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The Cosa Nostra is my life, and I’ve spent most of my twenty-five years preparing for that underboss role.
Internships at Goldman Sachs and JP Morgan. A master’s degree from Harvard Business School. Hell, the only reason I bought a casino in Vegas was to learn the ropes before I built my legacy back home.
Home. Fuck. I’ve always thought home is where my family is, but now I’m not so sure. I know I could always go back to the Coast. Uncle Alberto would take me on as a Caporegime for the Devil’s Cove outfit, or if I wanted to keep my hands clean, he would give me a position on the board at his whiskey company in Devil’s Hollow.
But being a lackey isn’t in my blood. I’m born to build an empire, not lay the bricks for someone else’s.
“Deal the cards.”
My voice sounds more certain than I feel. The gypsy’s gaze lingers on mine, then she picks up the deck, shuffles through it, and lays two familiar cards on the table between us.
Last time, she’d made my mama cry and I’d been out for blood. I’d told her to wait outside, then kicked the door shut with the heel of my wingtip. Just as the flame of my Zippo came to life, the gypsy held up her hands and said, “Wait. Your cards keep screaming at me.”
I’d snarled something about her being a hack and that she wouldn’t get away with conning two Viscontis, especially not on the same fucking day.
But today is different. Now, I’m sitting on the same stool my mama sat on less than a month ago, unease bubbling under my skin. My hand isn’t clutching a lighter but my dice, and I’m squeezing them so hard they’re about to become one with my palm.
“As I was trying to say last time, your card hasn’t been dealt yet. Your fate hasn’t been sealed.” She breathes heavily and rubs her temples. “Yes, they are definitelyyour cards. They are screaming at me even louder than they were last time. I can barely hear myself think.”
A sarcastic retort brews on my tongue, but I bite it down. Instead, I stare at the two picture cards in front of me.
The King of Diamonds and the King of Hearts.
“Explain it in a way that doesn’t make me want to put my fist through a wall,” I say, as calmly as I can muster. As she starts to speak, I hold up my hand to silence her. “And just because I’m listening doesn’t mean I believe the shit coming from your mouth.”
She straightens her spine. “In my preferred form of cartomancy,” she says carefully, “we believe each soul is assigned a card long before it is brought onto this earth. It’s called ‘Card Calling.’ The cards are often vague, with each suit and value representing the broader meaning or purpose of one’s life. For example…” She reaches for the deck, peels off the top card and flashes it to me. It’s the Ten of Clubs. “If a soul is called to the Ten of Clubs, they’re usually drawn to travel. Perhaps they are destined to work abroad, or will find love in a far corner of the world.” She places the card back on the deck and gives me a tight-lipped smile. “See, vague. But picture cards,” she makes a sweeping motion toward the two cards between us before she continues, “are a lot more specific. They are a direct reflection of who a person will become.”
Impatience bites at my edges. I may have skipped my parents’ wake to be here, but I’m far from a convert. “Why do I have two cards?”
“Because fate couldn’t decide what card to deal you. It’s very rare.”
“As rare as my mother drawing the Death Duo?”
“Much rarer, " she deadpans. Either she didn’t pick up on my sarcasm, or she chose to ignore it. “I’ve never seen it in my lifetime.”
“Mm,” I grunt, rubbing my mouth. “So, I get to choose my fate.” My gaze darts up to hers. “If you believe in that shit, of course.”
She nods. “Of course.”
“And if I don’t choose?”
She shrugs, but the spark behind her eyes belies her nonchalance. “Fate will choose for you in due time.” She leans in, urging breathlessly, “But wouldn’t you rather know? Wouldn’t you rather be in control of your own destiny?”
I do like being in control. My life is regimented; I’m a man of routine. I have a suit for each day of the week and my calendar is blocked out by the minute.
My jaw ticks. It’s hot in this fucking wagon. The wooden walls groan against a gust of wind, and the engine of a super car roars from the direction of the faraway strip.
I’m sobering up, fast.
“King of Diamonds, or King of Hearts. I’m destined to become a businessman or a lover.”
“So you were listening last time,” she says with a smirk. One blistering glare from me wipes it off her withered lips in a second. “But yes. Power and money, or love and a family. It’s that simple.”
I curl my fingers around the dice in my pocket again. “But never both.”
“Never both.”
I swallow. “And all I have to do…”
