Ruthless: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (17 page)

"I don’t know what to say,” I manage, truly moved as well as slightly scared. If Dante and I failed, I would have let him down, and that was not a position I wanted to be in. He'd been kind and generous our entire relationship so far, but losing the man ten thousand dollars on top of everything he had invested in opening my studio might make things change. "I promise that we will do our best."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I do have other business to attend to. Tomasso, if you'd show Carmen out, please. Angelo, stay here. We need to discuss your nightclub."

I got up and followed Tomasso out into the hallway, Tomasso closing the door behind him. "Uh, wow. I didn't expect that last bit."

"Nor I, but I'm not surprised," Tomasso said. "Dad's always been a bit . . . sentimental about you. And you can wash away that worry I see in your eyes. He's not going to hold that marker over your head. If it comes to anything, I'll take that marker on myself. I owe Dante that. He
did
save my life."

We walked toward the foyer, Tomasso still somber. Reaching the steps outside the front door, he stopped. "Carmen, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm going to back you guys too, just to let you know. I'll talk with Dante about the details with that after I discuss them with Luisa."

I smiled and gave him a quick hug. "You're going to be a good Don someday, Tomasso. You've got brains and heart. Wait just a second."

I went down to my car, retrieving the item that Dante had insisted I get from his apartment. It was strange, going to his apartment for the very first time after knowing him for months and him not being there. I had felt a bit like a voyeur, even though I was doing what Dante wanted me to. Looking at his sofa which doubled as his bed, I had chuckled to myself. It was a reminder that the two of us hadn't led lives that were all that different.

"Here," I said, handing Tomasso a black and white covered schoolboy's composition book, the sort that I had used back in elementary school. "Dante asked that I give this to you."

"What is it?" Tomasso asked, looking down at the speckled black and white cover with an American flag in the lower right corner.

"Bobby Degrassi's notebook," I answered. "Dante felt you should have it."

Tomasso opened the cover and looked at the tight, neat handwriting inside, nodding slowly. "I swear, I will back you two, Carmen."

"I know you will. Have a good night, we'll talk later."

I headed down the steps, stopping at the bottom before turning back. "Hey, Tomasso?"

"Yeah?"

"How you doin'?"

Tomasso laughed loudly, shaking his head. "How you doin'!"

I
was surprised
when I got to the Bertoli mansion. I expected that the Don would want to meet with me, if only to pass along his sympathies about my injury, but when I got there, instead of meeting him in his office, he came out and greeted me on the steps.

"Dante, it’s good to see you," he said, clapping me on both shoulder. I was shocked, it was literally a public endorsement of me in front of everyone. "Come in, my boy. I have a surprise for you."

I looked at Tomasso, who'd driven me from the clinic, but he just gave me an overly innocent look and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, it’s a good surprise,” The Don said.

We crossed the foyer and went to the dining room, flooring me when I walked in. The room, which previously had been dominated by a gigantic wooden table, was totally empty, save for the chandelier which still hung overhead. The floor was freshly waxed, and gleamed mellowly in the afternoon sunlight. "What do you think?"

"Uhm, well, it's a bit . . . Spartan, sir," I said, trying to guess what the Don had in mind. "Are you getting a new table?"

"Nope. This is going to be one of your training spots for the next six weeks."

"Dad and I watched video of Regionals," Tomasso said, speaking up when he saw I was still wondering what the hell he was talking about, "and this is probably a better floor to practice on than Carmen’s studio."

I rubbed my chin, not knowing what else to do. “I don’t know what to say. That’s generous of you. Thank you.”

“Save your thanks for the rest," Don Bertoli commented, pointing. "Follow me."

We stopped in front of a door upstairs in the servant's wing, gesturing for me to open it. I turned the knob, again confused when I saw a plain bedroom.

“For the next seven weeks, this is your bedroom” Tomasso explained, chuckling.

“Normally I’d just say you deserve some time to rest and recover, but I have a feeling that’s an order you’d refuse. So everything you need will be taken care of. Starting today, for the next seven weeks, you are a professional athlete in training camp. Like Marciano in the Catskills. Good luck, my boy."

The Don turned and walked away, and I looked at Tomasso. “This is too much," I said, leaning against the door frame. "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you just by accepting this."

"Dante, you probably saved my life. If you ask me, it’s not enough. Besides, you have your work cut out for you. This isn’t going to be a cushy seven weeks of rest and relaxation. Rest up today, because tomorrow . . . welcome to hell."

* * *

I
quickly found
the truth in Tomasso's words, as starting the next day, I started a schedule that made my initial boot camp feel like a walk in park. Waking up at five thirty, I showered and shaved, before I drove down to Dreamstyle Dance. From six thirty until nine, we worked on our routines, reviewing the dances we might face in the wildcard round. The new compulsory round was an East Coast Swing, while the wildcards were the same as before. At least we had that in our favor. But I was worried about some of the moves in the East Coast Swing pattern, as I had to be able to twirl and lift Carmen with just my right hand.

The first practice of the day ended at eight, and we'd spend an hour watching tape or working on non-physical preparation. After that, we’d go back to the Bertoli mansion, having breakfast together and starting practice number two at ten thirty. From there until one in the afternoon, when Carmen had to leave to go to work and teach classes at Dreamstyle, we did various practice, sometimes working on our routines, sometimes going over other parts. We watched and re-watched the videos of our Regional performances, walking through each mistake over and over until I could do the whole routine with my eyes closed.

"What about watching our competitors?" I asked one day as we were taking a water break. "You know, like a team watching tape on their opponents?"

"Dance is different," Carmen replied. “The other couples have no direct effect on what we do out there, watching them isn't going to be helpful. I'm more worried about the head games they'll play. We didn't have that a lot in Las Vegas, I think because we were too deep in our own heads, and the field was too big."

"Well, except for the guy who hit on me," I grumbled, and Carmen laughed.

"Next time make sure your pants have a padded codpiece just in case," she teased me. "But I figure at least one team there is going to be trying to play the head game. Dancers can be total bitches, you know."

"You don't say?" I teased, earning me a towel in the face. "See what I mean?"

* * *

O
nce Carmen left
, I took in my third meal of the day, and started on the next phase of my training. I worked on my right hand grip strength, and I spent at least thirty minutes a day working with rubber balls, grippers, and other devices on top of weightlifting and calisthenics to strengthen my hand and body. "The problem is, you aren't quite crippled enough," Daniel joked with me while I squeezed the rubber ball, holding it for a five count before letting it relax, only to repeat it after another five count. "If you'd just gotten another finger shot off, you could have applied for a competitive dispensation, and allowed you and Carmen to switch to a left handed position."

"I'm having enough problems learning all this doing it right handed," I grumbled, groaning as I squeezed again. "If I had to re-learn everything left handed, I'd end up on my ass.”

"Now, three more, and we get to go to work on those love handles."

Daniel was joking, of course, as I had gone from athletic to ripped, dropping all the way down to a hundred and seventy pounds. I had deep striations in my arms, calves and legs, the product of not just dancing and strength training, but enough wind sprints and high intensity intervals that I lost count of how many times I puked on the grass in the back yard.

All told, I spent eight hours a day doing physical work for the dance competition. Carmen and Luisa both insisted I get at least nine hours of sleep a night, which left me seven hours a day to do what I wanted.

Three days before we were scheduled to fly to New York, I was surprised again. Carmen scheduled a light practice for us, just walk throughs and mental rehearsal along with a twenty-minute run through of the waltz before calling it a day. "Okay, let's shut it down," she said, wiping her forehead even though there was no sweat there. "We're ready."

"Are you sure?" I asked, the sudden idleness making me nervous. "What about the changeover in the Swing, or the . . ."

Carmen shut me up by grabbing my face and pulling me in to a kiss, a gesture we were sharing more often than ever. "Now that you've shut up, the answer is yes, we are ready. Our routines are as solid as we can make them, the only thing that'd happen if we kept pushing the envelope would be that we get into our own heads, which I take the blame for last time. That, and we'd increase the risk of injury. So chill out, get your bag, and let’s go. You need a rub down and a nice soak in the hot tub. I've already arranged for someone else to take over classes for the rest of the week, or canceled them outright, so I'm free all day. Come on."

We drove back to the mansion, and I was again surprised when I walked in to find a banner strung up across the stairs to the second floor. "Happy Birthday?"

"Well, yeah," Carmen replied, hugging me. "Did you really think we'd let your birthday go by without celebrating it? Happy twenty-seventh, Dante. Come on, the rest of the group is in the dining room. They all agreed to let me give you the first greeting.

Carmen was correct, with the entire Bertoli family waited in the dining room, the table having been brought back in from the garage. "I swear, if you ever want to do another competition, I'm just going to rent you guys a warehouse or something," Angelo, the Don’s youngest son, griped as he shook my hand. "It's easier than carrying this heavy thing."

We feasted, chocolate and tiramisu cake, and at the end, amid much clapping from everyone, I danced with all three of the Bertoli women, Luisa being last, while Carmen danced with the men.

"You planned this whole thing, didn't you?" I asked Luisa as we circled, just relaxing, nothing too complicated. "It has your fingerprints all over it."

"You’re family," Luisa replied, giving me a smile. "As is Carmen. Happy birthday."

"
I
t's not
as big as Safelink Field," Dante noted as we got out of the taxi in front of Madison Square Garden, the sound of New York a physical presence on our bodies. "So why are my palms sweating?"

"I don't know," I said, feeling the same way. "Maybe because it's the most famous arena in the whole world? Look, the sign on the front says so."

Dante glanced up at the sign which towered above our heads, reading my exact words and hummed thoughtfully before looked over at me and shrugging. "Come on, let's go inside before the locals figure out we're from out of town."

We shouldered our practice bags and went over to the entrance, where we were promptly redirected by a security guard to another side of the building which had been designated for the competitors. We followed the paper signs which had been put up directing us around the concourse, taking a moment to enjoy the pictures and banners which decorated the walls.

"You know, I thought that this place would be more, I don't know, industrial, or maybe darker?" I said as we walked. "It's pretty futuristic. I bet when the rest of the lights are on, it's quite a scene."

"I agree," Dante said, pausing in front of one picture. "Huh, Ali-Frazier, the Fight of The Century. I watched that with Tomasso and Luisa during my training, they wanted me to understand head movement."

"So when are you going to start calling him Tom or Tommy, now that he calls you his brother?" I asked, half smiling.

"Don't know," he replied, smiling. "Maybe after we're national champs."

"I like the way you think.”

We walked hand-in-hand into the arena itself, looking down on the floor. The floor was still set up for a Knicks game that would take place that night, the entire floor being changed over between midnight and seven the next morning to the unlined floor the dance competition would take place on. "So do you think they pull all that hardwood up, or do they just put the dance surface on top?"

Dante shook his head. "I don't know. I know they have ice hockey games here too, so there has to be some way to get it up. I see the check in table though, we should get down there."

As it was, we actually ended up getting to use the Rangers Locker room, after being strictly informed that the Rangers logo in the middle of the room was never to be stepped on. The logo was surrounded by velvet ropes like you would see at a movie premier, although I could tell that the changing curtains that were strung up were temporary.

"Guess they couldn't get separate men's and ladies' rooms," Dante said as he set his bag down. "I'm glad that we left our costumes at the hotel though. I don't like sharing a whole locker room like this with the other couples, it just is too ripe for pilfering."

"Technically it's only about a quarter of the couples," I noted. "Still, it's going to be crowded in here. Four divisions, eighteen couples per division? That's nearly a hundred and fifty competitors. I'm betting more than a few teams will change in the hallways."

"Well, let's get changed and try out the floor," Dante said as he unzipped his bag. "You know, I'm feeling pretty good. Even if my ass is going to blow out my pants after that birthday party."

"Oh please," I laughed, sitting down and pulling out my own practice heels. "As hard as you've been working, I was worried we'd have to take them in. If anyone has to worry about the size of their ass after that party, it's me."

"I think it's a good size," Dante joked back, and I felt warmth run up my neck before I bent over to get my shoes on. "In fact, I think it's perfect."

Trying to think of something else to say, I said the first thing that came to my mind. "How's the hand?"

He held up his right hand, which I had to admit took me a while to get used to in terms of appearance. The bullet that had taken off his finger caught him right at the base knuckle, and the doctors had been forced to smooth the whole area over, leaving not even a nub, just a little break in the line between his middle finger and the curve of his thumb. He wiggled his three fingers and thumb, giving me a strained smile. "It's feeling good today."

I sobered and finished my shoes. Our conversation died away, but a minute later Dante stood up, shouldering his bag and holding his hand out to me. "Shall we?"

I took his hand gratefully and walked out with him, stopping as we came around to the big tunnel that led to the arena floor. "Dante, just a moment," I said, unable to let it go. "What's up with your hand? You were hiding something from me back there. We said we weren't going to do that, remember?"

He turned and shook his head. "I wanted to tell you afterward, but I guess it doesn't matter. The docs took a look at my right hand, and they think that my hand is going to be partially frozen. Not a lot, enough that I can still workout and lift with straps, and I'll be able to fight, but despite Daniel's best efforts, I'm not going to be able to properly hold . . . well, what I need to do my job."

A gun. Everything came down to guns with the Bertolis, it seemed, and I shook my head. "Then don't. You got your respect back. You became the man that you've always wanted to be. Move on and find the next stage for you."

“Like what?” Dante asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well . . . after we win, you know I'm going to need some staff at the studio," I said, looking down. "Maybe a business manager?"

"And a dance partner?" Dante asked with a smirk, not hurt or offended at all. "We'll talk about that back in Seattle."

We went out onto the court, which had been divided into halves by a line of tables. There were about a dozen other couples on the court in various places, all of them looking like they were about as dazzled as I felt. The competition would run two floors at a time, with two teams going on parallel floors for the compulsory round, and the two flights dancing simultaneously in front of two panels of judges for the wildcard round, all of which would take place in the morning and early afternoon. Things would change for the grand finale, the showcase dances, where the floor would be reconfigured into a single performance space and take up the entirety of the evening competition.

"It's massive," I said, feeling a bit dizzy looking at the huge roof arcing over our heads and the scoreboard hanging down. "Are they really going to show our performance on that thing?"

"I believe so," Dante said wonderingly. "We're going each be like twenty feet tall or something."

"Some of us won't have a problem," a haughty voice next to us interrupted, and Dante and I looked over to see a tall, statuesque blonde woman who had the perfect ballroom dancer's physique standing with an arrogantly frosty look on her face. She was all legs and lines, the perfect sort of partner for the right sort of man. Her partner came over, and he was definitely the Ken to her Barbie, with perfectly coiffed hair, what looked like capped teeth, and a sparkle to his blue eyes that seemed artificial it was so perfect. "This is old hat for Tom and me."

"I see," I replied, trying to not fall for the bait. "Carmen Esperanza, from Seattle. Nice to meet you."

"Wendy Wilson, from Martha's Vineyard," the blonde said, barely shaking my offered hand. "This is my partner, Tom Coleman."

"Pleasure to meet you both," Tom said in a falsely hearty 'ain't we all just happy as shit?' voice. He was cocky and arrogant, and not in the attractive way either. His eyes crawled over me as he shook my hand, and my smile was not because of his look but rather that I saw Dante's left hand clench as he also noticed Tom's lascivious look. "Is this your first trip to the Big Apple?"

"For me, yes, but Dante's been here before," I lied through my teeth. "So you two have danced for a while?"

“We’ve been training at the same school for the past seven years," Wendy interjected, "Since we were in junior high school. We've done plenty of competitions, but always with other partners. When this one came up, we decided to join up and seize the brass ring before we turn pro. It's going to be a great launch pad for us. What about you two?”

"Just doing this for the fun of it," Dante interrupted. "Carmen's dance studio could use the boost, too. Are you guys studio owners?"

"My father owns the biggest dance studio in Massachusetts," Wendy replied. "He used to dance with the ABC. I had an offer from them, but turned it down since I wanted to express myself more than just through what they offered."

I was about ready to sock the bitch when Dante saved me by cracking a joke. "I understand. You don't really have the build for the American Boxing Commission. I'd hate to take a punch on that chin."

Wendy's false, bitchy smile disappeared, and Tom's face changed into a glower, but our conversation was cut off as a competition organizer came over to the line of tables in between the halves of the court and picked up a microphone. "Okay, everyone, can I have your attention please?"

Wendy and Tom gave us snippy, nearly synchronized head turns as the organizer came over, and I reached back, taking Dante's hand again as I smirked. "All right, thank you. My name is Wesley Montoya, I'm one of the facility engineers for the competition tomorrow. I wanted to give everyone a chance to listen to how the sound system is going to be tomorrow, since that might be a little different from your Regionals, then answer any questions you might have. Now, in addition to the normal MSG system, those of you who are interested can look up and see a couple of the big speakers embedded in the scoreboard overhead, we're going to have monitor speakers on each of the four corners of the dance areas, similar to what you see on the court right now. Listen carefully, just give me feedback if you want to."

Wesley took out a walkie talkie and brought it up. "Okay, cue the mixed track please."

Dante and I listened as a medley of songs came over the sound system for the next three minutes. I wasn't the only one who was enjoying it and grooving a bit, even if I felt a little bit like we were trying out for a remake of Capital Cities' "Safe and Sound" with the various groups in all sorts of different dress and styles conglomerating together.

We left MSG and spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening being unabashed New York tourists, taking the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building and touring the World Trade Center site. We thought about going up the tower, but decided against it after seeing the line. Instead, we headed back to our hotel, Dante taking my hand again in the elevator as we walked toward our side by side rooms.

“Join me for dinner?" I asked, biting my lip as I stood outside my door. "I was thinking of just getting some room service."

"Let me change clothes, and I'll be right over," Dante replied. "What's on your mind?"

"Just relaxing, having fun. Maybe a little light food before the competition. Tomorrow night after the competition I expect you to take me to a full on New York pizza shop.”

Dante smiled and reached up, stroking my face. "You know, people are going to say we're dating."

"Aren't we?" I asked. "We have had breakfast together nearly every day for five weeks now. I think that’s a little more than
dating
."

Dante laughed. "Some people would call that being married," he said, taking out his room key and unlocking his door. "Give me five. I'll knock on the connecting door."

He retreated in his room, leaving me slightly awestruck in the hallway. Dante and me? Married? Smiling at the silly idea, I went inside, where I quickly changed clothes into a pair of light pants and just a sweatshirt. I knew what I wanted, and while I wasn't going to advertise it, if it happened, I wasn't going to let an overly heavy brassiere get in the way.

It was actually closer to ten minutes before Dante knocked on my connecting door, and I opened it, my pulse skyrocketing when I saw what he’d changed into. "I didn't know you had packed a tank top. And no shoes?"

Dante smiled and stepped through the door, looking down at his arms. "I thought you said nice and comfortable."

"I said relaxing, but I guess that shirt qualifies," I said as I stepped aside, letting Dante all the way into my room. I was hypnotized by the flex and movement of his muscles under his skin, a graceful collection of masculine beauty that was even more impressive than he'd been the first time we had sex. His shoulders and forearms were the most impressive, and I felt my fingers itch with desire to feel his skin. "Jesus, how'd you hide that from me?"

"Very carefully," Dante said with a laugh. He'd pulled his hair back, having not cut it since we started dancing together. “I want to show you a little something when we get back too."

"Are you going to tell me?" I asked as I crossed the room, taking a seat in the other chair in the room. "Or are we playing Twenty Questions?"

“Nope, you’ll see later. First, let's get some food ordered. Where's the menu?"

The menu was actually part of the in-room television, a supposedly convenient setup that left me thinking it lost the hotel more business than it saved in terms of front desk workers. I ordered a tuna salad and, in a moment of indulgence, a chocolate parfait, while Dante chose a light chicken pasta. Sitting back, I twisted a lock of my hair around my finger while we looked at each other, both of us knowing what would happen. It wasn't like it had been explicitly planned, just that it was inevitable. "Careful. Your Italian roots are showing."

"Like you, I'm not full blooded one way or another," Dante said. "My father was Italian, but Mom was Spanish. Castilian, to be precise, which most people don’t notice.”

A knock came to our door, and we looked over at the clock, shocked at how quickly the food arrived. We'd been staring at each other for longer than I thought. "I'll get it."

A cart was wheeled in, and Dante took care of the tip, the room service guy leaving with a smile. "What did you slip him?"

"A twenty. Now, let's eat, and then I'll show you my surprise."

Dinner was an exercise in foreplay on both of our parts, as we savored each bite, sensually taking each bite and chewing slowly, our eyes never leaving each other except to fill our forks.

"Come on," he said when the last of my ice cream was gone. "I promised you I'd show you my surprise."