Chapter 6

“Let's go.” Nick looks at me as if he needs my permission to get out of the car. He senses how stressed I am about this. It might be the solution to all our old problems, but I have a feeling it's also the beginning of a whole new set of issues.

A valet comes to get the keys to our car. My eyes fall to the ground, and I instantly pick up the pace to go inside the building. That piece of junk should be lifted by the employees of a junkyard, not by a valet. Plus, I'm sure that Nick doesn't even tip the guy, so I'm not going to just stand there and die of secondhand embarrassment.

I walk through the revolving doors and step into the main lobby. Nick is close behind me, hurrying to take my hand. He catches it faster than I was expecting, just before another panic attack sets in.

I want to back down.

My body is about to go into overdrive and soon I’ll need a bag to breathe into. My lungs fill with air as I try to calm down, allowing a special scent to flow down my nostrils. I would recognize that fragrance anywhere. It’s the same cologne from that night in the gas station.

As I walk farther toward the elevator, I realize the entire building smells like it. The panic attack is somehow canceled out by the memory of the scent. I know it's a justified motive to take my crisis to a whole new level, but for some reason, my breathing calms, trying to drag that cologne as deeply into my lungs as I can.

Still, I tense up, holding Nick's hand. He never holds my hand, so I feel he’s doing it for a reason, trying to prove a point, and that scares me even more. It's like he's trying to protect me, but in reality, I feel I'm on my own this time.

We take the elevator up a few floors. Everything around us is glamorous, to say the least. What appear to be dozens of corridors lead in and out of the main lobby, and there are so many walk-through signs that I'm beginning to wonder if there's anything this building doesn't have. Casinos, pools, kids' playgrounds, entertainment halls, restaurants, spas, gentlemen's clubs—the list could go on forever.

The theme of the place seems to be ancient Egypt. I'm not surprised given that it's called The Sphinx. I don't know what's with people and ancient Egypt, but it's a common theme here in Vegas, which means it must bring in sales.

From what Nick told me, we're meeting Seth Malvagio in some kind of luxurious conference room. I don't even care about the place. I just want to get this over with.

Okay, I might have been mistaken there. As we get closer to the room, I realize, that I do care about this place. The lighting is much dimmer in this part of the building and despite the Egyptian theme visible all over the main floor, there's something else here too. The black wallpaper seems to be custom-made, with golden letters imprinted with passages from the Bible, hieroglyphs, Greek writings, and even some Celtic quotes.

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.

The letters arise imposingly in front of me.

It doesn't say who wrote it, but I know it's Oscar Wilde.

This quote used to be a way of giving myself hope in the past, and it seems I need hope in my life right now. Funny how it just popped in front of me at a time like this out of the hundreds of other writings on the walls.

As we walk farther down the hall, the writings are replaced by artwork. Demons and angels, painted directly on the walls in a modern view of what seems to be the Apocalypse. Then the Greeks follow, giving praise to the gods by building a temple in their honor, and at the end of the hall stands a ceiling-high Anubis statue plated in pure gold.

This shit must have cost some real money.

In front of this strange depiction of cultures, a man stands behind a small glass desk. “Please, wait inside, Mr. Malvagio will be with you shortly,” the man says, leaving his desk and opening the door at the end of the hallway to let us in.

The room maintains a strange mixture of styles from the hallway. All so different, yet all fitting together like they are telling the same story. It's something apocalyptic, something you should fear but can't really avoid.

Nick doesn't seem bothered with any of this. He walks next to a small bar and opens a crystal decanter of whiskey to pour himself a glass like it's from his own supply.

The man who let us in, remains in the room waiting for Mr. Malvagio with us, probably to make sure Nick won't steal anything. There are a few pieces of art on display that even I wouldn't trust him with, especially with the casino tempting him downstairs.

Without warning, I feel my fear kicking in again. Maybe it's because of the place or just that I'm starting to go insane, but I'm suddenly struggling for air.

Things used to be so much easier with Michael around. He was the one who dealt and negotiated with these kinds of scumbags. All I needed to do was to show up and break into the damn safe. I never needed to know the well-past-their-fifties mobsters smoking their disgusting cigars as if they were some reinterpretation of the Godfather. I hope at least this one doesn't wear a hat.

“I need to go to the washroom,” my voice shaky, betraying just how much of a mess I’m becoming.

Obviously, Nick doesn't even seem to notice, being much too busy sipping as much as he can of what I'm sure is a really expensive whiskey. “Seriously, Serena? Can't you hold it until we're done here?”

Why was I even concerned about dealing with scumbags when I deal with one on a daily basis?

I don't even answer him, just leave the room trying to remember where I last saw a bathroom. I think it was down the hallway close to where we started.

There's no physiological need sending me there, just the urge to be alone for at least a second so I can calm myself down. I don't want to come off like a fucking deer caught in front of the headlights, but right now I feel that's exactly the vibe I'm giving off.

Thank God no one is around, just this fucking perfume pushing me to the edge of sanity. I want to loathe it so badly, but it does something to my senses. It melts them down, giving birth to an unexplained need to settle deep within my core. I don't even know what that need is for. But it’s something consuming, something that I'm starting to feel I wouldn't be able to live without soon.

I want to wash my face to calm my nerves, but it'll ruin my makeup. Instead, I brace both of my arms on the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. I'm trying to figure out how I ended up going from a definite no to being minutes away from accepting a deal that will change everything.

Shit, I'm hyperventilating, and I don't have a fucking clue how to stop myself. Trying not to think about it only makes me think about it even more, while the room seems to be getting smaller and smaller with every new thought that piles up in my mind.

I'm so glad right now I didn't have dinner, because I'm sure it would be coming back to say hi right now. Instead, there's a knot taking hold of my stomach, making me feel I could faint at any second. I don't even know what superhuman force still keeps me standing.

Despite all my organs threatening to collapse, I realize I’ve already spent too much time hiding in the bathroom. The only thing worse than a mobster is a pissed-off one, and I can't risk being the one who provokes that.

Trying not to fuck things up, I finally leave the bathroom, only to be greeted by my wrinkled reflection in a full-size mirror that’s standing a few feet further down the hallway.

I need to fix myself a little. I look just like I've been flushed out of the toilet, and if I can't fix the trembling in my limbs, at least I can do something with my hair. I straightened it right before I left the house, but it's beginning to curl from the heat. There's nothing much I can do except make a comb out of my fingers and try to tame the strands that make me look like I peed in a socket.

After considerable effort, I'm somehow decent and ready to return to the conference room.

I don’t get the chance to do that. Just as I’m straightening my skirt, I see a large silhouette in the mirror behind me.

Like I wasn't stiff enough already, the sight makes me freeze. A man begins to take shape with every step he seems to take in my direction.

I know that silhouette!

But as I see the body attached to it, I start to think I’m only dreaming.

My mystery man only takes a few steps in my direction, then stops at a fair distance. It's not because of me, nor could it be. He's deeply engrossed caught up in a phone conversation and the manly tone of his voice as he rasps at the person on the other side of the line sets a wheel inside my brain. “Don't you fucking dare return without news!” That's all I catch out of what he's saying, but at that moment, my body instantly decides it would do anything this man would ever ask... for safety reasons, of course.

Jesus, the mere growl of his voice makes the hair on my neck stand on end, but a doubtful Hmmm , coming from those same lips almost yanks a scream out of my throat.

I know that Hmmm , even if at this moment, the chances of it belonging to the same person that stalked me in the gas station are almost down to zero.

I must be losing it.

Unable to control myself, I turn to look directly at the man who just showed up behind me. This way, I can see him more clearly than in the mirror and realize my memory is playing tricks on me. If this is the man stalking me, then I'll hand him the rope and handcuffs myself.

I still can't see his face clearly. He's standing to the side, looking at the wall as he processes whatever information he’s receiving from the person who he's talking to on the phone. And at this point, I decide I don't even need to see his face. It would probably be too much to bear. I am just satisfied with studying the way his clothes embrace him, highlighting every single exquisite line of his body. And there are a lot of them!

Broad shoulders... what am I saying, broad everything, but within a perfect limit—not to step into the ridiculous side. No, his body looks like a statue carved by the ancient Greeks.

He must be ugly. Men with bodies like that never have pretty faces.

The quickest lie I can tell myself. Besides, I have... Nick? Yeah, I think that was his name.

Why am I even looking at this man? Okay, not looking , more like staring... I must be staring by now. It’s definitely time for me to leave, but just as I realize how lame I might look standing here and staring at him, he turns to face me.

Now I am convinced. Fate is mocking me.

I don't even know where to begin to describe him, or with what part of him should I start first without doing injustice to any other.

Should I stop at his well-defined full lips, at the sharp jawline that looks like it could chew me up and spit me out without the slightest effort, or at the perfect shape of his nose that looked like God's finest creation?

He must have had a rhinoplasty. I decide since I'm convinced that this man looking like he does couldn't be the mere result of nature. It's impossible. No man can genetically have such perfect symmetry.

And then the eyes, like magnets drawing you in, so dark that they could decompose me piece by piece and then put me back together in whatever way they saw fit.

I don't think I’ve ever seen eyes like his before. The iris is so dark that I could say it's pitch black—almost unnatural. And they're cold. So cold that I feel the blood in my veins freeze only from taking the smallest glimpse at them.

Like I’m not fascinated enough, I notice an industrial piercing traveling along the upper part of his right ear. That’s insanely hot. I don’t even usually go for piercings, but I have a feeling that when it comes to this man, I could go with a lot of things I usually don’t. He is attractive beyond any reasonable limit, I give him that, but he's also dangerous. I can see it from his posture, even in the way his hands move as he speaks, yet most of all, I can see dark vines spreading through his soul.

One thing is for sure—he looks like way too much fucking trouble, and I'm not going to stick around to learn exactly how much .

My imagination was just having some innocent fun. The truth is, I‘ve never looked at another man except Nick since we'd been in our relationship. Now wasn't a good time to start.

The man remains in the middle of the lobby. I can't tell if he's looking at me or through me since his phone conversation seems to take all of his focus, but his cut-through gaze makes me want to leave, not just the lobby, but the state.

I can't even begin to put into words the anxiety provoked by only looking into his eyes. I don’t want to learn the rest, although I have a feeling I'll do it anyway soon enough.

My gaze stops at his jacket from which more tattoos than I can even count emerge. I don't even have time to stop and study them, although they look like they deserve to be thoroughly studied. It's the jacket that I'm interested in. That, along with the Lange & Sohne custom watch on his wrist, could buy a cozy sunny villa and a car to match it.

Any other man would have bought a Rolex to flaunt it to any dummies he meets, making a point out of his fortune, while this one has so much money that he doesn't even care about people knowing he's wearing a million-dollar watch.

I’m not even sure how I had time to process all this information since it must've taken only two seconds of looking at him. But I do know that this man is loaded and his presence in this part of the building leads me to a single conclusion. This is Seth. And I'm in way more trouble than I could ever think.

He was supposed to be a mobster in his fifties with a belly. And a hat.

Why does he look like he's in his late twenties?

And where is the damn belly?

There must be something to make him more undesirable.

But the second that thought crosses me, I wish I could erase it.

There is something that makes him undesirable, something so twisted and evil inside of him that I could feel it spreading to pervade the whole space. What scares me most is that it seems to be creeping toward me, like dark tentacles that sneak into my mind.

My sight quickly moves away from his jacket—although I would have liked some more alone time with his tattoos.

I meet his eyes. Shit, he's studying me like I did something wrong and even though he's still on the phone, he doesn't seem to pay that much attention to the man or woman he's talking to. His focus is now on me.

I just want the ground to open and swallow me whole. As insanely hot as this man might be, I don't want to catch his attention in any way.

I don't stick around to pour gasoline on the flame. I'm almost one step away from apologizing for even looking his way. The features of his face are so magnetizing that they should be forbidden.

Without even thinking things through, I just turn and walk away. I must look like a crazy woman. I don't even know if it's the right way to act, but I'm starting to fear myself more than I fear him, and sometimes my uncontrolled reactions have the potential of a catastrophe.

I don't know when I end up next to Nick, but I'm even more shaken than when I first left the room. That's a new accomplishment even for me.

For a few seconds, I don't even turn to look at the door. I still can't wipe the anxiety off my face, and I'm sure he would sense that as soon as I face him.

Seth doesn't give me time to recover, and the same raspy voice I heard in the hallway is now talking to Nick. “I see that you've made yourself at home.”

“Mr. Malvagio... I was just having a refreshment while we were waiting for you.” Nick seems to handle his anxiety even worse than I do. That’s more reason for me to worry. Nick is never that nervous—unless things are fucking serious.

He isn't a mobster, my ass...

The assistant who invited us in earlier is now gesturing for us to take a seat at a twelve-person conference table. Never figured out a mobster to call us for a meeting, but then again, Seth Malvagio is everything but fitting the norms.

I guess I misjudged a lot of what is happening around here, including Nick's confidence that this job will be in any way easy.

Mr. Malvagio takes a seat in front of us at the end of the table. It's weird calling him Mr. Malvagio. My mind could call him a lot of things, except Mister.

That's just the dirty part of me coming to the surface because my rational side would run all the way back to California and never look back.

Strangely enough, he acts like he didn't see me in the hallway, or maybe he didn’t even acknowledge me and I'm giving it too much thought. Or it’s just that he doesn’t give a fuck. And why would he? Every breath this man takes seems so under control that I'm sure it's been calculated to the second. Nothing is left to chance when it comes to him. I can feel it from the way his dark hollow eyes analyze everything—from the way Nick sips from his whiskey glass down to the slight shake in my arms that I still can't control.

“Let's get on with this. Mr. Malvagio is in a hurry,” his assistant says while pulling a file out of a two-door cabinet. “As we agreed, you will have a separate budget to gather the necessary team to facilitate breaking into the safe. Reaching the room where the safe is located shouldn't pose much difficulty. We have people to override the security cameras. What we don't have is someone to pick the lock. This is where you two come in.”

I have no idea what Nick told them I could do or how strongly he bragged about it, but I have the feeling he promised success when it wasn't his position to guarantee it.

That isn't even what's pissing me off most about this meeting. It’s Seth Malvagio, the smug bastard sitting in front of me, the man isn't even doing the talking himself. He's got his assistant to let us in on the general scheme. Mr. Mobster's words seem too precious to be wasted on us.

“The location is the Tiger’s Eye Casino and Hotel,” the assistant continues, giving me the worst possible news. The name sounds Chinese, which likely means the safe is from a Chinese manufacturer. And you never know what these people come up with because, as opposed to what everyone might think, China leads even the US when it comes to technology.

I wish I could say I focused on the details the man was giving us, but something else was catching my eye. Being so close to Mr. Malvagio didn't pass by without repercussions. The man is a living, breathing mystery to me, and I can't help but try to solve even just a piece of the puzzle.

He's someone to be feared. I'm smart enough to recognize that, yet not strong enough to keep my eyes off him. I still don't understand how someone so young could have so much power. Maybe he inherited this colossal fortune because there's no way he would have built it up himself. But when it comes to the dominant attitude, that’s one hundred percent coming from within, sending out a vibe so strong that I can't ignore it. It's like his mere presence enslaves me, and adding to that equation the commanding tone of the voice I heard earlier I’m lost without a chance to ever recover.

I think even if he asked me to take out the trash, I would still orgasm from the sound of his voice.

It feels like a sin just looking at him. The features of his face, so perfect yet rough, manly to the last line defining his venomous smile. Trying to avoid his gaze is only sending me further down the road to trouble. My gaze stops at his designer jacket again, but the piece of material holds no interest to me. It's what lurks beneath it. He doesn't wear a buttoned-up shirt which would have helped me keep my senses together. Mr. Malvagio made the perfect choice of putting on a simple white T-shirt which allows all sorts of black drawings that cover his skin to come into the daylight. A map of tattoos is peeking from beneath his jacket—runes, and hieroglyphs similar to the ones that cover the walls in this room.

I've never seen anything like it before, but it feels fucking magical. It’s as if I am being called to touch them by every single one of his breaths that brings the drawings to life.

My fingers would probably catch fire if I actually touched them. Men like him are from a different galaxy and it's not a place where I would want to find myself.

Still, his scent doesn't let me find peace. I know I sensed it before in the gas station. I'm never wrong about these things. But I also know it’s impossible for him to be the one stalking me. He probably gets pussy by room service. There's no way he would be wasting his time following me around that God-forgotten city.

His assistant goes further by presenting the location details along with the blueprint of the Tiger's Eye Casino. The place seems breachable with the right help, but it won’t be an easy task.

I try to focus, I really do, but I feel Seth Malvagio's eyes on me, studying my reactions, wanting me to know he's there .

Fuck! Maybe I'm losing my mind, but the second he lights himself a cigarette, I feel small drops of sweat gathering on my temples. He's the perfect predator and I feel like the prey again. I'm trying to focus on the plan, while he's focusing on me as he’s rolling a cigarette between his fingers. It's a game of minds and he's winning effortlessly.

I barely make it through the presentation, feeling like I'm torched from the outside in. There's something about this man that makes the blood freeze in my veins, and at the same time, makes it boil.

I try to let my survival instincts kick in, brushing away any crazed attraction and convincing myself of the real danger that I'm in. There's only one way this whole thing will end if I don't watch myself—death.

I need to be careful and keep on top of the game.

That thought helps me make all the info I am receiving pile up somewhere in my mind, preparing me for what I need to do next.

Just when things begin to make sense, the assistant finishes instructing us. I do hope I got all of what he said, although I highly doubt it since I was focusing on Mr. Malvagio's reactions most of the time. And yes I'm calling him—even in my thoughts—Mr. Malvagio, and not Seth. That's the kind of respect he imposes on people. Although my mind could quickly get accustomed to calling him baby or Sir.

Get a fucking grip on yourself, Serena.

I sound like a desperate bimbo when in reality, I should promise to keep away from men for at least a century or so—Nick included.

I want to say something, anything to end the meeting and get out of here. I understood the assignment, so let's get on with the plan somewhere far away from this room and this man. It's just that Nick seems to have different plans and decides to take control of the operation. “I will see that everything works out. We will break into the safe and recover the artifact, Mr. Malvagio. It will be delivered to you as promised.”

In other circumstances, having anyone else except me leading the discussion would have worked just fine, but Nick is making promises again that aren't his to give.

And I am not the only one that seems troubled by this.

“Are you the one breaking into the safe, Mr. Wells?” The sound of Mr. Malvagio's voice caused a strange silence to settle over the room. “Well, are you?” He asks again, more forcefully this time.

Nick, you better answer him.

As if he hears my thoughts, Nick manages to murmur a no.

“Then let Serena be the one talking.” Mr. Malvagio orders and I feel a small sense of satisfaction. I love that he shushed Nick but I hate that I need to be the one talking now.

Seth Malvagio turns his head directly to me, offering me all of his attention. “I want to hear it from you. Can you do it or not?”

Even if I can't, there's no way I'm telling a man like this that I might let him down. I want to leave this place with my head still attached to my shoulders even if that means I’ll need to go and hide in a cave for the rest of my life. “Judging by the name of the casino, I assume the safe is produced in China. New models have come out since I last took on a job, but I've been doing my homework. I'm confident that we will be successful.” I try to sound as professional as I can, although I'm not sure of my own words. Vault models change daily, and who knows what new challenge this one will offer me.

Yet, Mr. Malvagio seems more interested in hitting a sensitive subject than our break-in. “What kept you from taking on other jobs?”

“Grief,” I answer in a breath.

“Then why this one now?” He cocks a brow, looking even more interested in what I have to say.

“Last resort,” I answer as quickly as I did before, hoping that he would stop questioning me.

One of the corners of his lips lifts into an almost vicious grin, “There's always a plan B. You just need to know where to look for it,” he pauses letting the words sink in for a few seconds. “But you sticking to plan A works fine with me. I have an artifact I want to collect. That gives us a common purpose. I need the object and you need the money.”

“I will see it through,” I let out the throated words, trying to clear my voice so I don't sound like I'm a second away from peeing myself.

Without warning, he suddenly stands up and gets ready to leave. Unpredictable psycho.

Maybe I'm a complete lunatic, but watching Mr. Malvagio leave the room gives me both joy and sadness. I want to get out of this interrogation and away from his torching gaze, but there's something in me that regrets seeing him walk away.

Still, my regret is short-lived. Mr. Malvagio has something to say before disappearing down the hallway. He definitely doesn’t give his goodbyes as any other normal person would do. I guess I felt that from the second he turned to face us.

His voice much heavier than before, giving out a promise more than a threat. “Fuck this up and you're dead.” As if his words don't frighten me enough, his eyes go straight to pierce through mine, “Both of you!”

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