Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (13 page)

"Which is where you screwed up, by the way," Daniel admonished me lightly. "For a while there, right after he started with the family again as an associate, no matter what he did, he'd screw it up somehow, either through a mistake or just bad luck. So he picked up a nickname of his own. His dad had been Big Bopper Bobby Degrassi, because of his heavy hands. Dante . . . he was
Dumbass
Degrassi."

I paled, the forkful of waffle in my mouth falling numbly from my mouth to splash down on the plate. "Dumbass Degrassi?"

Daniel nodded. "Yeah. The guy who the family knew would be willing to do any damn fool errand, but you couldn’t trust for anything important."

"Did you ever work with him when you were active?" I asked Daniel, who nodded.

"It was when I was transitioning from runner to enforcer," he said, thinking back. "Carlo wanted a group of men out at the docks to make sure that the ship coming in from China was greeted properly, and to make sure that the Chinese knew who ran Seattle. Dante wasn't even in a suit. He was supposed to be just a dock worker, and it wasn't like he did anything wrong. He did his job. I could tell that much. I'd probably have forgotten him totally except that the whole time, all of the older guys avoided him like he had some sort of invisible
rat
stamped on his forehead or something. He and I never worked together after that, and to be honest, I hadn't even heard the name again until the night of the party where you two met. Most of what I learned I found out because Tomasso asked me to look into things."

I sighed and set my fork down, rubbing at my temples with my fingertips. "Great. Just great. The first decent guy I've known in years—well, outside you and Tommy," I said, glancing over at Daniel, "and I turn around and fuck it up. Why couldn't someone have told me about this?”

"The same reason we never told Dante about the things you put behind,” Adriana said. "It's your past, and it is not my right to trample over that by telling other people about it. By the way, did you know that last night, Tomasso sent him out on a mission?"

"He said something about work going late, but I was too pissed to listen to him, to be honest,” I said. "I was too worked up about this being our last practice, and the competition . . . I had so many butterflies in my stomach. God, I feel like an idiot. I let this competition get into my head."

"You did," Daniel said, but still putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "He was sent to SoDo. Tomasso wanted him to get info on a street gang that's acting up over there. Now, I know Tommy, and I understand why he sent Dante. Most guys, they'd have checked the area out and bugged out by midnight or so. But Dante is Dante, and one of his good points, I've heard, is his bulldog determination. That guy sees a job through, even if it means he suffers or looks bad for it. So from what Tommy told me, Dante was in SoDo until nearly two in the morning, when he called for a ride. Tommy was . . . well, he was doing some other stuff, so Dante had to walk home."

"Ten miles," I muttered, Dante's last little tirade coming back to me. "Right before he left, he said he'd walked ten miles last night."

"Sounds about right," Daniel said.

I sighed, looking down. "This whole time, ever since meeting him, I've spent this whole time worried about how he would think of my past, and I never thought he might have had a rough life too. I always thought he was just a kid from the city who was working his way up the ladder."

"There was no ladder, not for him . . . at least, not until recently,” Daniel said. “And looks like you two have a little something going too."

I sat back pushed my plate away, half-uneaten, not hungry any longer.

Daniel nodded. “You know, I did some checking up on him, both for you and for Tommy while he was going through I guess what you might call basic training. The one thing that everyone would say about him is that they almost never, ever saw Dante get emotionally rattled. They'd talk shit, do everything they could to needle him. He just absorbed it all, like a sponge. I even talked to his old manager, and he said the same. I don't know how he handled that amount of derision for years, especially when most of it was based on what people
thought
about his father. I think it was also part of what got him called Dumbass Degrassi. Everyone expected him to explode, but he never did. People just assumed he was too stupid to understand that they were talking shit about him."

"So why'd he yell and get mad at me?" I asked, then stopped in a moment of serendipity. "Because I've gotten to him."

"You have. He's let you inside whatever wall he has to block all that shit out. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about with the competition. Dante doesn't give up on a job or a goal. It may not be the friendliest drive to Vegas tomorrow, but I promise you, he’s going to be outside your studio tomorrow morning, and he's going to go down with you, and he's going to dance as best he can. You've got yourself a good man."

"A good dance partner, you mean," I said, shaking my head.

It was Adriana's turn to shake her head. “No—a good man. You’ve got a long drive to make it up to him. Now go get ready, pack the car, and try to get some rest."

I
showed
up the next morning outside Dreamstyle Dance with my bag over my shoulder. It was still dark, the sun hadn't even risen yet, but I'd gone to bed early the night before, and felt physically ready at least for the day. I hadn't packed much for the trip, just an extra change of underwear, some clothes to relax in, and my toiletries. We were going down for the competition, nothing more. Especially with the way things went yesterday.

It wasn't that she had yelled at me, I'd dealt with that all my life. But being called a dumbass by a woman I was interested in ticked me off. After I told her we all had pasts and that I didn't care about her past, and meant it? It cut me to the bone, and I felt all my plans, of maybe even having a little romance mixed in with our dancing, evaporate.

"Good morning," Carmen greeted me, a little shyly as I pulled up. She borrowed Adriana Neiman's BMW I saw, as we'd planned. "Listen, Dante . . ."

“Let’s get on the road first?” I replied, opening the back and putting my bag inside. I saw that Carmen had already hung all five of the garment bags that we were taking, three for her dresses and two for my outfits. "Let's just get going, it's a long way to Vegas."

"O–okay," Carmen said, going around. "Do you still want to drive first?"

I looked over and saw that she was trying to be nice, and I relented. "Sure. I'm sorry that I walked out yesterday. I was exhausted and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."

"I'm sorry too," Carmen said, trying to say more, but then shaking her head. "Come on. We can grab some breakfast on the road. My treat?"

“I could eat,” I said, getting into the driver's seat. I had to admit, the BMW was a nice car. Sure, it wasn't Italian, but still, it was a nice car.

For most of the first hour, until the sun rose over the horizon and the day fully broke, we were almost totally silent, and I glanced over more than once to see if Carmen was awake or if she'd gone back to sleep. She stayed awake though, headphones in her ears as she listened undoubtedly to our program music. “You want to put it on the sound system?"

Carmen pulled the bud out of her ear, glancing over. "Excuse me?"

"I asked if you wanted to just put the music on the sound system," I repeated. "We can both listen to it then."

"You sure?" she asked. “Listening to hours of nothing but two songs is tiresome."

"We can listen a little, then switch it over to something else. I noticed this car has Sirius, they've got to have something else we can listen to. Also, when do you want to get some food?"

"A half hour or so?" Carmen replied. "Then we can take a break on the music too."

"Fine," I answered, putting the BMW into cruise control. The miles rolled by as I listened to instrumental versions of first Dean Martin, then Tito Puente and Celia Cruz as they took over the car. It was actually helpful, as it allowed me to focus on something besides Carmen and I thought instead about the steps of our dances, running the turns, lifts, and moves through my head.

It was actually about forty-five minutes before I saw the off-ramp, and we pulled off to top off the gas tank and to grab some drive through. We were planning on going straight through, with us taking time to stretch and get our circulation back only when we filled the gas tank or had to use the bathroom. I just have to make sure that Adriana's car was fully cleaned out before returning it to her.

"Thanks," Carmen said when I handed her the egg sandwich. "You know, these things bring back memories for me."

“An egg sandwich brings back memories?” I asked.

"Growing up, after my dad left, things were tight even after my mom and I moved up here to Seattle. But the few times that we went on road trips, Mom always insisted that she and I get these sandwiches. My grandmother had an egg allergy, so it was kind of like our way to indulge without making her feel bad. At my last dance tryout, we ate these things going all the way down."

"What was the tryout?" Her words were working their way through my anger, and I could feel myself forgetting all about it.

"I was thirteen, and the American Ballet Company was holding a workshop down in Portland. The ABC is one of the biggest in the US, by the way, and they announced they were holding open tryouts for anyone who attended the workshop. So my Mom, she signed me up. I didn't know it at the time, but she worked double shifts for a week to pay for the trip and the workshop, and the whole way down, her and I ate these."

"I guess the workshop wasn't a success?" I asked. "What happened?"

"My hips aren't quite right, they said," Carmen said without rancor. "I don't have enough turnout to make it. I was of course shattered at the time, but I moved on. It allowed me to move on from just ballet at least, and I started to pick up other forms of dance."

"Do you still do it, though? I mean, with those slippers and everything?"

Carmen chuckled and nodded. “Rarely . . . it’s been a while. It'd take me a while to get back into it. Do you mind if I turn the radio back on?"

"Sure, go for it. You get choice on songs first," I said.

Carmen leaned forward and started messing with the touch screen on the stereo system, humming to herself as she saw the options. "Here we go."

The song cut in, and I had to smirk. "Eminem?"

"Hey, he's worth listening to for a few miles."

"All right," I said, relaxing as Eminem and Rhianna sang about the monsters in their head before Em broke off into songs about everything from him being a rap god to how he wasn't afraid. I shut it off though when the song changed to one about him regretting his life and how he had raised his daughter. "Sorry, too much in the feels for me there. Think you can find something different?"

"Sure," Carmen said. "By the way, when do you want to switch?"

"I can make it to noon," I said. "We should need gas by then anyway."

We continued through the rest of Washington and into Idaho, and for the rest of the drive, I felt like things were okay. We switched places right around Boise, grabbing just light drinks for the next few hours.

We ended up getting to Vegas just around midnight.

"I'm glad the competition check-in isn't until noon tomorrow," Carmen said as she stretched, getting out of the BMW. She'd driven almost all of the last stretch, although I'd made sure I was driving the last hour or so into town. I was used to late nights, Carmen wasn't. "It'll be good to get a full night's sleep."

"Just remember that we can't eat heavy in the morning," I warned her. "I don’t want either of us to be throwing up on the other in the middle of the compulsory round."

Carmen laughed, looking over at me. "You know, this wasn't as bad as I feared. After yesterday, I thought you'd spend eighteen hours pissed off at me."

I nodded. "We'll do fine tomorrow. Come on, let's check in."

* * *

T
he competition was
over two days, with the first round taking place the following afternoon. Arriving at the competition site, the JW Marriot Convention Center, I marveled at the setup. "I expected more of an elegant feel."

"What's it look like to you?" Carmen asked curiously.

"Huge central competition area surrounded by stands. We're going to be a spectacle."

"That takes a lot of mental strength," Carmen said, looking out on the floor as a few other couples were already warming up. "It's a lot different than what we've been doing, and something we couldn't prepare for."

I tensed, and nodded. "I can handle it."

The fact was, as I changed into my first outfit, the tailed tux with a white shirt, purple bow tie, cummerbund, and pocket square to coordinate with Carmen's outfit, I wasn't so confident about this dance thing. Sure, I'd conquered a lot of my inner demons, and had shown to the Bertolis that I was a worthwhile operator. On top of that, I’m in the best shape of my life. But performing in front of audiences never was my forte. I preferred to be in the shadows, which makes my newest
promotion
all the better.

Coming out to the waiting area, where we were supposed to hang out until we were called to warm up, I took deep breaths, trying whatever tricks I could to calm my nerves. Carmen saw me, and came over. "Listen," she whispered, pulling me down until our foreheads touched. “Just remember that out there, the lights above are going to be so bright, and the lights outside the dance floor so dark, you won't be able to even see anyone. Just dance. We've got this.”

She gave me a smile, and I nodded. “We got it.”

She reached for my hand, but before our fingers made contact, the competition staff came over. “Warm ups."

We made our way onto the dance floor, and I was glad to see that Carmen was right. Other than the judges on the four corners of the floor, I couldn't see much beyond the floor. "All right, ready? Remember, transition number three."

We went through our warm ups, listening to the music once while we didn't so much as run through the routine as we talked each other through it.

"Couples, please leave the dance floor. Couple number seventeen, up next."

Carmen and I were couple nineteen, each flight being eight couples, and I watched as the first two pairs in front of us went through the compulsory dance. It was strange in certain ways to watch, as the women were so fixed with their expressions, the men so mechanical in the way they moved. "Do we look that way out there?”

"God, I hope not," Carmen said beside me. “I think what makes us a good couple is that we don't look like wind up dolls out there. Come on, we're next. Let's buck the trend."

Her words confused me, and I was a little distracted as we walked out, bowing the way we had practiced, Carmen taking my hand in the proper grip. I turned to her, looking down into her face as she smiled. It was different than the mechanical, artificial smile of the other couples, and I felt good as we got through the first two transitions. I was even good for the third, and we really started into it, feeling it as we went through the troublesome middle fourth and fifth, until as the last of the saxophones cut off, Carmen was in a perfect backward bend, my right arm under her torso, the left cocked back in the air just as I was supposed to. She was grinning, not just smiling. "Wow."

I smiled, slightly out of breath. Carmen was beautiful, and so close, I wanted to lean in and plant one on her, but I couldn't. Bringing her back up, we bowed again and left the competition area to see how our scores held up. "So how long do we have to wait?"

"They'll post them on the monitor as soon as the judges turn them in," Carmen said. "Just hope we make the top twenty?"

"Huh?" I asked, surprised. "Why?"

"Weren't you listening to the rules?”

I shook my head. "No, I didn't."

"The competition got so many entrants, they turned this into a knockout round competition. Only the top twenty pairs go on to the wildcard round, and then the top ten from there move on to the showcase. So there's going to be about ninety couples that wasted a lot of time and money on costumes that they're never going to wear."

"We'll make it," I said, taking her hand. "You did amazing. I felt like I barely had to do anything."

“Pssh, you did your thing and lead well.” I turned to her, and she tugged on my hand and pointed. "There, see?"

I looked at the screen, and saw the scores come up. The competition was being judged on a one-hundred-point max system, with each judge being able to give twenty-five points maximum. I blinked as the number ninety-seven popped up, and I had to re-read our names next to it twice to make sure it was for us. "Ninety-seven?"

"That's ten points higher than any of the other couples so far!" Carmen said, squealing. "We did it!"

I hugged her, then realized what she’d said. “What do you mean? There’s a lot more couples to go.”

“Please. There’s no way twenty other couples are going to beat a ninety-seven.” She was excited, and continued “First you get promoted, now we’re pretty much a lock to move on to the next round. All those assholes who didn’t believe in you can eat their heart out.”

“How do you know about that?”

"Well, I know about your father, and how people thought you might be a rat . . .”

"You don’t know shit!” I hissed, looking around to make sure nobody overheard us. "Look, I'll be ready in the morning for the next dance. Text me if we make the cutoff."

I walked away, ignoring her calling my name, and headed out of the convention center. I went back to the men's locker room and changed, my fingers trembling with rage that I'd been betrayed, not only by Carmen but by the Bertolis as well. What right did they have to tell her about my father? What right did they have to spread those same viscous, nasty lies that had dogged me for over half my fucking life?

Thankfully, Carmen and I were staying at the Marriott, and I took my bag up to my room, dropping it off and leaving well before Carmen could have gotten back. I was pissed, and didn’t want to say something I shouldn’t. Leaving the room, I headed to the casino, hoping to find something that I could do to let my mind wander.

I was walking by the blackjack tables when I saw them, two men who didn't look all that friendly. I was unarmed, and in the middle of the casino, there was little I could do anyway. I stopped, hoping that having a bunch of civilians around would diffuse any potential violence. "Can I help you gentlemen?"