It
was the dress that captured Salvatore Russo’s attention, even before he noticed
the vixen wearing it. It was a deep blue with a slight shimmer that went well
with her red-orange fur and somehow played nice with her chocolate stocking
markings. But the color hadn’t caught the wolf’s attention: it was the large
straps that covered almost her entire shoulders. Almost all of the other females
at the ball had theirs bare. The wolf watched her from the second floor landing
as she moved around the foyer doubling as a ballroom, chatting with other
guests and obtaining a drink from a passing server. She stood out, even in the
crowd of often taller species in the massive entry to his home— the blue dress
standing out among the sea of black tuxes and cocktail dresses. It wasn’t her
looks that held Russo’s attention on her— although she was quite stunning— but
the fact that he couldn’t place her. And when you were in charge of one of New
York’s biggest bootlegging operations
that was a problem. He sniffed on instinct, but it was no use— with all the
other people in the ballroom and the residual odors of the cleaning that
afternoon, he couldn’t catch her scent. Russo motioned to his head of security,
Tony.

“Who’s
the dame, Tony?” Russo asked the bigger wolf, just loud enough to be heard over
the string quartet playing in the corner.

“Name’s
Sam,” the other replied after picking out who his boss was referring to. “Came
in on th shoulder ‘o Caprio.”

“Where
the hell’d that filthy yote find a date like that?” Russo snorted as he watched
her for another minute. He sniffed. “You check her out?”

“Got
a pat down as she came in,” Tony assured him. “Cap raised a fuss about his lady
bein’ harassed, but she didn’t say nothin’ an boys didn’t find nothin’.”

Russo
continued to watch the vixen, noting that she had managed to ditch her date, at
least for the moment. Caprio was on the other side of the ballroom, chatting up
a couple of the local politicians Russo had invited. He was well aware that the
fool coyote had an eye on taking a piece of Russo’s action in the area—a flea
bitten Sejanus to his Tiberius. Annoying, but nothing more than that as long as
he was watched. But something about that fox was raising his hackles. Tony gave
him a sidelong glance.

“You
want we should have a talk with her?”

“No.”
Russo said after a long moment of thought, his fur flattening. “Just keep an
eye on her.”

Tony
nodded, and moved away while Russo leaned against the balcony railing and
surveyed his kingdom guarded by the white marble gods of Rome.

*

Down
on the ballroom floor, Sam sipped her drink and forced herself not to look up
at the balcony. She sighed at herself, a sound she hoped would be lost in the
hum of conversation and music. Of course Rosso had noticed her—she knew there
was no avoiding that— but she hadn’t expected him to pick her out so soon. Her
whiskers twitched in frustration. This
was going to be more of a challenge, she thought. Of course, anything
dealing with one of New York’s biggest gangsters was going to be a challenge,
and Sam wasn’t just here for the party; she had other business with Russo tonight.

For
now though, she had to make sure that the wolf lost interest in her. Or, more
accurately that his interest remained casual. Almost all wolves she’d
encountered had an instinctive dislike of foxes. 

Unfortunately, the best way to
reach that level of attention again was to indulge her “escort” for a while. She
made a face and set her half empty glass on the tray of a passing server before
making her way back to where Caprio was chatting up a couple of stags that she
thought she recognized as councilmen. The coyote smiled at the pair and excused
himself when he noticed her approach.

“Hey
Sam. Bored already?” Caprio grinned and she could smell the whiskey on his
breath even over the numerous of other scents filling the ballroom. “Need your
coyote to keep you interested?”

“A
bit,” she replied in a sultry tone. She looked over at the band. “I bet no one
here dances like you do.”

“I bet not,” he agreed. “Shall we show
them how it’s done?” He bowed and held out a paw.

She
smiled back and took it. The quartet struck up a waltz that she recognized and she
pulled the coyote to the dance floor. He led her to the very center of the
floor, a compass design of various woods, and bowed to her before they began. Caprio
spun her confidently, moving through the steps with a grace belying his intoxication.

“Russo
noticed ya, didn’t he?” he whispered. He was doing an admirable job of keeping
his ears and tail still, but the twitch of his muzzle betrayed his nervousness.
He glanced over his shoulder at a bobcat couple dancing close to them.

“He
was going to notice eventually.” Sam scanned the crowded room as they twirled.
No one seemed interested in them. “It’s been prepared for.”

“Better
be,” he growled, covering his nerves with anger. “I wanted a fox for this job
for a reason. Never thought I’d have to trust a skirt with it. You just be all
clever and what not. Get it done.”

“I
will,” she soothed, letting the insult pass without comment. “Trust me.”

“Much
as you can trust a fox,” he huffed as he bowed to her at the end of the waltz.

Sam
curtsied back, as the dance demanded. She held back a sigh as her client took a
step towards the corridor that led to the bar. That was the thing about the
criminal world: they had somehow gotten it into their collective heads that
crime was a male only profession. Caprio hadn’t been happy when he’d found out
the thief he’d been recommended was a female. Of course, that was part of the
idea—the chauvinistic mafia wolves wouldn’t suspect a female.

“Just
don’t forget the job,” he said over his shoulder, just loud enough for her to
hear before he walked off.

“Yes,”
she muttered as she adjusted the hem on her dress and moved through the crowd
herself. The band hadn’t picked up another song, so the floor was once again
occupied by groups holding conversations. “Like I could just forget that I’m
supposed to rob the local mob boss at his monthly ball. All so he looks bad,
and the higher ups will put you in his place.”

She
moved to an open spot on the south wall under a bust of an Emperor she didn’t
recognize and sighed. Only long practice kept her ears and tail from twitching
in frustration at not having had time to come up with a complete plan. Still,
she had one—half of one, she knew her friend would say—but she had her own
reasons to take the job. She looked up at the massive chandelier hanging two
stories above her and suddenly decided she was tired of the light and the
noise.

Fully
aware she was being watched, Sam glided out of the noisy ballroom, a little
ways down the west wing, and into the relative quiet of the library. The room
wasn’t as bright as the ballroom, lit only by a few electric lights on the
wall. Better still, it was carpeted, so the constant click of claws and hooves on
bare wood was gone. It was also cooler without the crowd generating so much
heat. The piney aroma of the shelves and the dusty leather of the books relaxed
her, and were a welcome change after the excess of scents in the ballroom. Only
a few others occupied the room, chatting in the corners to not force themselves
on those that came into the room seeking solitude. Busts of the Roman authors
Livy and Seneca glared down at Sam as she pretended to study the bookshelves while
remembering the floorplan of the house.

Russo
had set up shop in a historic mansion, a huge “t” of a house built by a wealthy
merchant about a decade before the Revolution. The age of the house meant
instant respect for the wolf, who seemed obsessed with respect and Ancient
Rome, but it also meant that the floor plans were available for those with the
energy to track them down.

Sam’s
ears and tail twitched in thought. If she was correct, Russo’s office was on
the second floor halfway down the leg of the “t” and, judging from the new
construction on that part of the house, his small vault was likely attached.
From what Sam had seen of the mansion as Caprio had given her a tour of the
gardens on their way in, the walls and roof had been reinforced. She sighed. It
was going to be difficult to get into the vault without a complete plan,
something she hadn’t come up with yet. She had a plan, of course, but with Russo already aware of her existence
and questioning if he liked it, it had gotten that much more difficult. She let
her eyes trace over the bookshelves as she continued to ponder her options. The
conversations went silent a moment before the scent hit her. It took effort to
not stiffen or fold her ears.

“Caprio
never was good at showing a lady a good time,” Russo said from behind her. “Someone
of class should have warned you. Then he wouldn’t have bored you so quickly.”

She
turned and smiled, prepared to face the host. Sure enough, there he stood in a
black tux and green cummerbund that matched his bow tie and brought out his green
eyes. It was those eyes that set him apart—aside from them he was like every
other gray wolf. But in his eyes, there was the hunger and malice that showed just
how dangerous he was. Russo’s ears twitched as he approached her and Sam saw
the other guests begin to drift out of the room. The only one that remained
close was a slender raccoon in the cheap tux of a server.

“It
would have been nice,” she replied. “But this lovely home could provide enough
distractions to keep a lady occupied.”

“What’s
Caprio up to?” Russo asked, his head tilted in disdain.

Sam
glanced up at him. His ears up, tail still, scent determined; she could tell Russo
had marked her as a problem, if not an actual threat. Got to do something Sam if you’re going to do the job tonight. And you
need to do it quick.

“The
last time I saw him, he was sweet talking a couple of bucks from the city
council,” she soothed as her ears flicked in thought. “Probably trying to get
some tax breaks for his jerk shops.”

“Really
now?” The smirk he gave her was small, but exposed one of his fangs. Mentioning
Caprio’s soda shops was a calculated risk, as Russo moved a good deal of harder
drinks through them.

Sam’s
thoughts raced. She had only one shot at this and if she set a paw wrong, being
watched for the entire evening and having to scrub the job would be the least
of her worries. She’d seen the limps, the slings, the torn ears, the bruises
and missing fur in the bars the mob populated. Russo’s doing, they said. He’s
smart, and dangerous. We’re lucky. We didn’t go missing. She took a step
towards the wolf, the beginning of a new scheme forming in her mind. It would
be dangerous, but if it worked it would get her out from under both Russo and
Caprio.

“Besides.
Why should I stay with him? There’s such a handsome host to get to know.”

“Stop
it,” he said with a hint of frost in his tone. “I ain’t buying it, fox. You
know damn well who I am. So you know I ain’t gonna play that game.”

“No.
I suppose not. You’re right, I knew you weren’t the type to fall for a lady’s
charms.”

“There’s
two ways to take that,” he said with an even tone. “One way, and you ain’t
gonna be swishing anymore.”