Enemies Closer

Eleni

I stare at the scene around me in something between surprise and horror.

This is Dante’s backyard. I look up and see his house looming over the party. But instead of the yard being filled with gunfire or hushed conversation, classic rock blares from a pair of speakers. Dante himself stands at the grill, flipping burgers and nursing a light beer I’ve never seen him drink before. Tony and a couple other capos hold court by the grill. A few East Asian men Dante warned me when they walked in were representatives of the triads chat with some Saints soldiers. Cal Duncan stands alone by the pool, holding a bottle of dark beer he brought and surveying the scene. I turn away, toward the platter of watermelon salad—whatever the fuck that is—before his gaze can alight on me. Still, it looks like something out of a coming-of-age movie, not a tense meeting between some of the most dangerous men in New York City.

The only concession to normalcy is the color palette of Dante’s outfit. Sure,