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Dante Luciano
My eyes flick to Carter, as the stench of smoke and sex filter through my nose. We are both on high alert as we scour the room for movement. Coming to Allure at this early morning hour may not have been my best plan, but with Sebastian in Sicily for another few weeks, he has left New York for me to manage, and this is the call I made.
Allure is smaller than I remember, scummier. With every step I take, my boots stick to the carpet, the sound making us less inconspicuous than I would like. As my team and I move around the furniture, I don’t miss seeing the ripped vinyl seats and the chipped dance floor. My reflection is clouded in the dirty mirrors, and the tables look about as clean as the floor. It has been a while since I’ve entered this strip club in Queens, and as I walk slowly through the space, flashes of memory fill my brain of seeing my ex-wife dancing on one of these poles. My shoulders stiffen at the thought, and already I want to get the hell out of here.
Ever since Sebastian’s girl Goldie was taken last year by Riccardo Baldo, Sebastian has made each member of the family disclose every business, property, and asset on a monthly basis. All families have been happily obliging to the new terms because as head family, we offer benefits to do so. Increased men, additional security, a direct line to the head of the NYPD. You give us your details, we give you bonuses; our generosity knows no bounds.
But a month ago, we noticed something off here with the Russo family in Queens. A small outfit, the two brothers do the sneaky jobs for us, like filtering drugs through obscure avenues. We pay them handsomely, supporting them, and I know that Sebastian has given them more than one opportunity to be further up the chain than they deserve. They have several properties, this strip club being one of them, but from the looks of it, there is no money here and any money made here is obviously being moved into something else. Or to someone else.
At 5am, I expected to see people here. Patrons drinking liquor, smoking cigarettes, and watching scantily clad girls wrap their long legs around the shiny silver poles, all the while getting dollar bills thrown their way. But it is empty. Quiet. Another thing that doesn’t sit well with me.
The front door was unlocked and had no security, so we walked straight in. But there are no bar staff or waitresses, no dancers, no music. Not even a cleaner, even though they desperately need one.
My hand tightens on the cold metal of my gun, as we continue through the main room, toward the faint light we see coming from under the door at the back.
Our team is small, but here with Carter by my side, I hope I can get this done and buried. Our getaway car is parked down the street, waiting for us if needed. I don’t desire bloodshed this morning; I am merely here to ask questions and demand answers. But I don’t mind seeing grown men cry, and if the color red ends up across this grimy floor, then I would say I have earned my keep today.
We are halfway to the back door when it opens. My team spreads quickly as I remain at the front to meet whoever comes through the door head on. Dominic Russo walks through with five of his men behind him and the minute they see us, everyone stiffens. His men don’t reach for their guns. They are not that stupid. They know who I am. The minute they raise a gun at me, they know that they have a death sentence.
“Dominic, I love what you have done with the place,” I say sarcastically as I saunter toward him. I raise my hands, showcasing the shithole of the place, but keep my gun firmly wrapped in my right hand, while I raise my eyebrows at him in mock delight.
“Dante. I wasn’t expecting a visit today,” he says, sounding a bit out of breath, clearly surprised by our appearance. I see a bead of sweat travel down the side of his pocket-scarred face.
Dominic Russo and his brother Federico may be gangsters, but that is their only appealing quality. And that’s saying something. Italian with dark hair and brown eyes, they are skinny with large pointy noses, bad teeth, and carry an air of arrogance that has yet to be earned. I often observe people and wonder what type of animal they look like. These Russo men are a year apart in age and both look like rats.
Filthy, pathetic rats.
“I am full of surprises, Dominic, and it appears that so are you.” I stalk closer. My eyes don’t leave his, waiting for a tell, and I get it. His right eye twitches, and I know whatever he is about to say is a lie.
“We are renovating the place, Dante. Plans are being drawn up as we speak!” He puffs out his chest slightly and a smile peppers his face, thinking he has the perfect cover. The mere look of him makes me want to put my knife in him, to cut him from belly to throat. I hate liars. I hate people who keep things from me. Again, flashes of my ex-wife flick in my memory; of her being the biggest liar and disappointment of my thirty-five years on this earth.
I stop a few feet away from him and chuckle, low and threatening. He obviously takes me for a complete moron and has severely underestimated who I am and what I am capable of. A problem I am happy to rectify.
“Try again,” I grit out, shaking my head to feign disappointment as I see Carter and my team move strategically around me, knowing what is about to happen. Dominic’s men stay still, their eyes roaming the movement, and the smile falls from Dominic’s face.
He looks at me, his face becoming red with fury. The man doesn’t like being talked down to. None of us do, but he is so slimy, he belongs down in the hole he crawled out of. If it wasn’t for him, then my now ex-wife wouldn’t be addicted to drugs, wouldn’t be dancing on a pole, and would be the mother my son deserves instead of the sad excuse for a life that she now is.
“Perhaps we can meet later this week. I can get the building plans for you then, show you what we have in store for the place,” he says, almost threateningly, and I tilt my head, not liking the tone he is taking with me.
His men start to move around the room, sensing the change in their leader’s demeanor, positioning themselves near my team. We are equal numbers, but they have nothing on us. I rub my chin and tilt my head while I pretend to mull over his offer, as my men position themselves better, edging backwards to the front door. He is a complete fool for thinking that we will just walk away, but I will use that to my advantage.
Sebastian will be annoyed if we can’t put this to bed and get our money back, so as Dominic looks around at his team, I lift my gun. The warm metal presses firmly in my palm, and by the time he looks back at me, the barrel is pointing directly at his face.
“Now, what makes you think I have time to see you this week, Dominic? I am a very busy man, surely you know this?” At my taunting, his eyes drill into me. To anyone else, he would be intimidating, but to me, he is nothing.
“What do you want, Dante?” he asks, acting like we didn’t loan him one million dollars for the refurbishment of this place and his repayment is now overdue. He knows that his date for full repayment was yesterday, yet he continues to goad me, trying to showcase his power, of which he has none. I watch as his men reach for their guns, some of them shaking, because they already know that their end might be near. It appears that Dominic is the only one in this room that is disillusioned enough to think anything else.
I cackle at that, the smile not reaching my eyes. I want to shoot him, I do. Then I want to hang his body from the top of the stripper pole and leave him for his brother to find.
But that can’t happen today.
“You know what, Dominic? I’m sure we can talk later this week,” I say as I relax my stance, and I see his visible relief. “Boys, let's go!” I call out to my team, my eyes not leaving Dominic’s. He begins to smile, thinking he has won.
His men keep their guns out and ready, as my team and I walk backwards, making our way slowly to the front door, one of my men already outside signaling to my backup team.
As we reach the entrance, I see his men start to relax, and like a cobra, I strike.
