Maggie
Maggie walked down the steps, heading for the kitchen. Her stomach was grumbling, and the worst part was that she knew it still would be, no matter what she chose to eat. None of the food her mother approved of—seeds, hardboiled egg whites, salads with no dressing—was actually filling, and trying to sneak a mouthful or two of unapproved food would be futile. Her mother watched the contents of the fridge and the pantry like a hawk, and whenever there was less of anything than there should be, she made sure Maggie was punished for it. The few times Maggie had tried to smuggle in snacks, Amelia immediately found them and confiscated them. Sometimes she even ate them herself in front of Maggie, just to torture her.
Maggie hated always feeling hungry.
As she passed the door to her father's private study, she heard the phone ring twice. Her mother answered, exchanged a few quiet words with the caller, and called out, “Turo, it's for you!”
The door to the study opened slightly, and Turo's voice emanated from it. “Did they say who it is, or am I supposed to guess?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. They'd installed a state-of-the-art intercom system a few years before, but her parents still insisted on yelling to each other from across the house like something out of a damn sitcom.
“Robby Nickels from Dallas,” her mother hollered. “He says he's Old Man Moretti's consigliere.”
“Robby who?” her father shouted. “Old Man what? Who are these people?”
“I don't know, but he says you know him, and he says he wants to talk to you. Are you going to pick up the phone or not?”
“Fine, fine, I'll take the call in here,” Turo snapped. He stepped away from the door, but left it ajar instead of closing it like he usually did when a call came in for him.
Maggie stood in the downstairs hall for a moment, thinking about how the open door gave her a rare chance to listen in on the conversation. Turo frequently took calls from other gangsters in his study, and he usually put them on speakerphone so he could pace as he talked. Maggie had never cared about his business or anything associated with it, so she generally wasn't interested in eavesdropping.
But she also knew this call might be about her—another hopeful matchmaker from another rotten crime family, trying to arrange a marriage between her and yet another self-important punk. If she listened in, she might have a better idea of what she'd be dealing with on her next date.
She crept over to the door, keeping her body pressed against the wall to stay out of sight. She felt silly, and she knew if her mother or father caught her spying, she'd be in big trouble. But she couldn't resist. She was tired of having no knowledge of—or control over—her own life.
Maggie heard her father clear his throat and hit the button on his desk phone. “This is Turo Ricci. Who am I speaking with, please?”
A voice answered, sounding stilted and formal. “Don Ricci, it is truly an honor to speak with you. Thank you for taking my call. I hope I have not disturbed you. I'm not sure if you remember me—we met briefly at the thing in Vegas a couple of years ago. My name is Robert Nickelson, and I have the privilege of acting as advisor to the Moretti family in Dallas.”
Good lord, Maggie thought. This guy sure isn't big on brevity.
“And why are you calling me, Mr. Nickelson? Surely, if your boss has business to discuss with me, he can speak with me himself. Unless, of course, he feels I'm unworthy of his time, in which case—”
“I can assure you, Don Ricci, my employer has the utmost respect for you. However, the matter I'm contacting you about...well, it doesn't actually involve Mr. Moretti. It's an unrelated matter, one in which I've been asked to act as a sort of go-between between you and another party.”
“And I can assure you, sir,” Turo countered testily, “that nothing robs me of the inclination to trust my fellow man more than vague nonsense and murky phrases like 'another party.' If you're trying to conduct some kind of business behind your boss's back, that doesn't sound like anything I'd want to be involved in.”
“My deepest apologies, Don Ricci,” Robert said quickly. “I feel I've done a poor job of stating my intentions. If I seem as though I'm being furtive in this matter, I'm sorry. I promise you nothing about this situation is untoward or inappropriate, or counter to my employer's interests in any way. It's simply that there are certain factors which demand a high degree of discretion. Actually, that's the reason I've been asked to contact you specifically. The, uh, other interested party has heard of your impeccable code of ethics, and feels you alone can be trusted to protect his interests in this delicate matter.”
Maggie smiled. Whoever this person was, he clearly knew the right way to approach Turo—by appealing to his vanity and his self-image as a “man of principle.” It seemed like this call wasn't about setting her up with anyone, but she figured she may as well hear the rest of it.
She heard her father sigh, then chuckle wearily. “All right, Mr. Nickelson. You got me to ante up, and you've gotten me to see your raise. Well done. But now I think it's time for you to show your cards, don't you? And please, resist the urge to start every sentence with 'Don Ricci.' Your respect is noted. There's no need to gild the lily, so to speak.”
“Unfortunately, as I've said, this is a matter of tremendous secrecy. And since men in our position often find our lines of communication...compromised, shall we say, by certain government agencies, I believe it would be best for us to go over the details in person. Are you available for a meeting tomorrow evening? I can make myself available at your convenience, naturally, as can the interested party.”
“Very well,” Turo agreed. “Meet me at The Azalea Room at seven o'clock. And Mr. Nickelson?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If this turns out to be some sort of setup, I can guarantee you that when I'm done punishing you, I'll move on to everyone you've ever cared about. Do we understand each other?”
“Certainly,” Robert said. Despite the threat, Maggie thought he actually sounded relieved. “And thank you for this opportunity, Don...sir. You won't regret it.”
Maggie heard the call end and scuttled away from the door. She was relieved this wasn't another attempt to set her up, even though she knew that would certainly be happening again soon anyway.
She thought about proceeding to the kitchen, then decided to return to her room instead. None of the food options available to her sounded appetizing anyway. If she could force herself to take a nap, maybe that would make her hunger go away, if only for a little while.