Page 58 of The Gangster King

A knock at the door surprises me. I turn away from the wardrobe where it hangs, holding the towel to my body.

“Ms. Baldoni. The boss sent us to help you get ready.” A woman in a black shift dress says, glancing at the two women behind her.

They’re carrying cases and I know immediately they are here to do my hair and makeup. Well, if I am to leave my prison and make an escape, then I might as well look beautiful while doing it.

I pieced together the dates and what this is.

The Syndicate Masquerade Ball.

A dangerous game indeed. One I fully intend to take advantage of.

I wave them in, sit in the chair one of them places in front of the mirror, and plan my next move.

My escape.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DANTE

How better to step out as a new don, a free and powerful man, than The Syndicate Masquerade Ball?

Every year, the families put on the event where key players and prominent people such as businessmen, politicians, actors, and entrepreneurs come together to raise money for some cause.

Usually one that our activities caused.

Gambling addiction.

Drug addiction.

Wounded heroes.

Although, one would argue that the government is far more to blame than us. We just arm...well, everyone else in the world.

No one, and I mean no one, goes near trafficking.

Why? Because half these motherfuckers are involved. Shook me to the core when I learned the faces you see on the TV, in the movies, and on the Forbes five fucking hundred were the same ones attending parties and shelling out money.

What they do afterward, I am not going into right now.

Fucked-up shit.

That’s what it is.

So this little shindig brings everyone together to open their wallets, clear their conscience, and sip martinis as if they're not pieces of shit.

Although we all know they are.

No one in the room is innocent.

It’s all smoke and goddamn mirrors.

I don’t even know who the chosen charity is tonight. It’s irrelevant. The corrupt will show up in droves and business will take place in the dark corners.

Others will observe, and phones will ring tomorrow.

Or later tonight.

No one will be expecting me. They all think I’m remaining in my own shadows after my father’s death and the FBI raiding our warehouse.