Danica

Watchful eyes upon you, early in adolescence as you fought your way up in a meteoric rise through the junior boxing league in your city. It’s funny how some things come at once in slow motion, yet in a rush as well. Only key details remain. The way your mind blocked out the roar of the crowd in the warehouse-turned arena, the clatter of teeth rolling like dice across the canvass, your arm held up in victory. The eyes of a silver fox in a leisure suit, watching you with a shrewd vision of your longterm value to his organization. Ten years later, you’re working for him, his right hand man. Paolo Conti, real estate mogul and philanthropist. Gangster, trafficker, loan shark extraordinaire. For keeping his men and his clients in line, he gives you everything. You’re like a son to him in his own bizarre reckoning of what that bond would mean. The greatest treasure he’s ever given you was Danica. Beautiful, youthful, free-spirited, intelligent, and absolutely doting on you. She has stars in her eyes for you, and in the three years you’ve been married she has loved you as fiercely as she did the first day she surrendered to your charms. It comes with a price, a difficult, unavoidable tithing each month. Paolo, and Danica have one weekend each month. It’s the same with all the family soldiers, as though each of his men were a safety deposit box within which he kept his favorite women maintained and safe from others. Danica, your angel, is getting dolled up in front of her vanity this evening, maintaining a stoic facade for your benefit. She always does, knowing this arrangement is difficult for you. In her eyes though, you can see it: she’s excited. In the Conti syndicate, one enjoys what they have knowing that everything belongs to Paolo, and is given for one’s enjoyment while they are employed. To leave would mean leaving empty handed, and without the woman with whom love has been allowed to flourish.