Luigi’s table was up in the gallery in the choicest spot right by the glass rails. It was perpetually reserved in his name and out of bounds for every other patron. It wasn’t a matter of influence or money. Luigi owned the place, so his word was law. It was that simple.
He sat now in the plush leather armchair that had ever only borne his weight, sipping from a glass of whisky cocktail and discussing an urgent matter with his consigliere and his right-hand man.
“Stop all operations at once,” he told them. “The only concerns to continue for now are 69, transport, and security.” Those were the family’s only legal businesses.
“May I ask why?” his consigliere asked. His name was Donald Silva, a small, perpetually bespectacled man who said little and yet saw everything.
“Something big is coming up,” Luigi told him and turned to his right-hand man.
“What?” the man asked. His name was Edouardo Manzanno, a stout man with the beginning of a paunch that failed to soften the hardness around his face.
“I’ll tell you when the time is right,” Luigi told him. “Not now. Sometime this week.”
Edouardo frowned thoughtfully. “Business?” he asked.
“Business,” Luigi replied. “Bigger and better than anything we’ve ever done.”
Edouardo nodded. For the briefest moment, his eyes seemed to light up, and the craggy outlines of his face softened into a smile.
“Any other thing?” Donald asked.
“No.” Luigi shook his head and took a sip of his drink. He set the glass on the table and turned his attention to the dance floor below. It was all the sign his men needed to know that he had no further need of them.
Donald was the first to go. He stood up and tipped his hat before leaving without a word.
“I’ll let the men know,” Edouardo promised before rising to his feet and taking his leave.
Luigi allowed himself a smile. It had taken him nearly 24 hours to flesh out the finer details of his plot to catch Weinberg’s informant. It was a trap so carefully set it was like a green snake coiled up in the shrubbery. Whoever was informing on him would not see it coming. Rather, they’d walk right into it.
Luigi took another sip of his drink.
There were more people in the club than usual tonight, gyrating on the dance floor downstairs, nodding to the loud music at the bars, or smoking in the booths. There were so many that he shouldn’t have seen her. However, after that first meeting in his house the previous day, it was impossible not to make her out even in the sea of faces below. She strutted acrossthe floor, a head taller than most of the other women, and caught the glow of the strobes in her hair: Camille Williams.
Luigi flicked a hand immediately to summon Dante. He sat nearby in the shadows, out of sight, yet not out of reach of his boss. He came at once and bent to listen to Luigi’s command. “That’s Camille,” he said and pointed. “Bring her up here at once.”
Dante picked her out from the crowd and nodded. He went across the gallery to the spiraling stairs. Luigi kept his eyes on Camille as she and her friends followed a host to a reserved spot.
At the head of the party was a man dressed in a loose multicolored shirt and weighed down by the endless layers of gold chains on his neck. His attention was solely on seating Camille next to himself.
On the other side of her was a girl in a crop top. She hung on to the arm of a gangly male dressed in a similar fashion to the other man. His attire was a polo shirt that seemed a tad oversized, a pair of fancy cargo pants that tried and failed to redeem his image, and a couple of bold chains around his neck that did him in.
Behind him, two other men dressed less splendidlyfollowed. They walked with their attention on their phones, which acted as shields that hid their discomfort in a place that seemed to be way above their paychecks.
The last member of the party was a bear of a man dressed in black denims and a leather jacket, which he wore over a body-fitted vest—clearly the muscle of the group. He moved to block Dante’s path when he finally approached the group. Dante talked with him, and a moment later, he moved aside.
The scene made Luigi smile in approval. If it had been any of the hot-headed youths who flocked around Paulo, the confrontation would have ended in a fight. They always felt theneed to prove they were the strongest men in a room, often going for blows when words could have yielded the same results.
The man in the multicolored shirt watched as Dante spoke with Camille. This time, Dante pointed at the gallery, where Luigi sat. To his surprise, she shook her head.
Fortunately, Dante was persistent. Luigi would have laid down a grand to hear what he told Camille, for in a moment, she began to laugh. Still, she would not stand up.
At this point, Dante turned to the head of the party and said a few words to him. The man nodded at Camille and looked up at Luigi.
Luigi raised a palm in acknowledgement.
Soon, Dante and Camille were on their way, across the floor and up the stairs to him. This was the way of the world. The smaller fish knew to give way to the bigger fish so they could live another day.
Up in the gallery, Dante slunk back into the shadows while Camille made the rest of the walk alone to Luigi’s table. Luigi noticed heads turning to follow her movement. They snapped away immediately when they noticed her trajectory.
