High Stakes (3 page)

I take the dress from her and gingerly and study the thick, stretchy material of the dress before taking off my jeans and t-shirt and pulling it on. The fabric is smooth but thick, almost like bandage. It’s tight around my chest and stomach. I reach back and can’t zip up the rest. Maria helps me zip it up and she gasps as she steps back and looks at me.

A woman with messy, dark brown hair stands in front of the mirror in a black dress that accentuates her every curve. I turn to the side to see the back and the girl turns as well, exposing the sheer lace that dips down to the middle of my back. There’s lace over my breasts, too. The sweetheart silhouette barely covers them up. The woman in the mirror blushes violently.

“Maria! This is way too much!”

“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect! Look at how amazing you look!” Maria practically sprints to her closet and retrieves a pair of strappy black pumps that she demands I put on immediately.

“It’s so tight.” I spread my hands over my stomach. The dress is flattering; it smoothes out any bumps I would have. God, maybe I
am
attractive.

My feet slide into the pumps and I wobble a bit on my feet, feeling like I might tip over. It’s lucky that we have the same shoe size. She squeals with delight.

“Maria, I don’t know if this is me.”

“You’re right, it’s not you. That’s why it looks so amazing.”

I throw a bundled up pair of my dirty socks at her head, but casually steps aside to avoid them, still grinning.

“Please, Adriana. Let me take care of everything.”

Her brown eyes are sparking with excitement. I can almost feel the giddy waves rolling from her body. She likes this sort of thing. Me? The attention embarrasses me. I like to linger in the background, unnoticed. But that’s not completely true, is it? Aren’t I jealous of Maria?

Yes, I am, but I’m comfortable with being unnoticed, and wearing this dress is like hanging a neon sign around my neck: LOOK AT ME!

She flies like a butterfly to and from her vanity, making me sit down as she applies my makeup. Eyeliner. Lipstick. I ask her not to give me too much, but she ignores me. She attacks my hair with a brush and spritzes floral conditioner or something over my head. My hair is already straight, but she takes out her straightener and goes through every strand carefully.

Finally, she lets me get up to look at myself in the mirror. My jaw drops, because the girl in the mirror is not me. She’s the woman I’ve always admired at clubs, the girl who knows exactly how to show off her beauty. She’s stunning. I have flawless, shining hair and the moisturizer she used makes my face shine. To my surprise, there’s not too much makeup, but what little there is makes a huge different. My eyes pop.

Maria utters another squeal and grabs my hand. I squeeze it back and my throat closes up.

“Maria, you’re amazing. Thank you.”

She fusses a little bit. “I wonder if we should put your hair up, actually. You have such delicate features. No, I don’t want to overdo it.”

Then she glances at her phone and shrieks. “Shit! We were supposed to be downstairs ten minutes ago—I got so caught up in everything.”

I tear my eyes from the mirror and grab my clutch. Jackie is waiting for us downstairs. We leave the dorm and lock it up, me trying to keep up with Maria’s frantic pace in these ridiculous heels. Thankfully, we take the elevator down and see Jackie’s car waiting for us. It’s so lucky that there isn’t traffic.

Ever the gentleman, Jackie steps out to open the door. His dark eyes pass over me, not recognizing me at first.

“Whoa.”

My face burns when he looks back at me with a shocked look on his face.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Maria!”

She’s making me even more self-conscious, but Jackie’s face goes pink as he nods and agrees. I’ve never seen him look so shy.

I slide into the backseat with Maria as her crazed energy overfills the car.

“I’m so fucking pumped,” she screams.

“Jesus, keep it down!” Jackie grimaces as we both erupt with laughter.

I watch the rolling, bright streets of Manhattan, my heart flying with happiness. I feel young and alive, for the first time in a long while.

Tonight is going to be great.

He drives us to a Hilton hotel, but parking is a bitch. We find a garage five blocks away, but I don’t mind. People stare at us as we walk by, perhaps wondering what we’re doing in this part of town, dressed up so nice. A car filled with young guys honk at us and a smile pulls at my face.

Maria hollers at them with another one of her energetic screams and I can’t help but join in. Jackie, looking sharp in his suit, shoves his hands deep in his pockets and shakes his head at us.

We head inside the hotel, my heels clacking loudly on the marble floor, and enter the elevators. Jackie presses the button for the twelfth floor.

His quiet voice cuts through our chatter. “So, I probably should mention that this card game we’re going to is not exactly—ah—
legal
.”

“What?” Maria shrieks.

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugs. “Just don’t mention this to anyone else, okay? My brother said we could come, but he doesn’t want any other outsiders.”

His brother? I didn’t know much about Jackie’s brother, other than the fact that he was older than Jackie.

“Uh, ok.”

Maria and I exchange a strange look. Illegal card games? What exactly am I getting myself into?

It’s too late to turn back now. The elevator
pings
and the doors slide open. We can already hear it before we see it. Somewhere down these halls is a party. Dozens of people’s muffled voices and laughter reach us.

Jackie smiles. “They bought the rooms down the hallway, so there wouldn’t be complaints.”

Whoa.

A couple dressed like us stops in front of a huge bouncer who guards the door. He checks their IDs and a list on phone before letting them in. The door opens and I catch a glimpse of people dressed to the nines.

He’s an intimidating guy. At least 6’5” with a bald, shiny head. He’s more fat than muscle, but it’s clear that one swipe of his ham-like fists could knock us back to last month.

“Name,” he barks.

“Jackie Rizzuto. Brother of Frank Rizzuto.”

He looks at the ridiculously small notepad in his hands and nods. His eyes rove over Maria and I. Boulder-man gives me a small smile as he backs up and opens the door for us.

It’s a massive suite with tables and tables of hors d’oeuvres. I can see two rooms in the suite, and the one we’re currently standing in is packed with men in suits and women in cocktail dresses. Everyone is much older than us, but that doesn’t stop Maria from bouncing to the nearest table.

“Look!”

It’s a kleptomaniac’s paradise. There’s a three-level tier filled with chocolate truffles and petit fours. I want to scoop it all into my purse. She grabs a few and bites into one of them, making an ecstatic moan. There’s little baked tarts, smoked salmon, glasses and glasses of champagne. A man standing in front of a white booth makes drinks. Around all of the tables laden with food are guards standing around the perimeter. A tiny sting of fear bites at my skin as I look at them. There’s something about them that’s downright ominous.

Don’t steal anything.

My palms sweaty, I lean my neck and gaze into the next room, which is significantly quieter. There must be at least five felt tables set up. Old men that I recognize as dealers are settled behind them, except for one. In this room, a group of men smoke and drink as they occasionally look back into the room. The poker tables draw me in, but I feel another tiny prick of fear as I watch them. There are small heaps of chips on the tables, and I feel a desperate pull to snatch one and add it to my pile of memorabilia. Another trinket, another trophy.

“It’s five-thousand just to sit in,” Jackie hisses in my ear.

I almost jump at the sound of his voice. I’ve no desire for the drinks and food; I just want to play poker. Or at least watch them play. Most of them are much older than me, and they occasionally glance my way as if wondering why I’m staring at them.

One of them, a man whose skin hangs off his neck, looks at me. “Come inside, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.”

I step into the room gingerly, Jackie hanging back to say hello to his brother. Maria joins me at my elbow and I breathe a sigh of relief. The old man’s smile is so encouraging, so friendly, that I feel a little more confident and I graze my hands over the felt.

“What are you doing in here?” Maria whispers. Like me, she feels the need to keep quiet.

I shrug. “I like poker. That’s why I came. I’m going to watch their games. You can go back if you like.”

I’m hoping that she doesn’t, because I feel a bit uneasy, but she says that she’s going to mingle for a little bit. I swallow hard when her warmth disappears from my side, but the men in the middle of the room aren’t really paying attention to me. I catch snippets of their conversation.

“I don’t fucking understand, what happened? Cesare said there would be five dealers.”

Jackie has returned with a glass of champagne for me, for which I’m immensely grateful. I tip my head back and try not to ruin my makeup as I down half of the bubbly liquid.

Closer and closer. I’m migrating towards the group of men in the middle. I’m looking at the neatly set up chips and cards, itching to get my hands on them.

Don’t!

“One of them called in sick.”

“Well, what the fuck are we going to do now? I invested a lot of money in this thing.”

They’re missing a dealer? I can deal. It’s easy.

I’m about to speak up, but something about them seems utterly forbidding. I just want to hang in the background and watch.

“We have players coming in from Jersey. I can’t just tell them that we fucked up.”

“Adriana can deal.” Jackie’s loud voice booms out.

I’m mortified as all of them turn around to stare at us like we’re a bunch of idiots. Holy shit. My heart thumps against my chest as they glare at the source of the interruption.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The voice, coming from a forty-something man, is definitely hostile.

“I’m Jackie, Frank Rizzuto’s brother. And this is Adriana. She’s an expert poker player.”

Ha-ha. No, I’m not.

Their angry faces dissolve into amusement.
This girl’s a poker player?
It’s their disbelieving faces that make me step forward.

“Yeah, I am. And I can deal for you. It’s no problem.”

They smile at me. Fucking jerks.

“All right, sweetheart,” he says in a complacent tone. “Why don’t you join the rest of the women in the other room?”

The dismissal makes me so angry that I slide into the empty dealer seat and pick up the deck of cards. I got into Columbia, for fuck’s sake.

Don’t you dare talk down to me
.

I shuffle them a million different ways; all the ways dealers do at casinos. They approach the table angrily, almost as if they want to pull me off the chair, but I give them a small, polite smile.

“Believe me, I can do this.”

Even I’m surprised at the confidence pouring from my voice. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this. I’m more than capable. I’ve done this a hundred thousand times.

The man who snapped at me crumbles. “What the fuck, why not?”

“Cesare will be pissed.”

“So? What else do we do? We’ll watch the girl for a bit and if she does well, who gives a fuck?”

The forty-year old man looks at me with his eyebrows raised. He strikes me as a man who goes with the flow. Thin-rimmed spectacles sit on his long nose. “You know how to play Blackjack?”

I smile at him. Stupid question.

“All right. My name is Paulie. Just shout if you need anything.”

In the background, I see Jackie watching me with a slight worried look on his face. There’s no time to think about it, because men are filtering into the room now that everything’s ready. Their eyes zero in on me with raised eyebrows, and suddenly there’s a crowd around my table. They want to sit at my table.

My hands shake a little bit, so I keep shuffling. Finally, the seats are organized.

“How you doin’?”

“Good, thank you.” I look up at the man addressing me, another one in his fifties. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain.”

His admiring gaze makes my face hot. None of them seem perturbed that I’m the only female dealer. In fact, the fight over seats at my table suggests otherwise. The game begins and I deal out the cards smoothly, entertaining myself by counting the cards while they fly out of my hands. The first game ends with a win for the house.

I can feel Paulie breathing down my neck as he makes sure I’m not screwing up the game, but he relaxes as game after game goes without incident. The man who smiled at me wins, and he tosses me a chip. Stunned I grab it. A tip? I glance at Paulie, and he nods.

The guys start to loosen up. Cigar smoke furls around the table, choking the air. Half of the crowd from the other room filters in to watch. There are explosions of laughter at other tables, groans, but all of it disappears as I focus on the game.

“YES! Yes, thank you! Here you go, honey.”

Another few chips fly my way. “Thank you, sir.”

The players seem to be from a mixed crowd—ranging from rich businessmen to married, middle-class men who look like they’re on the lam from their wives. The ones surveying the game are a different sort completely. Dark-haired. Olive skinned. Something nags at the back of my head, but I don’t want to confront it yet. My heart thumps wildly in my chest.

This is dangerous. I don’t know why, but it is.

There’s a slight commotion in the other room. I hear voices lift up in greeting and Paulie tenses next to me. He’s gone in a flash.

“Vincent, there was a slight problem.”

I don’t look up, because I’m still focused on the game. It’s none of my business, anyway.

“Who the fuck is she?”

The voice is young and angry, with a heavy Brooklyn accent. It cuts through the calm energy in my table like a knife and the man in front of me flinches. I try to keep focused on the game, but the voices are getting louder and angrier. I hear them walking across the room and finally someone stops next to my chair.