. If I guessed correctly, I would win. If not, I would lose. I could bet on the colour, several numbers, or just one.