Twenty-Five

“Wanna room? We’re all-suite here.”

Rose looked at the receptionist. The girl was about her age. Young, cracking bubble gum as she talked. She had too much makeup on and smoker’s fingernails.

At least she was wearing a uniform. It was an ugly green-striped vest over an olive-colored shirt. Rose noticed wrinkles and smudges.

She felt contemptuous. Being poor was no excuse for being a slob. Rose had been poor, her mother had been poor. But they had both dressed neatly at all times.

“How much?” she said.

Today she was wearing a pair of old jeans and a clean white Gap T-shirt. No need to call attention to herself. The pearls and the gold watch were in her minisafe in the apartment.

“Forty dollars. If you’d waited till tomorrow, you could have gotten the weekend special.”

“How much is that?”

“Thirty-five.” The girl blew a pink bubble and popped it.

“Yeah, well. I need a place to stay tonight.”

“Smoking or nonsmoking?”

“Non,” said Rose.

“How you gonna pay? If it’s cash you can’t have a key to the minibar or connect the phone. For that we need a card, OK?”

“Sure,” said Rose. She handed one over.

“Awright,” said the girl. “Here’s the minibar key, sign here.” She pushed over two keys. “This one is for your room, number sixty-eight on the sixth floor, elevators is over there. Need help with your bags?”

Rose glanced at the leering doorman. “Um, no thanks.”

“Enjoy your stay,” the girl said automatically, turning back to her magazine.

“Oh,” said Rose, “I will.”

She took her overnight case to the elevators. There were three of them. The lobby was quite small and somewhat gloomy; it had a bad case of Seventies carpeting. Why had people ever thought orange and brown was a good color combination? Rose wondered. The walls were white, but covered with that ugly textured paint. Very depressing.

It excited Rose. The windows were large. She imagined the place repainted, smooth-white, with a plain beige carpet, some plants and statuary. Maybe a water feature. They were cheap to run, easy to maintain, and looked fantastic. She glanced at the elevator when it arrived. It was brass.

The sixth floor was more of the same. Hallways were a little narrow; well, you couldn’t have everything. She walked to the end of hers and looked out of the grimy window. Residential area, lots of traffic. Not a problem for what she wanted to do. There was a parking lot, that was very important, and some browning grass at the front. It was never going to be Park Avenue.

The key was figuring out what people needed in the price bracket. Clean and safe would sell here. It wouldn’t cost a lot to fence the place in with ten-foot-high industrial fencing, and put a guardhouse at the gate.

New York was a dangerous city. Security would sell.

Rose opened up her room and shut the door behind her. The doors were heavy, with double locks, chains, and fish-eye peepholes. They could stay.

Breathless with anticipation, she glanced around.

Oh, man. This was perfect.

A queen-size bed was perched on a raised area, about two feet up from the living room. There was a large living area with a kitchenette. Of course, it was filthy; peeling paint, debris in the kitchen, probably infested with roaches. A bluebottle fly was buzzing lazily and hopelessly around the windows, and the bedside table was dusty.

But the fundamentals were there. Seven-fifty in the square footage. A decent-sized bathroom. Big built-in closets, and light from large windows.

Rose picked up the phone by her bed and punched zero.

“Yeah?”

“This room is kind of dusty,” Rose said. “Got any other ones?”

She heard the receptionist bristle. “It was cleaned this morning.”

“I think I’d like another room,” Rose said.

“I don’t know if I got any.” The girl was hostile now.

“You didn’t look all that busy to me. Plus I’d like something bigger.”

“All the rooms are exactly the same size. Exactly,” the receptionist snapped. “Except on the top floor, they’re bigger, but they’re the honeymoon suites and they cost, like, hundreds of dollars. You can have one if you want. Do you want one for hundreds of dollars?”

“No, that’s OK,” said Rose.

“Thank you,” said the girl, with a long-suffering air.

Rose checked the place out. She ran the shower, noted the water pressure. There wasn’t much to do.

She had an instinct about property. This was the one. This would make her.

Five minutes later, Rose picked up her overnight case and rode the elevator back downstairs.

“Here.” She handed both keys to the receptionist.

“You can’t just change your mind,” the girl said defensively. She glanced at the doorman to see if he was blaming her for this.

“Your service is dire, your rooms are filthy,” Rose told her. She looked at her nametag. “Tracy. Nobody cleaned the kitchen or changed the sheets on my bed. Do you want to be a receptionist forever?”

Tracy stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Because if you don’t, you could always go to your boss with some ideas. You know, like cleaning the place up. Or wearing a fresh uniform. That way you might not be going out of business. And you could get a promotion.”

“I’m gonna charge your credit card. You didn’t give me any notice.”

“That’s fine with me.” Rose gave her a wink. “It was worth it.”

She turned and walked out, and the receptionist stared after her.

“Weirdo,” she called.

Rose grinned.

*   *   *

Rose called George Benham the next day.

“Have you thought more about the hotel? The hospitality industry is up and coming—”

“I’m not interested in the hospitality industry. Can you set up a meeting with the owners?”

There was silence at the end of the phone.

“Maybe you should just make an offer.”

Rose blinked. Since when did George Benham go against anything she said?

“I want to do it in person, George.”

“But … but, Miss Fiorello…”

She got annoyed. “I don’t pay you to ask questions, George. Just set it up.”

He called back fifteen minutes later. “You got an appointment in Park Slope in Brooklyn in half an hour.”

“Half an hour! I can’t get myself together that fast. It will have to be—”

“That’s the only time he has to see you. If I were you, I’d take it. And Miss Fiorello, make sure to be very, very polite.”

*   *   *

She pulled up outside a nondescript brownstone with barely two minutes to spare. The neighborhood was rough; broken windowpanes in some of the houses, trash littering the gutters. The address Benham had given her was an island in the street. Its windows were intact, its step was swept clean, and the car parked right in front was a gleaming Cadillac.

There was a restaurant on the lower level, a trattoria. Rose looked around for the door that led up to the rest of the building, but couldn’t see it.

Benham had been so mysterious; she didn’t want to be late.

Rose pushed open the door to the restaurant. A little bell rang. The place was very clean, but somewhat gloomy; all dark wood paneling. It had tables with red checkerboard cloths and candles in empty Chianti bottles shrouded in straw.

It was half-past four. Too late for lunch, too early for dinner. But there were a few men sitting at some of the tables, drinking wine and coffee.

She felt conspicuous.

“Excuse me.” Rose walked up to the bartender. “I’m meant to meet someone in this building, but I can’t find the way upstairs…”

He didn’t look up from the glass he was polishing. “Who you meeting?”

“Vincent Salerni,” Rose said.

The man’s head snapped up. He looked her over, curiously.

“Wait there a second,” he said.

Rose stood at the bar while he lifted the partition and went over to the group of men sitting at the tables. He bent down deferentially and whispered in the ear of one of the men.

They all looked over toward her. Rose heard laughter. Then one of the smaller men shrugged.

The bartender straightened up and beckoned her over.

Rose walked across the restaurant. She felt herself straighten and shook out her hair as she went.

“This is Mr. Salerni,” he said.

Rose suddenly understood. Adrenaline flushed through her body, prickling on the palms of her hands. She felt herself dew with perspiration. She thanked God it was dark in here.

“You’re Rose Fiorello?”

The man’s eyes were intense. He was small and wiry, and very frightening. The huge-chested men who sat around him didn’t scare her half as much as Vincent Salerni did.

Salerni’s eyes swept her slim, young frame, with the usual male interest. In fact all the men were staring at her body in a way that made Rose incredibly self-conscious.

“Yes,” she said. “Piacere, Don Salerni.”

“You know me?”

Rose tried to control her racing heart. She forced herself to appear calm.

“No,” she said. “I worked it out.”

Salerni chuckled. His henchmen chuckled after him.

“You are Italian?”

“Yes, Don Salerni.”

“And you are here on behalf of a husband? A boyfriend?”

The dark, piggish eyes were keen with interest.

“No, Don Salerni. For myself, alone. I—I wish to do business with you.”

“So I was told.” He spoke to a lieutenant without moving his head. “Get the young lady a seat.”

A bull-necked man pulled a seat up at the table for Rose. She sat down, feeling very small, very conspicuous in the crowd of men. Her father would have forbidden her to ever get involved with these people. Her mother would be terrified to see her here.

But Rose had come. It was too late now.

She had to be very, very careful.

Rose lowered her eyes. “My respects, Don Salerni. I wish to apologize for arriving improperly dressed.”

Salerni gave a surprised grunt of approval.

“I did not want to seem conspicuous at your hotel. And when I told my man to set up an appointment with the owner—”

“Your man?” Salerni laughed.

Rose shrugged, in the way she had seen the men do. “He wets his beak on my deals.”

Salerni’s eyes danced.

“He told me I could not be late. So I had no time to change.”

“You want to buy the hotel?”

“I do. It cannot be of interest to you, Don Salerni. It makes no money…”

“I have uses for everything I own. The Rego Park hotel handles a lot of cash.” He was telling her he used it to launder money. “And it is a convenient place for a man who may not want to be at home.”

A love nest for Mafiosis and their bits on the side? Rose blinked.

“Pardon me, Don Salerni, but I would not have thought the Rego Park was good enough for the second mode of use.”

“You haven’t seen the penthouse suites,” Salerni said mildly. “Why are you asking these questions? You are a young girl. You cannot do business with us. You have no idea what you are asking.”

“With your permission—” Rose said. She opened her briefcase and produced a slim file. “I have been investing since I was eighteen. I own nine buildings, thirty-one units—”

“You?”

“Yes, sir,” Rose said, respectfully.

“Your family is in real estate?”

“No. Just me.”

“Humph.” Salerni glanced over her figures. “You have done well for yourself.”

“I would like to do a little better. I can make more use of that hotel than you, Don Salerni. I understood the business was on the market, but I don’t want the business. I want the building.”

“To do what with it?”

“To convert it to condominiums,” Rose said truthfully. Lies to Salerni could get her dead. “Of course, I would use your people to do the work. And I can provide you with another cash business as part of the deal.” She thought about it. “Benham has a Chinese restaurant for sale. Then, as to the matter of the suites, I would, of course, retain one floor for your exclusive use, Don Salerni. Free of charge. Just permit me a month to outfit it to the proper standards.”

Now they were all staring at her.

“How will you cover the cost of the work?”

“I will sell what I own and do a 1028 tax-deferred exchange,” Rose said. “Of course, I cannot offer you your asking price.” She named a sum that was 30 percent below Benham’s quote.

Salerni laughed uproariously.

“Salud,” he said, when he had finished wiping away tears of laughter. He raised his glass of anisette to Rose. “You are a brave little girl. You should have been a man.”

“That would have been a waste of all this,” Rose said flirtatiously, tossing her long, dark hair.

He laughed again. “True, bellissima. But you are brave. Still, one does not bargain with Don Vincent Salerni.” The piercing eyes glittered. “I am not angry.”

Fortunately for you hung in the air unspoken.

A fresh mist of perspiration dewed Rose’s brow. “I do not wish to waste your time, sir.”

“Good.” Salerni reached over and laid a claw-like hand on her knee. Rose fought with every ounce of will not to shrink from his touch. Salerni was like an animal; she knew he could smell fear. “Then you get to walk out of here intact, no?”

“But,” Rose said; her voice sounded very small, but she could not stop herself, “I can make up the deficit to you by using your firm to do the work. Then, with the profits, I will buy more buildings all over the city. And of course, I will work with Don Salerni’s people exclusively.”

He did not reply, and she hurriedly got up to leave.

“Don Salerni, I am twenty-one years old and I already have more than a million dollars. I know this is small stuff to you. But if you will consider doing me this favor, I will be able to repay your generosity in the future.” Her voice was almost a whisper now. “Many times over.”

One of the goons stood up and folded his muscular arms across his chest. Despite the expensive suit, she could see the hard brawn of his biceps. Butcher’s arms.

Rose muttered, “Good-bye, Don Salerni,” and fled.

*   *   *

Outside, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small linen handkerchief, dabbing the sweat from her brow as she walked to her car. Her heart was beating wildly. Man, she was dumb. Thinking she could negotiate with a scorpion.

Please God, may she not have offended him.

Rose parked the car near her own apartment. She had managed to calm down. She might have annoyed Salerni, but surely she had been as humble as a peasant petitioning a prince. Which in a way, she had been.

It was terrifying, but Rose forced herself to be logical. He wasn’t going to hurt her. Not if she did not bother him again, anyway. All she had lost was Rego Park.

And that had been a stretch, anyway. She wasn’t even thirty. Who was she to start doing big-time deals? Donald Trump in a skirt? She should go a little slower, buy some more four-families …

Rose ran a bath and poured in some L’Occitane lavender bath oils. Great clouds of fragrant steam rose up and filled her room. She peeled off the T-shirt and jeans and stepped into the warm, comforting water.

The phone trilled.

“Damn it,” Rose swore. She jumped out, dripping, grabbed a towel and padded into her living room. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for a Rose Fiorello,” said a haughty voice.

Rose clenched her fist. Yess! It was Don Salerni, calling her back! He was going to do the deal with her! It was all going to happen!

“It’s Rose,” she said.

“This is Ella Brown in Jacob Rothstein’s office,” said the voice.

“Hi,” Rose replied, not bothering to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“We understood you applied for an internship with Rothstein Realty. I’m happy to tell you that your application has been accepted. You’ll be starting in the office of Mr. Richard White. Arrive at reception at eight-thirty sharp on Monday morning. Interns do not have parking privileges. Smart business dress is required. Any failure to arrive on time or arrival in incorrect attire will result in your termination as an intern with Rothstein Realty. Is this clear?”

Rose trembled with annoyance.

“Perfectly.”

“Good, then we’ll see you at eight-thirty on Monday.”

Ella hung up without further pleasantries.

Rose stumbled back into her bath. It was still nice and warm, but she couldn’t enjoy it. She lay there wondering if Jake had listened to that conversation. How he must love having her as a supplicant.

Yeah, well. Not for long.

This was the second step toward her vengeance, Rose thought. The first had been to establish herself, get a little money. Now she had to move up to the majors. And learn how to destroy Rothstein at the same time.

Rego Park hadn’t come off, but it wouldn’t be the only deal in the world. To find deals like that, you needed to be where the action was.

Rothstein Realty.

Rose thought of her father. She needed to call him, to go back to her parents, have dinner, remind herself why she was doing this. So she didn’t get distracted by Jacob. A pair of predator’s eyes, a square jaw, and a well-built chest … she couldn’t let it stand in her way.

He was an arrogant fuck. She was going to destroy him.