The set up pt 2

Two hours later, standing in front of a full-length mirror, Gypsy slipped the diamonds in her ears as a final touch. No longer wearing his wife’s, these were hers. Bought with her own money the young blonde was done taking his gifts. Some would call her crazy, hell, she knew she was the moment she turned the last one down. There was a time where she cared about the man, but that was long gone. All she felt for this man is hate and regret.

Two hours later, standing in front of a full-length mirror, Gypsy slipped the diamonds in her ears as a final touch. No longer wearing his wife’s, these were hers. Bought with her own money the young blonde was done taking his gifts. Some would call her crazy, hell, she knew she was the moment she turned the last one down. There was a time where she cared about the man, but that was long gone. All she felt for this man is hate and regret.

“Stunning!” whispers from the voice that followed her down the hall, when she turned, the figure was gone. She would swear that it was female, but that’s not a compliment a woman usually gave to another.

On the 30th floor, the logical vehicle to get her down to the casino would be the elevator. Well, if you were in a hurry. Gypsy took every step. 546 of them to be exact. Her legs aching by the time she reached the bottom floor, she would walk them all again to not open that door. Something in her gut told her what happened in that hotel room would forever change her life. As she grabbed the handle, there was a chill creeping up her back. Something wasn’t right. That voice in the hall haunted her.

Turning the metal knob on the door, the once silent stairwell was now rocketed with voices, bells, whistles, and the smell of cigarettes. She hated that scent, but when someone was gambling and dropping their money in the one arm bandits, no one cared that they shared their cancer with the rest of the place. Coughing the moment she entered the floor, all she could think of was that this dress that asshole spent all that money on would stink of cigarette and cigar smoke. Thankfully she hated it.

“Welcome to Las Vegas, Miss Kennedy. Mr. Paloma is waiting at the table for you. He asked that you be brought to him right away,” the bouncy little man shook as he spoke. His hands twitched like a meth head on a 5-day binge. Who knows, maybe he was, but that was none of her concern. She was in pain with every step towards the mysterious door.

“Wait, I need to know where I’m being taken,” stopping in her track, she was talking to the man’s back, hoping he would turn for a moment so she could read him better. Gypsy had thought herself a good judge of character, but let’s be real. She was as dumb as they came when trusting people. She had a two month failed marriage that proved that fact.

“Just come with me. I am not supposed to be late and you know how he is when he’s kept waiting. Oh Dios Mio, I don’t want that kind of trouble. Just come now,” his words teetering on demand and a plea for mercy. She might be scared, but the humanity inside of her felt for this little man. Her body held the marks of their last meeting. Maybe not on the outer shell, but inside, she was still broken from his abuse and demands. If not for her fingerprints stolen, she would have run so fast from the building. What she didn’t know was that as she walked behind that little man, another man walked behind her just to make sure that didn’t happen. The hard steel in his shoulder holster would be a grim reminder if she was stupid.

As the large metal door opened in front of her, Gypsy realized where she was. A poker game for the elite. If you have enough money, you don’t have to sit on the main floor and be a target for anyone. She knew most of these men by reputation alone. All of the high ranking members of a dying breed of mafia men. Some would say they don’t exist anymore, but she knew that they did. She had spent enough time in a corner watching things like this that every Federal Agent in the United States would beg to pick her brain. The thing with her, she never spoke of what she had seen or heard when the door closed. That was the only way she would stay alive. Her heart racing, hands shaking, and tiny hairs stood on the back of her neck. Whatever was going to happen, would take place right here in the room.

“Miss Kennedy, I am sure you know most of the men here, right?” Mr. Palomo asked, his voice dripped with sarcasm. He knew that her little black book could take down families, but he also knew she was a good woman. Some had said she would make a perfect mafia wife, but none of them wanted to know she had slept with their rivals. That was always a touchy subject.

Simply nodding her head when they all stood for her to take a seat next to Mr. Paloma, she never spoke without permission. The last time she had, she spent hours on the receiving end of a belt. Not something she wanted to endure again.

Her hands placed in her lap, she studied the manicure she had gotten earlier in the day. Flawless, the color was one that matched the god awful dress she wore. Having her nails done is a luxury for her. As an artist, there was never a need to keep them manicured.

Handed a glass of wine she looked to the right of her for permission to take it. A brow arched, and she declined the offer. She was not usually allowed to drink. It would make her not on the top of her game and not in her right mind, or so she had been reminded many times. Women are put on the earth to tend to the needs of a man, and she knew her place. Silent and watching. At times he would quiz her later. Ask her what was said or done just to make sure she was paying attention.

There was only one out of the eight men that she didn’t know. Later he would be identified as the owner of the hotel she was staying at. One of the most corrupt men in the city and that was saying a lot. Vegas is not known for having upstanding citizens.

“After this, we all have dinner with the wives at Capo’s, Loser is buying,” said Mr. Salazar. He was the Underboss for a very old family, and at one time, Gypsy knew him better than she had wished. He once paid 40 grand for a night with her. She had hated him ever since. She would not be invited to dinner. It was for wives only, and though her client was there alone, the other women would not take kindly to her presence at their dinner table. Face it, no one wants to believe their husband cheats, and she would give worry to them all.

Thirty minutes into the game, the table held more money than she had seen in a lifetime. Homes could be bought in the most affluent areas with this amount of cash. Her stomach clenched each time it went higher. Something was coming and she was scared to death this would be the last night of her life.

“Miss Kennedy’s brother is running for President. It’s going to be good to have another one in our pockets,” laughter erupted when Mr. Paloma announced that. Her breathing accelerating. She knew better than that. William would never help them, and she would never ask. If it came to that, she would finish what she started months ago. There was no way she would allow her brother to mingle with the likes of these pigs. All of them disgusting and covered with the stench of death.

Money tossed on the table, the sound of the door opening went unnoticed to everyone but her client, and Gypsy. A tall male entered, gun in his right hand, her eyes widened when the shot rang out. One to the head of the man sitting next to her. Warm fluid splattering her in the face, chunks of flesh and brain matter along with it. Usually one would scream, but the room remained silent, the men going about their poker game as the owner of the hotel slumped over onto her. None of them flinched and she was paralyzed with fear. Not from the dead guy, but because that gun in his hand was the one that she was forced to hold earlier.

The eyes are the soul of the world. She saw nothing. Nothing at all. Her lips silent, it’s what a good woman did. They stayed silent. For Gypsy, it wasn’t for them, it was for herself. She was now implicated in the murder of a man she didn’t even know.

To be continued.

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