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“Is touch a card to seal your fate, yes.”
I withdraw my hand from my pocket and the gypsy sucks in a lungful of air, a noise that grates down my spine like sandpaper. Last time I was here, my forefinger had been a millimeter away from touching the King of Diamonds. The idea I could guarantee my success as a businessman was obviously horseshit, but I’d considered it for the same reason atheists say a prayer moments before death.
Just in case.
But at the last second, I’d stopped myself. Something had stirred under my rib cage and I didn’t like it. Truth is, I’d suddenly thought of my parents and what they had.
True love. Unrelenting, galvanized love. The type that puts you off your fucking lunch. In the Cosa Nostra, true love is rarer than any supposed Death Duo or whatever. In fact, my parents were the only people I knew who even came close to it. There’s an old adage that a made man only marries for three reasons: business, politics, or to prevent a war. Just like I knew I was fated to be an underboss, I knew I’d marry a woman for pragmatic reasons.
But as I’d stared down at the two cards last time, there’d been a niggling voice in the back of my mind. It’d be nice, wouldn’t it? To look at a woman in the same way my father looked at my mama?
But that was then; this is now. Now, there’s another voice that’s louder, one that’s screaming fuck true love. Now, my parents are six feet under and have nothing to show for their love apart from a cheesy quote etched onto a joint headstone.
Now, my future isn’t so certain, and everything I thought I’d have is slipping out of reach, thanks to my idiot brother.
I’m losing control.
I clear my throat, feeling the gypsy’s gaze bore into me. Screw it. I’m the first to admit I’m getting desperate, and giving into this hippy dippy shit, just once, won’t hurt. I stretch out my fingers, steel my jaw, and touch the King of Diamonds.
The ground doesn’t shake. Fireworks don’t explode in the sky above us. Nothing happens except the flicker of candles and a groan of the wagon.
I smooth down my tie. “Is that all? Or do I need to offer a blood sacrifice too?”
She stares at me, wide-eyed. “That’s all.”
Grinding out a laugh, I rise to my feet, stretching to my full height and casting a shadow over the gypsy.
“You’re bad news, darling. You know that?” I drawl, fishing out a few more bills and dropping them on the table. “I hope you get what’s coming to you.”
It’s her turn to laugh. “You’ll be thanking me when you have the whole of Las Vegas at your feet.”
My dingy casino, with its leaking roof and cockroach problem, comes to mind. “If I ever have Vegas at my feet, you’ll be exterminated along with the rest of the rats.” I turn toward the door.
“Wait,” she says. I clench my jaw, my hand hovering over the door handle. “There’s something else.”
My shoulders form a tight line, and I can’t stop my hands from curling into fists. It’s not in my nature to hit a woman, but Christ, this one makes it tempting. “I’m not interested.”
“You’re not interested in knowing what your doom card is?”
I let out a hiss of air through my nostrils. “You quacks sure know how to upsell, don’t you?”
“Just like every action has a reaction, every fate card has a doom card. Are you familiar with—”
“Stop. Talking.” My throat is dry and my chest is itchy. Nothing but a cold, hard drink will scratch it. “Just tell me the card.”
A beat passes. Then, behind me, there’s a dull thwack that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’ve owned a casino for almost a year now, and I’d recognize the sound of a playing card hitting a table in my sleep.
Silence hangs hot and heavy within the four cramped walls of the wagon. With a sneer, I roll my neck over my shoulders and glance at the table behind me. There’s a lone card sitting in the middle of it, the flickering candles casting an unsteady glow over its glossy surface.
It’s the Queen of Hearts.
“The red-haired lady,” the gypsy says softly. “Lucky for most, unlucky for a select few. And for you?” She lets out a low whistle. “The Queen of Hearts is detrimental. You could have all the success in the world, but she’ll bring you to your knees.”
I grind my molars together, but say nothing. Without another word, I heave open the door and kick it shut behind me. I stand on the rickety steps and suck in a lungful of mild October air.
Now what?
A smoke will do, for a start. Then I’ll find a seedy bar on a seedy street where nobody knows the name Visconti and I’ll pour one out for my parents. I slip my hand into my pocket and curl my fingers around my lighter.
