One New Message (A Dark Romance Novel)

by Vivian Ward

  “Shit,” I swallowed. “Okay.”

  For the most part, she remains silent as I fill her in on my night before but it doesn’t matter how quiet she is because I can hear the disappointment in her voice during the times that she does make a sound.

  “Listen, Trent adores you. You know—we both know—that both of these men have had it out for you since we were teenagers, but girl, why? If you go playing with fire, you’re going to get burned.”

  “I know. I know,” I agree with her. “It’s just that, if Trent asks you guys anything, I need you to say that—”

  “No,” she cuts me off. Her words are firm. “I’m not going to participate in your games. I’m not going to help you lie to an honest man. A man who is better for you than any other man in the world. I won’t get involved or caught up in your games. You need to make a decision, and do it quickly.”

  I am angry at her for not helping me. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I’m also upset that she is telling me how it is, but that’s also why we’ve always been such good friends. She keeps it real. She keeps things in check.

  But right now, I don’t need her breathing down my neck. I’ve been too embarrassed to tell her about my money problems, so she has no idea. She has no right to judge me for why I’m doing what I’m doing, regardless the reason.

  “I know that!” I snap at her. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I’m not sure what hurts worse: knowing that I’ve lied to Trent or the fact that my best friend called me out on it. Either way, it’s a hard pill to swallow.

  But right now, I don’t have time to harp on things. I have to get my mindset in the right place if I’m going to help count cards tonight. Zack and his team are counting on me. Hopefully, I’ll be as amazing tonight as I was last night.

  Pulling on my heels, I hear a knock at the door.

  Shit, he wasn’t kidding when he said 9:30 sharp!

  “Hi,” I say, sliding out of the door, hoping that he didn’t wake my father. “You’re right on time.”

  “I told you what time to be ready. I’m never late.”

  Catching me by surprise, he opens the car door for me and motions for me to get in. “Ladies first,” he says.

  A cool, autumn breeze carries the scent of his cologne towards me, and he smells incredible. Smiling, I thank him and take my seat in the car. As he’s walking around the rear of the car, I begin to feel uncomfortable, but that feeling amplifies once he gets in and sits next to me. This time, there is no liquor to put me at ease.

  There’s an electrical charge in the air that is making the peach fuzz on my skin stand on end. I almost want to yell to stop, but my voice betrays me. I sit in silence as he puts the car in gear and wraps his arm around the back of my seat as he reverses out of my driveway.

  “So, um, we’re going to Rigozzi’s again?” I ask.

  “Yes, that’s one of the many places that we like to go. They have some new dealers, so the decks have been on fire there!”

  “You don’t think they’ll catch on? Who runs it anyway? The gambling portion?”

  Rigozzi’s is an Italian restaurant. Rumor has it that it’s owned by the mafia, and I’m sure they wouldn’t think twice to whack somebody who they suspected of ripping them off. I’ve heard they’ve murdered for less.

  When we were in high school, they were all over the news in the St. Louis area. There was a story circulating that the cops were looking for these two men who were suspected of approaching young women and molesting them in alleyways. It didn’t matter how many composite sketches they showed of the men, police could never find them. Supposedly, one day, the two men cornered the owner’s daughter but were unsuccessful of laying a finger on her.

  But when Mr. Rigozzi’s daughter told him of her dealings with the men, two men—the very next morning—were found dead in a dumpster just a few blocks from the Italian restaurant. Dickless.

  Everyone in the metro area talked about it all over town. Except for on The Hill. The Hill is the Italian section of St. Louis where Italian restaurants line the streets. No one dared speak of the two men there for fear that Mr. Rigozzi would hear and it would upset him. Nobody in their right mind would provoke Mr. Rigozzi.

  “The owner’s son. The old man ran it until he had a heart attack last year. Now his kid runs it, but he’s just as mean as the old son-of-a-bitch he replaced.”

  “Great,” I sigh.

  There’s still time to back out. You can still bail on him.

  But if I do, I’ll be in the exact same predicament that I’m in now and won’t be any closer to paying my bills or having a car. It will also upset Zack if I skip out on him now. They have a system that he has to adhere to. He can’t show up late, and I’m not about to be walking the street at night if he doesn’t have time to take me back home.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as you think and when you were there last night, everyone got a kick out of you.”

  “I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?” I’m almost afraid to know the answer to the question, but I have to know.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. You were just…rather flirty, and a bit loud.”

  “Who was I flirty with?” He smiles at me. A huge, shit-eating grin plastered from ear to ear. “You? Was it you?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was a perfect gentleman and didn’t take you up on any of your offers or advances. Kevin and Travis, though, they might have taken you up on the offer if you weren’t working with us. Angie was a bit annoyed so don’t be surprised if she doesn’t seem friendly when you see her tonight.”

  “Kevin, Travis and Angie?” I ask, unfamiliar with the names.

  “Yeah, they’re spotters. Well, except for Angie. She’s a big player like me. You, Travis and Kevin will be playing at different tables, counting the cards and signal either Angie or myself over when the cards get hot.”

  “How will I know who’s who? Like how will I make sure I sit down at a different table? And what does Angie look like?”

  He chuckles. “Calm down. Travis kind of looks like Jesus. Full beard and a mustache. Dark hair with pale skin. I’d say he’s about 5’8 or so? He’s kind of short, and a little on the stocky side. I think he’s in his early 40’s.”

  “So if I see a guy that looks like Jesus, his name’s Travis?”

  “Yep. And Kevin is medium complected, a couple of years older than us. He looks like he should be working at Best Buy. Khaki pants and polo shirts. Brown work boots. Always.”

  “What does Angie look like?” I’m almost afraid that he’ll say she’s prettier than me, but I have to know what she looks like to ensure she sits at my table if I signal her over.

  “Angie,” he sighs, running his hand through his chestnut hair. “She’s uh, a preppy bitch for better lack of words. You know her.”

  “I do?” I try to rack my brain of all the Angie’s I might know, but I can’t think of any.

  “Yeah, she was a couple of years younger than us in high school. She was a cheerleader and…”

  “Had a crush on you! I remember her now!”

  “That’s the one.”

  “So are you and her…together?”

  I almost slapped myself as soon as the words left my mouth. Why did I say that? It’s not like I’m interested. I have Trent. Right?

  “No,” his jaw tightens as he looks at me. “Our relationship is strictly business. She might be our other big player, but it took me a long time to hand her those reigns, and that was only because JJ quit.”

  “Why did he quit?”

  I know I shouldn’t have asked the question, but I need to know—even if I don’t like the answer.

  “Let’s just say that he got spooked. I couldn’t convince him to stay, and the rest is history.”

  A long silence fills the car, and it’s becoming uncomfortable.

  “Wait a minute!” I break the silence. “How did I end up in your shirt when I woke up? I meant to ask you, but you kind of got me side-tracked when we s
tarted talking about playing cards tonight.”

  “You were drunk. So drunk that you threw up just moments after I helped you out of your dress. You were crying about not wanting to ruin it because you’d never be able to resell it; something about an online thrift store? I don’t know. You were pretty trashed. There was nothing for you to wear, so I gave you my shirt.”

  I smile at his kind words. Now that is a true gentleman, but it’s totally not Zack. He fucks anything with a pulse. At least he used to anyway.

  “But weren’t you wearing a shirt at the hotel? I could have sworn you were wearing a t-shirt.”

  He nods as we pull into a parking space. “Yep. I was. I like to wear these old V-neck tees under my dress shirts. I’ve done it—”

  “Ever since you were a kid,” I finish his sentence. “I forgot about that until now,” I laugh.

  It’s kind of weird how we can finish each other’s sentences, but I shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve always been so close. But we’ve spent so much time apart. Surely, he’s changed. I know I have. Haven’t I?

  “Look, I’ll let you go in and then I’ll join you in about ten minutes.”

  “Why?” I ask, nervous about going alone. Even though I was here last night, I don’t remember a thing about it, and I feel scared. Like it’s my first time, and they won’t like an outsider.

  “So we don’t tip them off that we’re here together. Last night, I pretended not to know you at all, which worked well in my favor since you were all over me. They thought that we were complete strangers. When the cards cool, you’ll give me your signal, and then you leave. I’ll follow shortly behind you.”

  His phone rings, breaking the bit of silence that’s in the car. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and presses the button to silence the call.

  He sure silences calls an awful lot.

  I look around the dimly lit street. I can see a bum sitting about a block and a half away, and I can hear him playing his harmonica. He’s panhandling. They do it on almost every corner it seems like. This neighborhood is much different than my home back in Chesterfield.

  In Chesterfield, the streets are well lit, there are plenty of subdivisions, and businesses close at a decent hour which means you don’t see people on the streets. You might see a person here and there driving in their car, but never out just walking in the dark.

  I don’t feel too safe here. Dressed how I am, anyone could easily mistake me for a prostitute, drag me into their car and rape me or kidnap me. My palms start to get sweaty just thinking about all of the possibilities of how my night could end. And I’m not sure which is worse: the Rigozzi’s or the evil lurking the streets.

  “How will I get back in the car? To wait for you?”

  “Ah, glad you asked. Here,” he hands me a key to his car. It’s a single, spare key. “Put this in your bra, or your purse; whatever is most comfortable for you. When you leave, you can let yourself back into my car and wait for me.” He pauses, sensing the fear within me. “Don’t worry, babe, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  It’s funny how both of the Richardson brothers keep making me the exact same promise. It’s like deja-vu.

  Maybe it’s some sort of forewarning, or maybe it’s a sign of something more.

  Slipping the key into my bra, I smile. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

  “Good, just work some of that black magic shit you whipped up before and we’ll be good to go.”

  Chapter 11

  Walking up to the back door of Rigozzi’s, I wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my dress. My heartbeat is thumping in my ears, and it feels like someone is watching me.

  Maybe it’s because I’m so paranoid about getting caught. If fear had a scent, I’m sure I must reek of it.

  There’s a man standing near the back door of the restaurant. An extremely large man, solidly built and wearing a gray pin-striped suit.

  As I walk closer toward him, he puffs out his chest and stands tall and stiff. I swallow, afraid that he’s going to do something to me if I get too close to him. He looks like he’s killed before and his tight jaw tells me that he’s not the door greeter.

  “Um, Hi, I’m uh,” I look around to make sure nobody is around before I say my next words.

  “I remember you!” He cracks a smile. His mean, glacier eyes turn into sparkling happy ones. “What’s your name gorgeous? You were here last night, but I didn’t catch your name.”

  His Italian accent is thick, and he sounds so sexy.

  “Joline,” I feel myself blush. “And you are?”

  “Tony! Tony the Tiger,” he winks at me.

  “Oh,” I giggle. “Well, Tony, I’d love to chat, but what I’d really like to do is get in there and hopefully win a few bucks, or at least not lose too many.”

  “Certainly,” he opens the door for me. “After you, darling.”

  “Thank you.”

  That was much easier than I thought it was going to be, but I’m still nervous about everything. Walking down the stairs away from the busy kitchen where I hear the chef yelling at his assistants, I begin to wonder if I’m going in the right direction. All I can hear is silence. No music, no laughing, no talking. Nothing.

  The door at the bottom of the steps swings open and an attractive Asian woman is walking out, counting her money as she brushes past me on the stairwell.

  “Good night tonight!” she flashes her cash at me.

  “Thanks, good to know.”

  There’s no question that I’m going in the right direction now. I continue making my way to the bottom of the steps and let myself into the mini casino that’s below the restaurant. It is amazing how close it resembles a real casino. There are table games as far as the eye can see. I walk past a craps and roulette table before I spot the words “Poker Room” which happens to be right next to the blackjack tables where I’ll be spending my time tonight.

  I wonder who is in charge. Who hires the employees and pays them? How do they get paid?

  I imagine that the owner of the restaurant probably runs it, but I’m not certain. The Italians have always had their hands into illegal activity so it wouldn’t surprise me. I bet the old man, Vincent Rigozzi, probably has them listed as employees on his payroll and pretends they are cooks and servers.

  It makes perfect sense.

  Walking around, I spot a couple of familiar faces, but I’m not sure why they’re so familiar. I don’t know any of these people. Hell, I didn’t even know that this…this, underground casino even existed until Zack told me about it.

  Then it hits me, and I know why they look familiar! We all worked together last night. They must be the other spotters that Zack and I talked about on the way over.

  There’s Kevin who’s a medium-skinned brother with a fade hairstyle. He makes eye contact with me and gives a slight nod. Just as Zack described him, he’s wearing a polo shirt with khaki pants and brown work boots.

  Glancing around the other tables, I spot Jesus, or whatever his name is. There’s no mistaking him because he’s the only man in here who looks remotely close to Jesus.

  I make my way over to a small booth where an older oriental woman is and exchange the cash that Zack gave me for poker chips and make my way back to the tables.

  Sitting opposite of Kevin and Jesus, I nestle myself into a cozy spot next to a middle-aged man and his much too young girlfriend who is standing beside him. I swear this girl is young enough to be his daughter. She’s wearing a skin tight dress with her boobs practically popping out of the top of it while she bounces around in her 8-inch heels.

  I turn my attention to the dealer and offer a nervous smile as I push some of my chips toward him.

  “Sure hope you’re my lucky dealer tonight. I could use a break.”

  “Minimum bet?” he asks.

  “Yeah, figure I better start slow,” I lie.

  I’ll bet the table minimum all night. My job is to count the cards. Every card has a value; if it’s a high card, then it’s minus one, i
f it’s a low card then it’s plus one and the rest are all worth zero. When the deck gets hot, I signal either Zack or Angie over, tell them the count with the code words that have already been established and then they play until the deck cools and get out with winning as much as possible.

  As I’m beginning to warm up, I look around the room and take note of their security. Their pit bosses look even meaner than the ones we used at the casino. This one guy, he must be every bit of 300 pounds of solid muscle and damn near seven feet tall. He walks around for a bit before settling into a corner with another man, who’s almost of equal size but he’s closer to six foot and slightly less muscular.

  I sure hope Zack knows what he’s doing.

  Judging by the looks of these guys, they could take out a small army with very few movements. And these guys, these pit bosses, they’re not afraid to hurt women, so I know that I’m not immune. Shivers run down my spine as I think about them doing something horrendous like pulling my fingernails out of the tips of my fingers with a pair of pliers.

  Checking out the other spotters, I notice that Jesus signals that the deck is hot and watch Zack make his way over to his table. He looks so cocky and confident, not a care in the world. I’m sure that I appear that way too, but I’m dying on the inside. I’m so scared of getting caught but I know I have to keep my cool or I could blow everything.

  Queen. Minus one. Deuce. Plus one.

  The count is zero.

  The dealer deals out the next hand. I watch and count.

  A three of spades pops up. Plus one. Another deuce. Plus one. The deck count is now two. A king. Minus one.

  I’m trying to keep count while making casual conversation with the dealer and the middle-aged man with the bubbly blonde girlfriend. Counting cards is harder than I thought. I don’t know how these people do it.

  Practice. Lots of practice.

  I have no clue how I did this drunk. Paying close attention to the count, I spot Angie. She’s waiting for her signal, but the cards aren’t hot enough yet. I keep counting.