Pamela left the New York Public Library without a book for the first time in her life.
She hailed a taxi, digging through her handbag for change, and drove back to Albright Trimmings & Co. without a choice.
Men were standing outside smoking, as usual, the collars of their black overcoats lifted above their ears for protection against the persistent winter cold that refused to give way to spring. Somehow, their ominous presence did not deter business, with female cousins, mothers, daughters, girlfriends and wives of the Mancini family flocking to the store in hordes. Other women, unaware of the dark hidden truth of the business, continued to shop without hindrance, pleased by the uninhibited supply of gauze, chiffon, silk, wool, and even exotic Canadian furs.
Johnny had not returned to the store after the night Pamela had rejected his kiss. Pamela didn't care to guess why, but only hoped that his business would keep him elsewhere for the rest of the time she spent in Fifth Avenue.
As Pamela tipped the cab and climbed into the street, smoothing her plain blue skirt and permed hair as she did so, she noticed the men staring at her with disconcerting intensity.
She knew they weren't looking at her because of her figure or her pretty face; there were more boldly dressed and beautiful belles to admire. There was something more sinister than lustful appreciation in their leers, something lethal.
Pamela met the eyes of one man, familiar to her because of his presence at the Copacabana. He was the man who had touched her waist to Johnny's rebuke; the man named Mike.
Pamela refused to look away, casting a dark look towards him with an angry intensity she was sure out-competed his.
Instead of relenting, Mike held her gaze. His eyes narrowed with a lecherous smirk that made her stomach drop.
Pamela looked away, pushing the door open and letting it crash behind her as she felt the examining eyes follow her.
"Where have you been?" Caterina gasped, bumping into Pamela as she entered. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Have you lost your marbles? You were supposed to start work half an hour ago."
Pamela sighed, tying an apron around her waist to stand behind the till. "Sorry Cat, I was visiting some family."
"Lucky for you, it's been too busy for Johnny to notice anything amiss." Caterina winked. "Although he will be awful worried when he realizes his girl has been running around without his knowledge."
The air in Pamela's lungs went stale as she absorbed Caterina's words. She placed a hand to her heart, feeling it thud against her chest. "Johnny? He's here?"
Caterina rolled her dark eyes, ducking behind the counter to pull her glossy ebony hair into a ponytail. "Of course Johnny's here. He's working in the back. He asked for you to come see him when you get a chance."
Pamela could hardly think as she tracked sales and counted change, fearing the nearness of Johnny just a door down.
When the patrons dissipated with the evening, going home to their safe lives and comfortable families, Pamela wished she could beg them to take her with them.
Instead, she released a terse breath, applied a fresh coat of lipstick and drifted to the back corner office like an apparition to meet her fate.
Johnny was hunched over a stack of papers, circling numbers with a faded yellow pencil and surrounded by a group of four men. One man sitting on a stool outside the glass-covered door, presumably a guard, stood when he saw Pamela and let her in.
She tried to ignore the naked gun in his hand, and harder still to dismiss the throbbing pain in her chest.
Johnny surged from his chair, his pencil clinking against the wood of the table and his eyebrows lifting in surprise as if he wasn't expecting her. The horde of men around him raised their brows and smiled. "Fellas, disappear for a few seconds, would ya?"
The menagerie of men obeyed his order and scuttled off, leaving Johnny and Pamela alone.
Johnny did not look like himself. His shirt was crumpled and stained, his hair dishevelled, as if he had just woken up. Dark circles shadowed his brown eyes. The mole on his face looked pitch black against the pallor of his skin, and his lively brown eyes were sedate for once.
He was the antithesis of the man Pamela had seen at Christmas Dinner, the man who had laughed and reminisced with his Mother as he let the merriment of the night engulf him.
Still, Pamela felt a pang in her heart for him, an indescribable affection and sorrow that she would forever keep a secret.
There was no reason for her to feel this way about a man who plagued her thoughts. The only explanation that she could give herself was that there were moments that had revealed in him an endearing heart. Or at least parts of him that were still uncorrupted and pure.
It had been when she had spent Christmas Dinner with him she had seen the young boy he must've been; the boy who had loved his mamma, and when she had danced with him at the Copacabana.
Pamela banished the pesky feelings from her mind and focussed back on the present upon the man who all but had stolen her life from her.
Before Pamela could speak, Johnny stepped forward, his hands tied together. "I wanted to apologize."
Did he feel the same desire to apologize to the countless victims of the mob that terrorized the city? Did he feel the same desire to repent of his sins against God and mankind? The same desire to look after the late Mr. Friedenberg's poor widow and her children?
"I guess I was too forward in... kissing you that night. Maybe I was wrong in reading your happiness as... something else." Johnny winced, glancing away from her.
"I was only surprised," Pamela admitted. "I... I've never really been kissed before."
"You haven't?" A look of surprise flashed across his face.
Pamela shook her head, hating the vulnerability in her confession. "Why are you surprised?"
"I haven't met a girl as pretty as you who hasn't been kissed," Johnny claimed. His dark eyes pressed into her.
"You don't need to flatter me." Pamela groaned, wanting to plug her ears. She hated how he stared at her so as if he was trying to read her mind.
A swell of confidence seemed to overcome Johnny. He grabbed a wrapped golden bouquet of roses and pressed it into her hands.
They were the deepest shade of crimson red, and smelled beautiful, like he had plucked them from a summertime garden.
Pamela didn't ask why or how he had gotten them in the cold of mid-January.
"Thank you Johnny, but... I can't accept them." Pamela cleared her throat, stretching her arms out to decline the flowers. "You said that all that this was is business, and yet you are treating me like a girl you want to court."
Johnny grimaced at his hurt pride, his brown eyes flooding with disappointment.
"I don't understand why you're trying to win my affection," Pamela swallowed, staring up at him, "when I have nothing to offer you. Just let me leave here, and this will all stop."
"I'm not pretending to like you." Johnny said the words so quietly that she had to strain her ears to hear him.
He refused to look at her, turning around with his hand upon the desk. "I do like you, a lot. Under different circumstances..."
His voice fell into silence until he cleared his throat. "But if I let you leave now, the other guys will see you as a witness to be used in court, with enough valuable information to lock up the entire Mancini family for years. Including me."
"What... could they do?" Pamela hugged herself, her skin bristling.
"You know what they're capable of." Johnny sauntered around the office, completing a circle that ended with her. "They could do what they did to old Mr. Friedenberg."
Horror seized Pamela.
"I'm being honest with you." Johnny cut her off, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Trust me."
Pamela could scarcely hear anything else he said. He was moving his mouth: speaking rapidly, moving his hands to reassure her, but all she perceived was more silence.
"I can go back to the police," Pamela threatened, though she knew she could never follow through. "I can tell them what you've done. How you've slaughtered Mr. Friedenberg and left his wife a widow, his kids fatherless."
"The cops won't do anything." Johnny looked at her as if she was stupid. "Half of them are paid off. The other half are too scared to cross us."
Pamela didn't believe him. Sergeant Joseph Marino was already helping her, behind the scenes. He was a good cop.
Johnny shook his head. His forehead creased in exasperation. "All I need is for you to bring me to meet your father. I care about you, Pamela. You gotta understand. I wouldn't have to spare your life if I didn't want to, and I do."
His gaze pierced her, and she realized that there was nothing between them anymore. Her life was in his hands, and she couldn't do anything about it.
"What do I have to do?" Pamela begged, searching his eyes for answers.
"Follow my lead, and pretend that we're engaged to be married. That way, I'll gain your dad's respect and the guys will have no reason to kill you. I shouldn't be telling you this, but my boss needs me to secure a deal with Stuart Kelly, and by pretending to be engaged to you that can be accomplished. After that, you can go back to the life you loved so much." Johnny took her hands in his large ones and kissed her fingers, sending shivers up her spine.
His words were calculated and measured. He sounded like he was presenting her with a recital for a play, or a business deal. That was what his proposition was, wasn't it?
Before he let her go, Johnny dug through his pocket and displayed a stunning silver ring with a diamond large enough to make the Queen of England envious.
He slipped it onto her ring finger gently and circled his arm around her waist.
When he let the other men back inside, he bellowed and cheered with such exuberance that Pamela almost believed they were to be married. "Champagne! For the future Mrs. Siciliano!"