Chapter 9 - THE DANCE HE CHOSE
Angelo Bellano died eight months later in federal custody.
Cancer finished what violence hadn't.
Vincent attended no funeral.
There wasn't one.
The Bellano criminal organization fractured.
Several captains went to prison.
Others cooperated.
Bellano Holdings survived only after Vincent sold controlling interests and separated every legitimate company from the old organization.
He kept one property.
Mariner House.
Or what remained of it.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I owe you a dance.”
“You could take me to Applebee's.”
“I have standards.”
“You hid in Walter's basement.”
“Temporary standards failure.”
We rebuilt.
Not the palace it had been.
Something better.
The new Mariner House became a rehabilitation and arts center.
Accessible dance floors.
Physical therapy rooms.
Community classes.
No VIP balcony.
No private entrance for important people.
Vincent insisted everyone entered through the same doors.
My Tuesday dancers became Friday dancers too.
Walter finally paid Dorothy her twenty dollars.
She framed it.
Vincent began teaching movement classes with me.
He was surprisingly patient.
Except with me.
“Left.”
“I went left.”
“Your other left.”
“You can't see me.”
“I can hear bad dancing.”
One evening after everyone left, music played through the empty ballroom.
Vincent stood in the center.
No cane.
No glasses.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“Dance with me.”
I approached.
“You sure?”
“No.”
I placed my hand in his.
“Good answer.”
We began.
One-two-three.
One-two-three.
No danger behind the curtain.
No gunmen.
No family watching.
Halfway through, Vincent stopped.
“I need to tell you something.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I love you.”
I forgot how to breathe.
He smiled.
“You're quiet. Should I call a doctor?”
“I love you too.”
He kissed me.
Then I noticed something.
“You're shaking.”
“Yes.”
“The terrifying Vincent Bellano is nervous?”
“Don't spread it around.”
I touched his face.
“What are you afraid of?”
“That you'll leave.”
There it was.
Not blindness.
Not prison.
Not bullets.
Abandonment.
I took his hand.
“I might get angry.”
“Likely.”
“I'll annoy you.”
“Guaranteed.”
“I'll make decisions you hate.”
“Already happening.”
“But I'm not staying because I'm afraid to leave.”
He became still.
“I'm staying because I choose you.”
Vincent nodded.
Then we finished the dance.
For the first time, he wasn't following memory.
He wasn't retracing his mother's steps.
He wasn't searching for hidden evidence.
May you like
He was simply dancing.
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