Chapter 3: Training Day
The uniform felt like a costume designed by a sadist. The black dress was shorter than anything Maria had ever owned, the fabric thin and stretchy, clinging to her hips and thighs. The stockings whispered against her skin as she walked, a constant, alien reminder. She’d put it on in a bathroom stall at the club, her own clothes folded neatly in her bag like a shed skin. The girl in the mirror was a stranger—all leg and wide, anxious eyes.
The Gilded Veil in daylight was a different beast. Harsh fluorescent lights exposed everything the night’s glamour hid: the sticky patches on the dark floors, the scuffs on the velvet banquettes, the faint smell of stale alcohol and industrial-strength cleaner underneath the signature sandalwood scent. It was empty, hollow.The silence echoed.
She found the main bar where a guy and a girl were setting up. The guy was wiry, with tattooed forearms and a practiced, effortless motion as he sliced limes.The woman was polishing glasses, her movements precise and bored.
“Hey,” Maria said, her voice too loud in the quiet.“I’m Maria.First day. Training.”
The guy looked up, his eyes doing a quick, appraising sweep from her heels to her face.A slow smile spread.“Joe.And that’s Sarah. You’re the new one Luca hired personally, right?”
The way he said it made her cheeks warm. “I guess so.”
Sarah didn’t look up from her glass.“Rachel’s doing training. She’s in the back counting stock.She hates it. So don’t piss her off.”
As if summoned, a woman emerged from a doorway behind the bar. Rachel was the human embodiment of the club’s aesthetic—severe beauty, all sharp angles and cool detachment. Her own uniform dress looked like it had been painted on, and her blonde hair was a perfect, icy sheet. Her eyes, a pale blue, landed on Maria and didn’t warm.
“You’re late.”
“The email said 4 p.m.,” Maria said, checking her phone reflexively. “It’s 3:58.”
Rachel’s expression didn’t change. “Here, early is on time.On time is late.Follow me.” She turned without waiting.
Maria shot a glance at Joe, who gave her a sympathetic shrug.Sarah just kept polishing.
The training was less instruction and more a series of whispered threats. Rachel moved through the empty club with a predatory grace, pointing with a manicured finger.“VIP section.You don’t go there unless called. You don’t make eye contact with the guests there unless they speak to you first. You don’t ask questions. You bring the drinks, you place them quietly, you leave.”
“What if they need something else?”
“They’ll tell you.” Rachel stopped by a bank of mirrors, their reflection staring back: Rachel, cool and perfected; Maria, looking like a kid playing dress-up. “Your job is to be a ghost.Pleasant.Invisible. You hear nothing, you see nothing, you remember nothing.This isn’t a tea party. The men here… they aren’t here for conversation.”
The subtext was clear.This was the underbelly. This was exactly what she’d come for. But standing there in the stupid dress, under Rachel’s disdainful gaze, the mission felt ludicrously naive. How was she supposed to uncover criminal secrets if she was training to be a piece of furniture?
They passed the door to Luca’s office.It was closed.Maria felt a stupid pang of disappointment.Of course he wasn’t here. He was probably off doing whatever high-level mobsters did in the afternoon.Counting illicit cash. Ordering hits.The image was cartoonish, but the closed, dark wood door felt forbidding.
Back at the main bar, Rachel demonstrated how to open a bottle of Dom Pérignon. “Twist, don’t pop. The sound is for amateurs and weddings.” Her hands were swift, silent.“Now you.”
Maria’s hands were clumsy, her palms damp. The cork came out with a faint, pathetic sigh.Rachel looked like she’d tasted something sour.
“You’ll break three bottles before you get it right. Comes out of your tips.” She leaned closer, her perfume a cold blast of gardenia.“Let’s be clear. I don’t know why Luca hired you.You don’t fit.You think too much. It’s all over your face.That’s a liability here. Liabilities get cut.”
The words were a direct echo of Luca’s warning in his office.Kill the truth in your eyes. Maria forced her expression into a neutral mask, trying to project a blankness she didn’t feel. “I’m a fast learner.”
Rachel snorted. “We’ll see.”
The next two hours were a blur of minutiae: the precise number of olives in a martini (three, never two), how to signal security without being obvious (drop a napkin, pick it up with your left hand), which regulars tipped in cash only and expected absolute discretion. Joe chimed in occasionally with a helpful tip, his friendliness a stark contrast to Rachel’s frost. Sarah remained silent, a quiet, observing presence.During a lull, Joe slid a glass of water to Maria. “Don’t let Rachel scare you. She’s like that with everyone until you prove you won’t steal from the register or hook up with the clients in the bathroom.”
Maria took the water, grateful. “Is that a common problem?”
“You’d be surprised.” He wiped the bar, not looking at her.“This place… it warps people.The money, the vibe. It makes regular folks feel like kings, and kings feel like gods. Makes you forget who you are out there, you know?”
Forget who you are out there. Luca’s words again, creeping back.She was trying to remember who she was, not forget. “Do you like working here?”
Joe’s smile turned enigmatic.“It pays the bills. And the show is never boring.” He nodded towards the front. “Speaking of the show.”
The main doors opened, splashing the dark interior with a slice of late afternoon sun. Luca Vitale walked in, flanked by two men who moved with a contained, alert energy. He was talking on his phone, his voice a low, assured rumble that carried across the empty space. He’d traded his suit jacket for a dark, tailored sweater, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. He looked both intensely focused and completely at home.Rachel immediately straightened, her cold demeanor shifting into something attentive, almost eager. Joe became suddenly busy with a bottles.Maria felt her heart kick against her ribs. She wanted to look away, to be the ghost, but she was rooted.
Luca finished his call, slipping the phone into his pocket