I was surprised when I got to the Bertoli mansion. I expected that the Don would want to meet with me, if only to pass along his sympathies about my injury, but when I got there, instead of meeting him in his office, he came out and greeted me on the steps.

"Dante, it’s good to see you," he said, clapping me on both shoulder. I was shocked, it was literally a public endorsement of me in front of everyone. "Come in, my boy. I have a surprise for you."

I looked at Tomasso, who'd driven me from the clinic, but he just gave me an overly innocent look and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, it’s a good surprise,” The Don said.

We crossed the foyer and went to the dining room, flooring me when I walked in. The room, which previously had been dominated by a gigantic wooden table, was totally empty, save for the chandelier which still hung overhead. The floor was freshly waxed, and gleamed mellowly in the afternoon sunlight. "What do you think?"

"Uhm, well, it's a bit . . . Spartan, sir," I said, trying to guess what the Don had in mind. "Are you getting a new table?"

"Nope. This is going to be one of your training spots for the next six weeks."

"Dad and I watched video of Regionals," Tomasso said, speaking up when he saw I was still wondering what the hell he was talking about, "and this is probably a better floor to practice on than Carmen’s studio."

I rubbed my chin, not knowing what else to do. “I don’t know what to say. That’s generous of you. Thank you.”

“Save your thanks for the rest," Don Bertoli commented, pointing. "Follow me."

We stopped in front of a door upstairs in the servant's wing, gesturing for me to open it. I turned the knob, again confused when I saw a plain bedroom.

“For the next seven weeks, this is your bedroom” Tomasso explained, chuckling.

“Normally I’d just say you deserve some time to rest and recover, but I have a feeling that’s an order you’d refuse. So everything you need will be taken care of. Starting today, for the next seven weeks, you are a professional athlete in training camp. Like Marciano in the Catskills. Good luck, my boy."

The Don turned and walked away, and I looked at Tomasso. “This is too much," I said, leaning against the door frame. "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you just by accepting this."

"Dante, you probably saved my life. If you ask me, it’s not enough. Besides, you have your work cut out for you. This isn’t going to be a cushy seven weeks of rest and relaxation. Rest up today, because tomorrow . . . welcome to hell."

* * *

I quickly found the truth in Tomasso's words, as starting the next day, I started a schedule that made my initial boot camp feel like a walk in park. Waking up at five thirty, I showered and shaved, before I drove down to Dreamstyle Dance. From six thirty until nine, we worked on our routines, reviewing the dances we might face in the wildcard round. The new compulsory round was an East Coast Swing, while the wildcards were the same as before. At least we had that in our favor. But I was worried about some of the moves in the East Coast Swing pattern, as I had to be able to twirl and lift Carmen with just my right hand.

The first practice of the day ended at eight, and we'd spend an hour watching tape or working on non-physical preparation. After that, we’d go back to the Bertoli mansion, having breakfast together and starting practice number two at ten thirty. From there until one in the afternoon, when Carmen had to leave to go to work and teach classes at Dreamstyle, we did various practice, sometimes working on our routines, sometimes going over other parts. We watched and re-watched the videos of our Regional performances, walking through each mistake over and over until I could do the whole routine with my eyes closed.

"What about watching our competitors?" I asked one day as we were taking a water break. "You know, like a team watching tape on their opponents?"

"Dance is different," Carmen replied. “The other couples have no direct effect on what we do out there, watching them isn't going to be helpful. I'm more worried about the head games they'll play. We didn't have that a lot in Las Vegas, I think because we were too deep in our own heads, and the field was too big."

"Well, except for the guy who hit on me," I grumbled, and Carmen laughed.

"Next time make sure your pants have a padded codpiece just in case," she teased me. "But I figure at least one team there is going to be trying to play the head game. Dancers can be total bitches, you know."

"You don't say?" I teased, earning me a towel in the face. "See what I mean?"

* * *

Once Carmen left, I took in my third meal of the day, and started on the next phase of my training. I worked on my right hand grip strength, and I spent at least thirty minutes a day working with rubber balls, grippers, and other devices on top of weightlifting and calisthenics to strengthen my hand and body. "The problem is, you aren't quite crippled enough," Daniel joked with me while I squeezed the rubber ball, holding it for a five count before letting it relax, only to repeat it after another five count. "If you'd just gotten another finger shot off, you could have applied for a competitive dispensation, and allowed you and Carmen to switch to a left handed position."

"I'm having enough problems learning all this doing it right handed," I grumbled, groaning as I squeezed again. "If I had to re-learn everything left handed, I'd end up on my ass.”

"Now, three more, and we get to go to work on those love handles."

Daniel was joking, of course, as I had gone from athletic to ripped, dropping all the way down to a hundred and seventy pounds. I had deep striations in my arms, calves and legs, the product of not just dancing and strength training, but enough wind sprints and high intensity intervals that I lost count of how many times I puked on the grass in the back yard.

All told, I spent eight hours a day doing physical work for the dance competition. Carmen and Luisa both insisted I get at least nine hours of sleep a night, which left me seven hours a day to do what I wanted.

Three days before we were scheduled to fly to New York, I was surprised again. Carmen scheduled a light practice for us, just walk throughs and mental rehearsal along with a twenty-minute run through of the waltz before calling it a day. "Okay, let's shut it down," she said, wiping her forehead even though there was no sweat there. "We're ready."

"Are you sure?" I asked, the sudden idleness making me nervous. "What about the changeover in the Swing, or the . . ."

Carmen shut me up by grabbing my face and pulling me in to a kiss, a gesture we were sharing more often than ever. "Now that you've shut up, the answer is yes, we are ready. Our routines are as solid as we can make them, the only thing that'd happen if we kept pushing the envelope would be that we get into our own heads, which I take the blame for last time. That, and we'd increase the risk of injury. So chill out, get your bag, and let’s go. You need a rub down and a nice soak in the hot tub. I've already arranged for someone else to take over classes for the rest of the week, or canceled them outright, so I'm free all day. Come on."

We drove back to the mansion, and I was again surprised when I walked in to find a banner strung up across the stairs to the second floor. "Happy Birthday?"

"Well, yeah," Carmen replied, hugging me. "Did you really think we'd let your birthday go by without celebrating it? Happy twenty-seventh, Dante. Come on, the rest of the group is in the dining room. They all agreed to let me give you the first greeting.

Carmen was correct, with the entire Bertoli family waited in the dining room, the table having been brought back in from the garage. "I swear, if you ever want to do another competition, I'm just going to rent you guys a warehouse or something," Angelo, the Don’s youngest son, griped as he shook my hand. "It's easier than carrying this heavy thing."

We feasted, chocolate and tiramisu cake, and at the end, amid much clapping from everyone, I danced with all three of the Bertoli women, Luisa being last, while Carmen danced with the men.

"You planned this whole thing, didn't you?" I asked Luisa as we circled, just relaxing, nothing too complicated. "It has your fingerprints all over it."

"You’re family," Luisa replied, giving me a smile. "As is Carmen. Happy birthday."