Permanent Lines (28 page)

Before we knew it, we were flirting with go time. I was definitely shittin’ bricks.

“Here,” Miles came up beside me, handing me a glass of scotch, “you’re going to need
this in your system.”

“Thanks, man.” I took it from his hand, putting it back with one swig. “Hey, listen,”
I continued, keeping my voice low, “whatever happens tonight, thanks for everything.
What you and Kayla have done for us …”

His left hand patted my upper back. “You’re like family to us, Merrick, and now Amelia
too. That’s what family does for each other.” He locked his gaze with mine. “But you’re
coming back.”

I nodded. I didn’t have family. Both of my parents were gone, and my sister was in
some third world country doing who knows what. I hadn’t spoke to her in years; she
didn’t even show for my mom’s funeral. She was much older than I was and we never
really had a relationship, so I always kind of considered myself an only child. The
closest thing to family I had until I moved to the city was Micah and his. I spent
most of my teenage years at his house, staying for weeks at a time, and while his
house wasn’t the most stable, it was better than being alone. Having Miles say that
Amelia and I are family to him and Kayla warmed my insides. It felt good. I had a
family. Another reason why I needed tonight to work.

“That means a lot,” I finally responded, trying not to choke up like a complete pussy.
“Really, you have no idea.”

“I’m marrying Kayla,” he replied, “I think I have an idea.” He smirked, taking a sip
of the scotch in his hand.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“If something happens tonight, and I don’t come home …” I exhaled, facing the truth.
“Can you make sure Amelia’s safe, that she’s taken care of? I know you’ve already
done a lot, but …”

“Consider it done,” he interrupted, patting my back again before the girls noticed
us talking on the other side of the room and came to our sides.

“You guys telling secrets over here?” Kayla kidded.

Miles and I both put on cool, collected grins even though the subject matter discussed
was nothing close to flowers and unicorns.

Amelia knew the truth, wrapping her arms around me and snuggling into my side. I knew
the emotions that were flooding Amelia. They were the same ones racing through my
body. I knew she loved me more than anything in this world, but I also knew she wasn’t
clingy or overly affectionate and today … she was. I couldn’t complain, I fucking
loved the feeling her closeness gave me, but at the same time I knew why. I knew she
was scared. I knew she was worried and I knew she didn’t know what the outcome was
going to be. To be honest, neither did I.

We had a plan. We played it out a zillion times, but when it came down to it, we couldn’t
account for their actions, we didn’t know for sure what each of the guys were going
to be loaded with, and we sure as shit didn’t know how they were going to react to
us—they had no fucking clue who we were. The mafia didn’t like that. Most of them
were family. We didn’t have either on our side, but Joey said he would play us up
and tell them we were two of the most prestigious poker players on the East Coast.
Apparently they loved to play with real gamers. Our story was that we kept a low profile
and only cashed in on important enough events, making us not common to most guys involved
in the world of underground gambling. Micah and I just had to pull it off. We had
to act and walk with authority and power. And we had to play damn good poker.

Our names were Dom, short for Dominic, and Enzo, short for Lorenzo, Russo, better
known as the Russo brothers. We kept the first names strong and not so common, but
our last name as fucking Italian and ordinary as you could get. Micah and I didn’t
look terribly similar, but alike enough that we could pull it off. Italians worked
together, keeping most things in the family, so saying we were brothers would be an
up with making our identities realistic.

Miles rented a couple gold chains for us both along with some diamond encrusted rings.
When we walked out of the bathroom, Amelia chuckled.

“Look at my little guido imposter,” she teased, coming up to me and holding me close
by the opening of my suit.

I grinned, doing the best Italian accent that I could. “Fuhgeddaboudit.”

“Okay, Joey Tribbiani.” She laughed again before her face turned serious.

I brushed the back of my hand against her face. “It’ll be fine, baby,” I said softly.
“We’ll be sipping on beers and talking about our wedding before you know it.”

Her eyebrow raised as she looked at me apprehensively. “Wedding?”

“You think I’m not putting a ring on that finger when I’m done with this?” I said
like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fuck yeah, we’re getting married!”

Her eyes immediately puddled with tears as she pushed her lips onto mine. There was
so much fucking emotion mixed in it that I almost forgot where we were and what we
were about to do.

Our foreheads rested together once our lips separated.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Please come home to me tonight.”

I kissed her nose and then her lips, whispering, “Promise,” against them before kissing
them again.

A stray tear streamed down her face. I wiped it away with my thumb.

“Don’t cry, baby,” I told her, wiping away another one. “We’re cacti, remember?” I
smiled. “We don’t die, we just keep going.”

She snickered at my analogy. “Yeah,” she smiled, “we’re cacti.”

Just after nine o’clock, we started loading up the vehicles. Micah and I were driving
by ourselves in a black Escalade while the others followed in the Tahoe. The entrance
we were to use was in the back, of course, so Miles, Stewart, and the girls waited
around the corner on a random street.

The only thing weighing on my brain was the fact that there was no Plan B. There was
no button to push if shit started to hit the fan. It was basically life or death.
Death, I guess, was Plan B. Miles had a few of his
bad guys
on speed dial, but they weren’t the feds or even mafia members. They were just rough,
been around the block, guys all out for the win and available to cleanup if need be.
Also known as Miles’ minions.

Miles paid them well, using them when he got in a bind. I guess you could refer to
them as Miles’ mafia of three, but they weren’t blood sprayers, always going for the
kill, offing people just because. They made sure people knew who they were fucking
with and to never do it again. They were
those
kind of guys. Guys you didn’t want to fuck with. Guys out for intimidation.

But that was it. We didn’t have protection—just a few extra hands.

We pulled up and I turned the car off with a shaky sigh. Micah and I both looked at
each other one last time, bumping our fists together like we always did before races.

“Knock ‘em dead, buddy,” he said before reaching for the door handle.

“You too, my man.”

There were two grueling, huge dudes waiting at the door with a clipboard just like
Joey said. They asked for our names and then our IDs. We had both ready. Again, I
was impressed with how well Stewart had them looking. They appeared to be official
New York State licenses, the hologram and everything flawless.

The one checking looked us up and down a few times. He obviously didn’t like the fact
that he didn’t know who we were, but that’s something we already expected. We kept
our faces straight and focused, disinterested enough that no one would question us.
We kept our shit together and for a minute, I forgot I was Merrick Drake. Tonight
I was Dom Russo and that’s who I fucking looked and acted like.

He handed us our IDs back and ushered us to the guys at the top of the stairwell.
Checkpoint after checkpoint, it seemed. Antonio was definitely thorough. The place
wasn’t anything fancy inside; there was no indication that wealthy ass fuckers were
running an illegal gambling ring in the basement, but I guess that was the idea. Low
key in appearance equals no giveaways.

Just as planned, we cleared security and two minutes later we were walking down the
old cement stairway. My heart was pounding out of my chest, my adrenaline through
the roof. I couldn’t wait to see Antonio. I couldn’t wait to see him fall … that was
really the only thing driving me at the moment—rage. I couldn’t think of anything
else. I had to keep Amelia in the back of my head. For the first and only time, she
had to stay there. I couldn’t soften. I couldn’t go weak. This was for her. This was
for our life together. I had to stay focused.

There was a door at the bottom. Micah and I both looked at each other before turning
the knob. He nodded.

It was go time.

I was kind of shocked when I walked in. I didn’t know why, but I was expecting a pimped
out, expensive-looking place. It was anything but. It was a regular old basement with
cement walls and floors, a pool table to the left with a mini bar, and then two poker
tables in front of us. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a creepy ass old basement. It
was clean and well-kept, but
nothing
crazy. It actually was a little calming; not nearly as intimidating as I expected.

Joey was standing at the table to the right. He looked at us, but in the same apprehensive
way that the guys upstairs did. I was impressed. He was acting perfectly; it seemed
like he didn’t have a clue who we were or what we were about. With our backstory in
place, he’d only talked to us on the phone, but nothing more than that. Though he
invited us, the mob was always apprehensive of anyone that they didn’t know personally,
always on guard—just as Joey appeared to be.

“Gentlemen, there’s drinks at the bar,” he pointed behind us, “help yourself. We’ll
be getting started soon.”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, acting as cool as possible as I nonchalantly did
a once over of the room. There was a door behind Joey, just as he said. I nodded my
head casually to Micah, then tilted it towards the bar. Micah nodded back—a drink
would probably be a good idea at this point. We were trying to keep conversation to
a minimum. First, we didn’t have Italian accents, not that it was a crucial thing
as we lived in New York and not Italy, but it was a stepping stone in figuring out
we weren’t who we were posing to be, and second, we didn’t want any of the nerves
that were brewing inside shown through our words.

There was another guy, about Joey’s age, behind the bar. “What can I get you guys?”
he asked.

“Scotch on ice,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Two,” Micah followed up.

He didn’t respond, just started pouring each.

More guys entered as we sipped our drinks. They were in a group and seemed very confident
in their walk. One looked over to where we were standing, looking us up and down.
He appeared to be the same age as me, and I had gut-wrenching feeling who he was.