Chapter 80: Chapter Eighty

Frankie repositioned Gloria’s hand on his arm, tilted her chin up and kissed her lightly, careful to not mess up her lipstick. “We got this,” he assured her. She nodded once and allowed him to guide her toward the banquet hall where music was flowing and people were already in high spirits.

Gloria was aghast at the obnoxious opulence of the place. Her father had never done anything so extravagant for her or her mother. Naked trapeze artists swung from the chandelier-laden ceiling. Fire-eaters, sword-swallowers, jugglers, and exotic dancers were staggered across the floor to ensure not a moment passed without his guests being entertained. Women in bedazzled lingerie walked the room with trays filled with hor d'oeuvres from all around the world while men in perfectly tailored tuxedos offered drinks. No wonder he would disappear for a week to celebrate his birthday and leave her and her mom at home.

A man stepped up on stage and waved for the band to quiet down. He tapped on the microphone, drawing everyone’s attention while Frankie led her toward a table close enough to the exit to make a quick escape if needed.

“Good evening, one and all! We welcome you to Mr. Rubanov’s fiftieth birthday!” The crowd around them cheered as Frankie pulled out a chair for her. “Without further adieu, the man of the hour: our Pakhan, Ivan Rubanov!”

Gloria’s descent to the chair stalled at the name of her father. Her spine straightened, her heart stuttered as he walked out from a curtain behind the stage with two gorgeous blondes on his arm. Tears welled in her eyes as her father strode out, oozing confidence. He waved the best he could with the blondes holding on for dear life to their prize.

Her lungs constricted. Her fists tightened. The first tear fell as she glared across the space at him. Her father. Her tormentor. Her mother’s murderer. Gloria’s skin itched, her muscles tightened with the urge to sprint across the floor to enact her revenge in front of his adoring fans, to prove to him and everyone here that what he hoped to demolish in her, only made her stronger, more determined. She took a step but was caught around the waist. She fought briefly until Frankie was able to turn her around and crush her to his chest. He pushed her face into his shoulder.

“Shhh, Gloria, not yet, not yet. You’ll get your chance. Take a breath, remember the plan. Just a little longer,” he assured her, though his own grip on her shook with restrained anger.

“Champagne? Wine?” a familiar voice asked beside them.

Gloria turned her head to see Conor standing beside them in a waiter’s tux, holding a tray of drinks. He kept his eyes on a swivel.

“Don’t you look handsome,” Frankie said as he took two champagne flutes.

Conor’s grey eyes cut back to him and narrowed. “Where the fuck have you all been?” Conor hissed, keeping his voice low in case anyone walked by.

“Sightseeing,” Frankie answered with a clipped tone of his own. “What have you seen?”

“Enough guards to easily protect a UN Peace Summit.”

“You don’t say?”

“What I’m saying,” Conor elaborated. “Is Gromov better come through, or getting a moment with Rubanov will be a pipe dream. He’s expecting you to show.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Your hair looks stupid,” Conor added before walking away toward a table of women trying to flag him down.

Frankie ran a hand through his fake blond hair and glanced around the room as Gloria took a hefty swig of champagne and did the same. Some of the liquid caught in her throat, and she choked as her gaze remained fixed on a certain individual across the room. Her palms became sweaty; her vision wavered. Her fight-or-flight instincts buzzed at the base of her spine, and her mind screamed for her to run.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Frankie asked, his eyes already locked on the man with salt and pepper hair schmoozing with a group of her father’s other physicians.

“Doctor Melvin Johnson,” Gloria answered with a nod.

Frankie moved. Gloria gasped as he stalked across the room, champagne flute clutched between white knuckles. She hurried after him. Even from behind, Gloria could see his intent. His shoulders strained against his suit jacket. In a room full of merriment, his footfalls resounded along the marble floors like a metronome counting down to the bastard doctor’s death. So engrossed in catching up to him, she was caught off guard when he came to a sudden stop. She ran into his back and dropped her glass, causing it to shatter on the ground around them and draw the attention of the five physicians.

“Gentlemen,” Frankie greeted, sipping from his flute as if there weren’t half a dozen waiters bustling around him to pick up the shards of glass.

Gloria peeked around his shoulder and the men’s eyes cut to her. Frankie shifted to his right, putting her behind him again. Johnny appeared beside them then, as if he’d sensed Frankie’s anger like a nuclear reactor admitting small traces of radon that signalled a coming catastrophe.

“Ah, Mr. Valencia,” Eduardo, her father’s personal physician, greeted with a bob of his head.

“Eduardo,” Johnny said with a nod of his own, while casting suspicious glances at Frankie’s calm, cold grin that spoke of impending doom.

“Boys, this is John Valencia, the owner of the Blue Lounge. I was just telling them we should stop by the lounge the next time we get together to talk business,” Eduardo stated, gesturing to the men around them.

“Should have done that before coming here tonight,” Frankie said, smile still in place like some sort of horror movie villain as he took another sip of his drink. The men all looked at each other as they tried to decipher his meaning. He swallowed and finished, “You’ll be too worn out from the festivities here. The Blue Lounge will be dull in comparison.”

The men all laughed and nodded in understanding. “That’s true,” Doctor Johnson said with a chuckle that sent a shock down Gloria’s spine and caused her fingers to clench in Frankie’s suit. “Are you boys invited to the after-party?”

“I don’t believe we’ve received that invitation,” Johnny answered as Frankie’s jaw clenched tight enough to snap rebar.

“Oh, hoh, you’re missing out,” the youngest of the physicians joined in. She couldn’t quite remember what his title was, but she did recall how he’d always be around after a big operation stitching up wounds with a maniacal grin on his face. When she pictured Dr. Frankenstein, it was his face that came to mind. He leaned forward, and his eyes moved from side to side as if to ensure no one was close enough to hear the secret he was about to divulge. “That’s when Ivan brings his collection of pets out. It’s the one night of the year he likes to share.”

Johnny took a step forward, but Frankie kicked his left foot out, causing Johnny to stumble.

“Pity we won’t be around long enough to enjoy the extra festivities,” Frankie responded, his voice calmer than it had been a minute earlier. “Say, Dr. Johnson, I’ve heard about your work.”

Gloria’s breath hitched, and her grip on Frankie’s jacket tightened. His left hand reached back and rested against her hip in reassurance.

“You have an interest in gynecology?” he asked with a dubious raise of one eyebrow.

“Don’t we all,” said the youngest physician, lowering his head and sliding the other doctors a knowing look.

Frankie chuckled. “I do. In fact, I wondered if I could have a moment to pick your brain on exactly how you got into the field and found your way into the Rubanov family.”

Eduardo laughed. “Can’t blame the boy’s interest. If I had a chance to look at Ivan’s girls’ pussies every day, I’d take it.”

Frankie’s feigned smile turned to the older personal physician. “Maybe I can have a chat with you after.”

“Come on, son. We can talk for a bit. It’ll be a time before the cake is cut,” Dr. Johnson said with a bob of his head toward a side of the room that wasn’t as crowded.

Frankie barely managed to lift a foot before Gloria’s hold on his arm turned into a vice. He hissed slightly and looked pointedly down at her nails.

“What are you doing? Is now really the time for a chat?” she growled under her breath.

“Don’t worry, Vixen, I’ll only be gone a little while,” he said, touching her chin with his hooked index finger.

She narrowed her eyes and cast a glance at Dr. Johnson, who was checking his watch as he waited patiently for his own death. “Five minutes,” she relented.

“Twenty-four,” he corrected before kissing her softly once.

“Twenty-four?” she repeated, unsure why the specific number.

“Mhmm, Johnny, keep an eye on her,” Frankie ordered, stalking off toward his prey with cold, calculated steps she’d once seen in a nature documentary about large cats.

“Johnny, I need to borrow your watch,” Gloria said, holding her hand out while she watched Frankie and the doctor walk toward the hallway.

“You’re not my woman. There will be no bossing me around,” Johnny hissed, his eyes on the same pair.

Gloria sighed and closed her eyes. “I know there is no bossing you around. I just need it for twenty-four minutes.”

He sighed nearly as long as she had and undid his watch from his wrist just as Frankie and the doctor disappeared out of sight.

“So, John,” Eduardo chimed in, seemingly unaware of the danger his friend had just willingly waded into. “If I were to get you an invitation to the after-party, do you think you can throw me and my guys here a little deal at the club?”

Johnny’s laugh was short and bitter. “Not on your life, fucker,” he said, taking Gloria’s arm and leading her back to the table where Charlotte patiently waited. Gloria glanced down at the watch and marked the time.