Page 30 of On Ice

Jimmy looks up from his phone. “Rumor has it Chicago is a sure thing tomorrow night?”

“Absolutely. It’s all set. I have a lot of money on them winning.” I push away memories of Evan’s defiance. It doesn’t matter that he fought me, I won. He’s going to do as I say. He got the message that I’m not fucking around. He won’t let Noah die.

“Good to know.” Vincent laughs. “I’ll be sure to place some large bets.”

“Ooh, me too.” Maria’s eyes flash with excitement. “I’d love to support your new venture, Luca.”

The door opens one final time. Tommy O’Mally strides in with his usual gangster swagger. His family controls distribution through the Irish neighborhoods, moving everything from drugsto stolen goods. His face is flushed from drink already, but his eyes are sharp. He’s smarter than he pretends to be, which makes him dangerous.

“Starting without me?” He drops into a chair and lifts his empty wine glass. “Don’t forget me, Paolo.”

“Never,” Paolo says smoothly, moving to fill his glass.

Tommy eyes Maria, his gaze lingering on her full breasts. “You’re looking radiant today, love.”

She smiles. “Now that’s how a real gentleman treats a lady, see, Luca?”

“When did I ever say I was a gentleman?” I laugh.

“Luca isn’t into beautiful women, remember?” Vincent pipes up. “He’s more likely to compliment Tommy than you, Maria.” He shoots me a challenging look.

It’s no secret I’m gay. It was one of the things my father disapproved of about me, but he didn’t let anyone disrespect me, regardless. Still, that doesn’t stop people from trying to yank my chain from time to time. I’m not ashamed of being gay, so I don’t give a fuck whether they approve or disapprove, but it’s important they don’t actually mock me.

“Tommy’s not my type,” I say. “I prefer a more athletic build.” Thoughts of Evan’s sinewy, muscular body fill my mind, but I push them away. Now is not the time.

Tommy scowls, lifting his arm and doing a bicep curl. “Hey, I work out.”

I shrug. “You forget, I own a hockey team now. There’s a lot of really nice eye candy. Regular guys who hit the gym occasionally can’t compete with the body of a real athlete.”

Maria giggles. “He’s not wrong, boys.”

Everyone laughs and the moment passes.

Since everyone has wine, Paolo begins the food service. It’s a choreographed dance of dishes meant to last for hours. First comes an amuse-bouche of citrus-cured hamachi drizzled with Calabrian chili oil. Next, the antipasti arrives with aged prosciutto so thin it’s translucent. Buffalo mozzarella flown in from Naples and rich, golden olive oil pressed from ancient groves in Sicily, each bite a reminder of old-world power and the deep roots of tradition.

Vincent swirls his wine in his glass. “Dmitri, I heard you had a little trouble with your old customs inspector, Martinez. The one Shaffer replaced.”

Dmitri’s massive shoulders tense slightly. Martinez’s sudden retirement, and subsequent disappearance, has been the subject of much speculation. “New man understands how I want things done better. Martinez was too easily flustered. There have been no more problems with shipments.”

“Is that so?” Tommy taunts. “That’s not what I heard. According to my sources two containers got held up last week.”

“Yeah, but nothing sense.” Dmitri’s knuckles whiten around his fork. “The problem has beenhandled.”

“I certainly hopes so.” Vincent dabs his lips with a crisp linen napkin. “The ports are too important to let just anyone be in charge.” Vincent has been drooling to get his hands on the ports.

Maria’s smile is pure poison. “Amen to that.”

There’s a sheen of perspiration on Dmitri’s forehead. “I can assure you all, there will be no further issues with the ports.” He glances at me, his expression uneasy. “I swear on my life.”

I purse my lips, studying him. I believe him when he says he’s handled the problem. We both know that if I don’t give him my blessing, the others might make a move on him. They’d all love to get a piece of the port action. But if I give Dmitri my blessing, they’ll back off. I let a few moments tick by, holding Dmitri’s frazzled gaze. I like to keep them off balance. It makes them less dangerous. Eventually, I nod. “I trust you, Dmitri. Just keep your eye on the new guy.”

“Of course,” he rasps, mopping at his sweaty forehead with his napkin. “Things are back to normal and they’ll stay that way, Luca. I promise.”

The other’s settle back in their chairs as the pasta course arrives. It’s tortellini in brood. According to the menu, it takes three days to prepare. The clear broth captures the light from the chandeliers, golden and perfect. Paolo appears with new wine, and the ceremony of decanting gives me time to study the room. Vincent and Maria exchanging glances. Tommy’s barely concealed glee at Dmitri’s discomfort. Jimmy’s fingers moving subtly on his phone beneath the table. Is the little shit recording the meeting? I’ll be sure to have Marco check his phone before he leaves.

The dinner conversation skips around from SEC anonymous tips about certain cryptocurrency irregularities, to bribes given to key players at City Hall. There’s plenty of cursing and taunting as they all jockey to win my favor. I never feed them too much praise. It’s better to keep them on edge. They’re all power hungry hellions and keeping them in line can be exhausting.

Finally, the main course arrives, brasato al Barolo that melts off the bone, risotto Milanese golden with saffron that costs more per ounce than cocaine. Dessert is cannoli filled with ricotta, and I have two servings. I always over eat when I come to Vittorio’s. There’s no finer Italian food in the city.

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