High Stakes (A Dark Romance)

by Vanessa Waltz

  I’m always so careful to avoid people who might hurt me, so why am I interested in a man who radiates power?

  I can’t figure it out.

  He stops in front of my dorm building and I wait for—I don’t know what. Something.

  “It was nice meeting you, Adriana.”

  “Nice meeting you, too.”

  He nods, his mouth fixed in a neutral expression, and I take that as my cue to leave.

  How anticlimactic.

  I climb out of the sleek car with a little difficulty and start walking back to my dorms, my mind buzzing with everything that happened.

  “Adriana?”

  Turning around, I see that he’s still parked there, watching me. “Yeah?” I stoop a little to look at him through the window.

  “Listen, don’t be afraid to show more skin.” He smiles as if it’s just a suggestion. “You’ll get bigger tips, I guarantee it.”

  Are you saying that you want other guys staring at my tits?

  Maybe he’s right. “I—I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He winks at me and throttles the car, leaving me absolutely dumbfounded. What the hell did I just sign up for?

  Chapter 3

  When I finally reach my dorm room, I’m fucking exhausted. It’s 3am and I’ve had the longest night of my life. I still can’t believe what happened. I open the door quietly, because I expect Maria to be asleep, so I’m astounded when I see Jackie and Maria still dressed up, sitting on chairs and looking wide awake.

  “Thank fucking God.” Jackie shifts in his seat and rakes a hand through his hair.

  She bolts upright. “Jesus, Ade! I was so worried!”

  I’m startled by their reaction. “Guys, it was fine. He just wanted to apologize and offer me a job.”

  “What?”

  Both of them yell at the same time. I start to smile, even though I’m ruffled by the shocked looks on their faces.

  “Yeah. He wants me to deal cards every week. I made three grand tonight in tips!”

  “Oh, fuck.” Jackie sits back down and buries his face in his hands.

  I stare at him. It’s not like him to explode like that. “What’s wrong?”

  Maria grabs my shoulders, her eyes bloodshot, but her face is livid with fear. “Ade, he’s a captain.”

  “Captain? What the—”

  “He’s a captain in the Vittorio Crime Family.”

  Shit. Oh, God. I’ve just signed up to work for the fucking mafia? This must be a joke.

  “What the hell is a captain?” Maria shrieks.

  Jackie rubs his face. “God, don’t you guys watch movies? Every crime family has a boss. Under that boss, there’s an underboss. Under him are the captains. Capos,” he says, the Italian word rolling off his tongue. “They have soldiers working for them. It’s a hierarchy.”

  “Are you sure he’s with the mob?”

  “Of course, I’m sure.”

  I’ve heard the name all my life. They’re always in the papers. Vittorio hit in Brooklyn indicates war with Rizzos heating up. Vittorio family mobsters arrested in connection to Italian Mafia.

  I dive to the computer and immediately google his name. What was it? Vincent Cesare? I type it in and look him up, Maria and Jackie looking over my shoulder.

  There’s not much on him, but there’s a novel on Giacomo Vittorio, the boss of the family.

  The buzzing in my head gets worse and I feel the beginnings of a headache. Goddamn it. I can’t deal with this shit right now. Turning it off, I wheel around to stare at both of them. Then I remember something. Another swell of horror rises in my throat.

  “I stole a pen from him.”

  “You what?”

  I take it out of my purse and swallow hard. It’s a Waterman pen, one of those expensive fountain pens. It weighs heavily in my hand. Solid gold.

  Jesus.

  “I couldn’t—I didn’t mean to!”

  “Oh Jesus fucking Christ, Adriana. Of all people, you decided to steal from him.” Maria glowers at me. She knows about my habit because she’s caught me before.

  “I’ll give it back to him,” I say in a small voice.

  “No, don’t!”

  “You just have to tell him that you changed your mind.”

  “She can’t do that!” Maria shrieks. “What is she going to say? ‘Excuse me Mr. Badass Mobster, I was just wondering if I could quit!’ Then before she knows it, she’s whacked!”

  Both of them are freaking me out. “You’ve watched way too many Martin Scorsese movies. I’m not going to get killed for turning down a job.” I’ll admit that calling Vincent up and telling him that I changed my mind intimidates the hell out of me.

  They’re both looking at me like I need to act now, but I’m too tired to be scared. “Guys, I’ll deal with this in the morning. I’m too exhausted right now to think.”

  “Maybe I can talk to my brother.” Jackie sighs and picks up his jacket that hangs on the post of my bed. “He’s just an associate, I think.”

  I heard about his brother being the black sheep of the family, but I never thought that he was associated with criminals.

  “Don’t do anything yet.” I’m chewing my lip.

  Maria’s face looks bloodless, all of her makeup faded away. “You’re not thinking of actually going through with it, are you?”

  I kicked off my heels and shrug. “Guys, I need to sleep!”

  “All right, goodnight.”

  We mumble a goodbye as Jackie leaves the dorm. Maria and I stare at each other in disbelief. Then I start to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Maria’s head starts shaking and I clutch my sides as I laugh my ass off, until finally I’m wiping tears from my eyes.

  “Too much excitement for one night,” she says.

  That, I can agree with.

  * * *

  Bright sunlight makes me wince the moment I open my eyes, and I marvel at the fact that I didn’t have any nightmares while I slept. It takes me a while to grope through the fogginess of sleep to understand why I feel so excited.

  I try to untangle the web of confusing images of last night and I’m almost sure that I woke up from a very bizarre dream until I grab my black clutch and peek inside.

  Yep. It’s still there. Three thousand bucks.

  My mouth dry, I put it back on my desk and sink into my covers. Lord knows I need the money. He didn’t seem like such a bad guy. I just want to make a little bit of money over the summer, and then I’ll quit and it’ll all be behind me.

  You get panic attacks when you hear strange noises outside your dorm. Why the hell do you want to mingle with a bunch of mobsters?

  My throat constricts, scenes from Casino flashing through my mind. Bludgeoned bodies rolled in holes in the desert.

  It just never seemed real to me. All of it was fiction, make-believe, only pretend. It was all too extraordinary. Maybe they’re not really violent. Maybe they’re more like crooked businessmen.

  Slipping from my bed, I walk carefully on the wooden floorboards until I reach my closet. I desperately need a shower to wash the vestiges of makeup from my face. A row of tired-looking clothes greets me.

  Man, I’m tired of dressing like shit, wearing the same thing week after week because Mom sucks all my money. I’m tired of never doing a damn thing for myself.

  I’m going out today and I’m going to buy something new, something that isn’t from the goddamn thrift store. I want makeup, new shoes, dresses, and jeans. It’s taken me until now to realize that they’re necessities, and the fact that I don’t have any of them makes it okay for me to spend a little on myself. All I need is a couple hundred dollars to go shopping. I can’t put this money in the bank yet, so I’ll spend some of it. Why not? I deserve it, for fuck’s sake.

  A part of me wants to look good for him for the next card game. I’m glad Maria can’t see my face, because it looks like a ripe tomato.

  “You’re not like most girls your age.”

  I smile at the memory, my skin
heating as I remember how it felt to be so close to him. He’s so different from other guys. Vince strikes me as a guy who knows what he wants and takes it without waiting for it to come to him.

  There’s a reason why he’s so different, you idiot.

  If I had a healthy brain, I would give him a wide berth.

  After showering, Maria’s still asleep, so I write her a note telling her where I’ve gone. When I come back from shopping, almost four hours later, Maria is sitting at her desk. Her dark hair is pulled up into a loose bun and there are dark circles under her eyes.

  I’ve had a pretty damn good day. I can barely get through the door with all the bags I have around my wrists and Maria stares as I stumble inside. Humming happily, I start hanging up the dresses from Guess. They’re beautiful, sexy dresses that I would have never bought for myself, but I’ve a renewed confidence in myself. I spent a little bit more than I should have, but everything was on sale. New shoes, new tops, new everything. I needed them.

  “Tell me you didn’t spend that money,” Maria croaks.

  I pause in the middle of hanging a hot pink dress. Maria looks terrible. Her normally glowing skin is pale, but then again, I probably look worse. “Yeah, I did. So what?”

  She sighs and shakes her head like I’ve just made a grave error.

  “I really think you’re blowing this out of proportion. I’ll be dealing cards. The only difference between what I’ll be doing and the casinos is that one’s legal and one’s not.”

  “It’s blood money, Adriana.”

  My insides twist. “Well, what about corporations that use their profits to fund terrorist groups and hate groups and—”

  “This isn’t Chick-fil-A!” she roars. “This is the Italian Mafia, you know, I’ll murder you in your sleep if you step out of line kind of thing.”

  I continue hanging up my clothes, my face partially hidden by a new pair of jeans. “He doesn’t—he wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh my God, Adriana. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

  My shoulders sag as her voice cracks, striking me to my core. She’s right. Of course, she’s right. How the hell could I ever convince myself that I could work alongside murderers and thieves and who knows what else? But I stare at all the beautiful clothes I just bought; all of it would have been impossible if it weren’t for last night.

  “I’m tired of being poor.”

  My eyes slowly fill with tears when I realize I’m back to square one. I hear the sound of Maria’s body getting up from the chair and her eyes are shining with tears when she pulls me into a hug.

  “I know, honey, but you’re in Columbia. Whatever you do after this, you’ve got it made. You don’t need this illegal gambling shit on your record.”

  Somehow, my throat thickens even more when she says that. Really, I was stupid. I had fun for one night, but that’s all it was ever going to be. One night.

  * * *

  I’m sitting in what looks like a bar from the 1920’s in Midtown East. The dark wood decor combined with the deep red seats makes a very masculine-looking theme. Behind the wooden bar is a wall of opaque glass, hundreds of tiny rectangles of glass, where only the boldest colors from outside filter through. Everyone’s dressed up for this place, including me, but I still feel completely out of touch.

  I don’t know why Steve picked this place.

  Maria made me sign up for match.com, and I’m waiting for my first date in—oh, years.

  God help me.

  I’ve no idea what you’re supposed to do after a first date. Suppose he wants to kiss me? Will he expect that?

  He’s ten minutes late and I’m already half-wishing he doesn’t show up so that I can go home. I must look so stupid sitting here by myself, sipping my rum and coke. I study the rich details carved into the wood and hardly pay attention to the dumpy man standing in front of my table.

  “Adriana?”

  How does he know my name?

  I recognize his face as the one matching Steve’s profile picture, although he’s about thirty pounds heavier.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  Steve’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, which looks several sizes too small. His brown hair lies flat on his head, lifeless. He’s at least five years older than that profile picture and his body is not at all “athletic” like he claims.

  It pisses me off that he lied, but it angers me even more that he couldn’t even have the decency to wear something nice. I’m in a dress and I spent a half-hour trying to figure out how to use Maria’s makeup. He looked like he just rolled out of bed.

  “Wow,” he says with wide eyes. “You look really nice.”

  You don’t.

  I want to retort with something bitchy. After all, he did deceive me.

  “Thanks.”

  Steve sits down and flags the waitress, ordering beer for himself. We stare at each other in quiet discomfort. I’m already counting down the minutes and I wonder if I should excuse myself to the bathroom and get an emergency phone call from Maria. Steve turns out to be an unemployed recording artist. He makes me listen to his awful, chip-tune music for ten minutes while my brain feels like it’s about to explode. He talks about it for half an hour, and by then I’ve checked out completely.

  Instead, I spend the date thinking about the kind of man who does interest me. Not Steve, that’s for fucking sure. A tall, olive-skinned man dressed in a suit floats in front of my vision. Just remembering his hands traveling up my back makes my neck flush.

  Steve gives me a strange look.

  Oh, shit. He’s still talking.

  “Um—what?”

  “I said, do you want to split the bill?”

  You’re fucking joking, right?

  “Sure,” I say through tight lips.

  Not that I’m a conservative person, but he can’t even pay for a drink on the first date? Jesus Christ.

  His face crumples slightly. “I’m sorry, I know this must seem like a complete joke. I’m pretty broke.”

  For the first time, I feel something other than hostility towards him. “I know what that’s like, believe me.”

  The waitress comes and we slap some cash down. I get up to leave. Finally.

  This must be the shortest date ever.

  To my surprise, Steve quickly follows suit. He looks just as anxious to leave, and I feel a little insulted by it. Frankly, I’m still angry.

  He sticks out his hand. “Better to get it over with early, don’t you think?”

  “What?” I say uncomprehendingly as I shake his hand.

  “Well, you didn’t really seem interested.”

  He gives me a sad little smile and I feel a little bit bad about my behavior. I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that I lost interest the moment I saw him.

  “Bye, then.”

  Whatever.

  I watch him disappear down the burgundy, carpeted steps to Grand Central Terminal. Opening my purse, I see that I’ve a text message. From Vincent.

  Heat rushes into my face as if I’m sitting in front of an open flame.

  Tomorrow. 6 p.m. The Paramount in Times Square. 22nd floor, room 208. Don’t be late.

  That’s it. I try to scroll down for more, but there’s nothing else.

  I guess that’s all he wants from me. I’m just another person on his payroll. Then it’ll be easy, won’t it?

  I’m not sure that I’ll be able to walk away.

  * * *

  “I don’t understand why you’re getting ready if you’re going to quit.”

  I sigh furiously at Maria’s judgmental tone as I’m trying to apply eyeliner, squinting as I try to draw a straight line. The pencil trembles and smudges over my lid.

  Fuck. I suck at being a woman.

  “He sprang it on me last minute after that disaster of a date. What am I supposed to do? Cancel on him? No fucking way.”

  I’m wearing a red knit dress with art deco designs. I also decided to follow
Vincent’s advice to show more skin—er—cleavage. The girl in the mirror is a stranger to me. She’s the girl I’ve always admired from afar, but I was always too busy studying or too broke to do anything about it. Now she’s standing in my cramped dorm room, surrounded by Maria’s One Direction posters. She doesn’t look like she belongs here.

  “I look like Jessica Rabbit.”

  “I’m sure all those grease balls will appreciate it,” she chuckles.

  The red-orange lip-gloss I apply completes the package. Goddamn, I look like a real woman. The dress hugs every inch of my curves and I tie up my hair, letting loose a few tendrils down my face. I’ve never looked this good in my life. I didn’t know it was possible.

  “I’m going all out tonight. One last game. I want to get thousands and thousands.”

  What was the difference between a waitress wearing a low-cut shirt to get bigger tips and this? Nothing at all.

  Ah, but you’re not just doing it for bigger tips, a slimy voice inside me says. You want him.

  Of course, I want him. Any red-blooded female would want a man who looked that good in a suit. But he’s off limits.

  After getting ready, it seems like a waste of my effort to descend into the subway, but I can’t afford a cab.

  “Please be careful. Call me when you’re done.”

  Her hovering behavior might be annoying to some, but for someone who has never had a parent care about where she was or what she was doing, it feels comforting. Like there’s at least one person in this city of two million people who cares about me.

  I hobble down the steps of my dorm in my taupe heels, ignoring the admiring looks thrown my way, but secretly loving them.

  How am I going to tell him I quit?

  Every time I try to practice, the words freeze in my head. I can just see him glower. I remember the way he held my arm so tightly just because I wanted to take the subway and my blood feels like ice. It won’t be easy telling him no.

  The subway is packed with students already fresh out of finals. Everyone’s dressed up, ready for a night on the town, and so am I. I take 7th Avenue Local all the way to 50th street, where the gargantuan, flashing screens are so distracting that I almost trip over a sidewalk. It’s so loud, so noisy—there are hordes of people on the sidewalks and cars honking nonstop. It’s New York City’s chaos at its peak. There are garish ads for every major company and the whole block looks like a flashing, out of sync rainbow.