Dante's Fire

Chapter Two: Dante

Chapter Two

DANTE

It was snowing when the phone rang the first time, and Dante was at the corner store buying groceries for the night. 

They had come early this year, the snowflakes, suddenly filling the sky and blocking out the sun, thin tufts of white drifting downwards like brown leaves from trees in autumn, like locks from God's scalp. Only this morning, children played at the basketball court, scuffing knees and bruising elbows, jumping several feet in the air to dunk worn-out basketballs in the even more worn net. It was still warm outside. Not enough to warrant sun-dresses and bare thighs, but not frigid enough to make people encase themselves in coats or carry parasols with them, hurrying as they went, looking like frozen burritos. The cold had crept up on them, on the entire New York, out of nowhere.

At the store, Dante's fingers were freezing. He had forgotten his mittens at home. He pulled the coat tight around his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets for warmth. He walked between the aisles picking what he needed from the shelves. He bought bread, beans, tomatoes, ground beef, and onions, then pushed by them to the front desk.

'Merry Christmas, Danny.' The storekeeper, Gary, said, glancing sideways at him as he scanned the things Dante had brought to the front desk.

'It is not anywhere close to Christmas, Gary.' Said Dante glumly. Few people had a liking for winter, and Dante was not one of them. 

'Once it starts snowing, it is to me.' Gary replied. Dante could not help but smile. 

His phone began to vibrate in his coat pocket then, ringing silently. It was probably Kath, he thought. His ex-girlfriend. She had begun calling every now and again, almost two months after they broke off their relationship. She had told him that she was not ready to be with him, not if he continued to allow himself be dragged into his father's business. Kath was a conventional girl. Pretty. Brunette. Eyes recycle bin blue. She knew who his father was, what his family was into. The entire Brooklyn knew. But Kath was not the type of girl you gave up your family for. The phone rang and he paid it no mind. 

He grinned at Gary. 'Christmas does come early for you then.' 

'It sure does.' Gary answered with a smile. The storekeeper was nearly seven foot of muscle, and he carried his weight heavily, like a bouncer. But for all his bulk, he was seven feet of optimism too. 

'That makes one of us, at least.' Dante said and earned himself a rumbling laugh.

He grinned at the man. 'If I could bottle your optimism and sell it, I would be the richest man in the entire New York. Maybe even the world.'  

Gary smiled. 'But you can't, yes? So I am stuck here, selling beverages, beers and razors, while you are over there dreaming. We make a fine pair, Danny. Do we not? A cynic and a visionary.' 

He had finished bagging Dante's purchases and he handed them over to him. 

'You are far from a cynic, Gary.' Dante yelled over his shoulder on his way out. 'And merry Christmas to you too.' 

He did not need to look to know Gary was smiling when he left the store. 

Outside, he hurried back towards the house, ungloved fingers stuffed in his coat pocket, the other hand gripping the paper bag tight. He had left his car at home, hoping that he could make a quick dash for the store across the street. He could have asked one of his father's men, but he was all too accustomed to taking care of himself by himself. He grabbed his coats and boots and went out. It was a Friday night. His mother always made burritos on Friday nights. Even with he and father's busy schedule, they had somehow always made it to dinner on burrito nights. Dante was certain that my this night would be no exception.

 The store, however, had not been open, but instead of returning for his car, Dante opted to walk the distance to the other store at the far end of the neighborhood. Dante rarely ever showed up there. But when he did, he showed up on payday. Behind the counter, in the backroom, Gary had a store. It was where he held most of what Dante's father had his boys deliver to him every other month. A small parcel of snow. It was testament to the fact that half the borough worked for Raymond Bianchi, while the other half was split between those who hated him, and those who ran when his black Wrangler Jeep crossed the street.

Dante did not like to mingle with people who worked for his father. They always seemed to expect something of him when they found out whose son he was; they always seemed to expect him to be much more than what and who he was: A simple club owner who studied Business in College and looked nothing like his father. And they often ended up disappointed when he proved to be otherwise. Dante knew the ropes, knew how to work the streets, knew how to dismantle a rifle and put it back such that no one would ever know it was taken apart. But he had decided to follow another path. And Raymond, his father, had supported him.

'I don't want you to live like I do,' He had told Dante. 'Perpetually on the move, perpetually on the look out, watching my back for the cops or even worse, the Feds. Go, go to College, son. Learn something. Do something legit. That way you can sleep at night with both eyes closed.'

Dante thought of that often while in college, how a man who had so much at his disposal seemed so discontent. He had returned for college to find his father graying, the weight of his role as Boss nearly crushing him. It was time to retire, his old man had told him a few nights before. He would step aside for someone younger.

 That, in Dante's books, called for a celebration. It was the reason why he was making dinner bigger than ever. He had returned from the club early, to make a sort of celebratory dinner. Although he had his own house uptown at the club's penthouse, his father's house where his mother once made cupcakes, where his father arranged daisies from the garden in a bottle every morning, seemed most like home. 

Dante got into the mansion, took off his suit and slipped into street clothes, then went out again to the store before any of his father's house staff could accost him, asking a thousand questions, looking for what they could do for him when all he wanted after a long day was to be left alone. He was halfway to the store when he realized he had not taken his mittens. 

Now as the phone rang the second time, Dante took it from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. His fingers were already going numb at the tips. It was Andre calling. One of his father's guards. One of the younger, hard-eyed ones. Dante picked the call and immediately regretted it. Andre's voice was grave. It was the same voice the cops used the night they knocked on the front door to say that his mother's car slammed into another and flipped off the road. A voice gravelly and solemn, suitable for announcing tragedy. 

 'It is your father, sir.' Andre said. He sounded calm. The calm was practiced. Careful. 'He's been shot.'

A chill far colder than any snow, any hailstorm, ran up Dante's spine. And he already hated winter.