Page 98 of Working for the Mob

“Art, it’s …” I said, and pulled out a midnight one-piece, sleeveless dress. The crepe dress that would turn heads where I went, and not just because of the hemline.

“I noticed you longing after it in front of Madame Levie. It’ll be perfect for tonight. Come on, I’ll help you with the clasps,” he said.

I slipped into the dress and studied my reflection––this dress was made for me. It draped from my shoulders like a robe, daring men to guess what lay underneath. It stopped well above the knees, showing off more leg than I’d let my grandmother see.

“How do I look?” I asked Art, as I swished the dress for a different view. The way the crepe flowed from side-to-side was mesmerizing.

“Let me see,” he said and took my hand. He pulled me into a twirl and the hem fluttered around me, taking me back to being seven years old again. He held me close, our faces almost touching. I fell into his mocha trance and leaned in for a kiss but he stopped.

“It's missing something,” he said, and stepped out of the embrace. I felt as though he doused me in a pitcher of ice water.

“What?” I asked. How could I be missing anything when I was wearing this dress to perfection?

“First, a flower.” He plucked a red Gerbera from a nearby vase and placed it in my hair. Then he reached into his pocket and brought out a leather case that could fit a pen. “Here.”

I held my breath and took the case, bewildered. Did he buy me a fountain pen for work? I thought our relationship skipped past “work gifts” when he skewered me like a kebab.

I pried it open to reveal a string of white pearls. A beautiful string that would make Lucy jealous. The jeweler must have scoured all the oysters in the Atlantic.

“They’re beautiful,” I said breathlessly.

“Let me,” Art said, and strung them around my neck.

I turned back to the mirror and fell in awe at my reflection. Was this the same lady who was stranded in Lannington with no money and no place to stay barely two months ago? This woman screamed confidence and competence. She knew who she was and what she wanted to do. She knew what she wanted.

My eyes betrayed me as they flicked to Art. This woman knewwhoshe wanted.

“They’re beautiful,” I said.

“Good,” Art said. “We’ve got to go. We’re late for dinner.”

???

“We’re here,” Art said, and I stopped so quickly I lost my balance. I only stayed upright because of my firm grip on Art’s arm.

Dinner at Il Fiore was a magical meal complete with aproned waiters, white linen tablecloths, and candle-lit tables. We finished just in time to meet the whiskey buyer.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I asked Art.

Snuggled close to Art, I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going. However, we stood on a sidewalk in the middle of Manhattan, outside a dark storefront with the name of a bank across the top. “That place is closed.”

“We’re not going to the bank,” Art said, and nodded ahead. “We’re going down there.”

I followed his nod to a dark set of stairs I swear was not there a second before.

“I think we’ll both be murdered by the time we find whatever’s down there,” I said, and Art huffed.

“I’m glad you no longer assume that I’m the one who’s going to murder you,” Art said, and led me towards the stairs.

No light illuminated the railing-less stone steps, and it wasn’t any better at the bottom. A faint light gleamed off a liquid pooled on the floor, which I assumed was urine.

“You’re sure this is it?” I asked.

“Of course. Just a bit farther,” he said, and he dragged me through the dark tunnel.

We passed unmarked metal doors, each more ominous than the last. Finally, Art stopped in front of a door.

“How do you know it’s this one?” I asked him, but he gave no indication he heard me.

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