Chapter 7
We didn't leave straight after our new employer did. His assistant still had a few files for us to study and a few instructions to lay out, including two expense cards that we could use at any of his locations. “The cards grant you free access to everywhere, and you can use them to pay for anything in this location—except for the casino.”
I almost burst into laughter hearing him say that. It felt like he was just rubbing it in Nick's face. Imagine having paid expenses everywhere, except for the place you love most.
That wasn't the only surprise this trip held in store for us. “I'll have someone show you to your suite,” the assistant says, preparing to wrap things up.
I'm confused, “Our suite?” I was convinced that we were going to stay in some shit-hole to save money.
“Mr. Malvagio insists you stay at his hotel. It will make future meetings easier to arrange, especially with his busy schedule,” the man clears things up for me. Although I know I can't refuse him, I sure would have liked to. At this moment I think I prefer the shit-hole motel over some luxury apartment that will keep me closer to Seth Malvagio. The man has something evil buried deep within him and I’m convinced it's in my best interest to avoid him.
But I soon discover this was a part of Nick's plans all along. “Now you know why I didn't book us another room. I had a feeling that he would offer us accommodation at his hotel,” he whispers behind my ear as if he is the one giving me the royal treatment.
It's times like this that he pisses me off well beyond my limits. He's so smug for thinking that just because he talked to a man or two, the whole of this will be his merit. Besides, no matter how much of a jerk Seth Malvagio might be, milking him for accommodation seems beneath my dignity. I can't believe that Nick didn't book us a room and was waiting for this man’s offer.
I just want to get this over with and go and find myself a bed for a few hours—hopefully far away from my boyfriend. I don't need his smug attitude today. I don't know why, but seeing him in direct comparison to people like our new boss makes me realize just how much of a loser he really is. Usually, I'm trying to hide this from myself, but he’s getting too obvious, even for my foolish self.
The man assigned to take us to our hotel suite arrives, offering to carry our luggage. I want to refuse, but Nick doesn't give me the chance. He likes being served even though we're just about to lead the man to our car which I'm sure cost less than an hour of accommodation at this hotel.
Overcoming this embarrassment too, I stay behind to watch Nick give the man so many directions you might think that he is a movie director on set.
I'm starting to think I didn't realize how luxurious this place really is. Long marble hallways with impressive chandeliers greet us as we walk to the second elevator. I know designers and I know money. There's enough of both in this place to support a whole Milan fashion week. Everything from the lighting down to the rugs makes me certain I wouldn't want to get a bill for accommodation after staying at this place. Maybe I should double-check with the assistant to make sure this is free. Right now I'm beginning to think that even staying in the janitor's closet could cost more than our Elko apartment rent for a year.
The elevator stops at the 13th floor. I wish it could be a different number but I have a feeling this is predestined for me.
I follow the man carrying our bags on the metal luggage cart, pushing it so deep along the hallway, that I know we're getting one of the high-class suites. The doors are further and further apart from each other. That only means the suites are getting bigger as we advance.
The second the man stops in front of the door, I know I'm right. “The Presidential suite,” he announces to us, opening the door and handing us two key cards.
I don't even open my mouth. I don't want to look surprised again. Besides, I was used to this luxury before, so why couldn’t I get reaccustomed to it?
“The apartment has two bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a living room. Do you want me to show you around?” the man who brought us there asks.
“No, thank you, we should be good,” I intervene before Nick can request a tour. I'm sure he isn't even going to tip the guy, and I don't have a single cent on me, so I just pretended to go check out the bedroom until the man leaves, to save myself some second-hand embarrassment.
Only after I hear the door close do I return to the living room to watch my boyfriendmaking himself at home and already throwing his ass on the couch.
At this point, I'm starting to like the idea of a two-bedroom apartment. Nick lied to me again about the deal. He’d agreed to it ever since he first met with Mr. Malvagio and was just waiting for me to come around. I'm not even sure he would have been left with a broken heart if I were to dump him, maybe just a broken wallet.
“Come lay with me here,” he grunts with sleepy eyes. He drove all night so he must be exhausted. Normally there wouldn't be anything stopping me from slipping by his side, but I'm not in the mood for him to play me along his fingers once again.
Instead, I take off the murderous heels and search for my luggage. I want to change, then go downstairs and get myself a coffee. I know I could ask for room service, I think it's included, but I need some fresh air to process whatever the fuck I have done. “I'm going out to get some coffee. You go ahead and rest, you haven't gotten any sleep in a while.” I don't let him know that I'm fed up with him, or that I'm leaving just so that I wouldn't sink into depression. Still, I feel I can’t leave the room without making one thing clear, “Nick, Seth Malvagio isn't the kind of man you play around with.” I feel I need to say it out loud, maybe it would put some sense into him. I have a bad feeling that Nick isn't playing with all his cards face up on the table, even when it comes to me. He's hiding something, and I hope whatever it is won't get us in trouble.
It’s no use questioning him about it anyway. I know he's going to deny everything and make me feel like I'm having some paranoia crisis. All that's left for me to do is leave before I have a nervous breakdown and start a fight I know I don't want. I'm sick and tired of fighting. I just need to get this over with and get on with my life, whatever that means.
“Who said I'm playing around? I know who Seth is. I'm not stupid,” he just mumbles from the couch, arranging his pillow better to make himself more comfortable.
I don't have the energy to contradict him, and by the looks of it, he doesn't have the energy to talk any longer.
Coffee it is, I say to myself.
Picking up my luggage, I go to one of the bedrooms to unpack and find different clothes for myself. I get a pair of summer pants and a white tank top along with a more comfortable pair of shoes, and then get the hell away from this suite. I shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable staying here. The place is astonishing, I admit, but there's a certain weight pressing down my shoulders within these walls. I suspect it’s the hidden price I will have to pay for this kind of luxury. Despite the fact that I miss living this way, I don't miss breaking into vaults, especially under these conditions.
I take the expense card with me. I'm not gonna spend a dime more than I need to, but I am kind of hungry and I know I saw that this place has a coffee shop with a nice terrace. That's exactly where I'm heading. I can almost hear some delicious butter croissants and coffee calling for me.
I find myself a table under an extra-large extra-fancy sun umbrella. It's still early in the day, but the sun here is burning like fire, and I don't want to spend my first day in Vegas turning into a lobster.
The place seems so casual and relaxed that for a few moments, I'm beginning to remember how my old life used to feel. Sure, the jobs were pushing me to the edge even back then, but it was a different kind of edge. It was the fun and the adrenaline that made each one of the heists our secret mission. My life felt more like I was playing in a movie than that I was going to work.
I wish I could also have that now, but losing Michael destroyed that part of me. Things will never be the same. Life will never be the same. And that's a thought almost impossible for me to get used to.
I manage to turn the cup of coffee into an extended breakfast by sticking around to order an orange juice, a lemonade, and coffee number two. I need this break after the day I’ve had so far, though my relaxation soon comes to an end.
The most interesting view appears in front of me. A crowd of seven or maybe eight people almost shove each other out of the way to reach someone who just left the building and is walking with rushed steps towards the driveway. I instantly recognize the man as Seth Malvagio, and from the papers the other people are holding in their hands, I figure out they are different assistants who need his attention over various documents. I knew that he was important. I just didn't realize how much of a big shot he really was till now.
I'm trying to remain impassive at the sight of him. In reality, I don’t stand a chance. I quickly realize he's the kind of man you can’t turn your head from. The jacket he wore earlier is gone. It’s too hot for it anyway but not nearly as hot for the sight of his tattoos coming on display. The black ink that stretches up to under his chin seems to shine under the torrid sun, and the defined lines of his body make me believe this man sleeps in the gym.
I need to stop staring like I'm some hungered cougar.
But he would make such a fine meal. My alter ego dictates.
Serena, get a fucking grip on yourself.
No matter what I'm telling myself, I can’t take my eyes off him.
Much to my torment, he doesn't get in his car immediately. The people around him capture his attention and he stops to sign some of the papers they're holding. They probably need his permission to even breathe and the more I look at him the more I realize why. He's a deadly combination of power, control, and something else. Something so seductive that wouldn't leave anyone impassive to his presence. He's the kind of man you notice when he steps into a room—or even a full stadium.
I want to stop watching him so badly but despite my best efforts my eyes seem to be super-glued to his body. I hope he will get in his car soon and leave. That's my only salvation from looking like a horny teenager.
There must be something wrong with me. After I get my life on track I definitely need to get my head checked. It's like I'm drawn to danger, or more likely drawn to jerks. To make things worse I am aware of it but I can't stop. That makes me twice the loser.
I'm so captured by his every gesture that I lose track of everything else around me until a voice I haven't heard in ages snaps me back to reality, “Serena?”
It's almost like I'm afraid to turn, guessing who the voice belongs to. “Christina?” I utter with the same surprise, realizing it's my sister.
What the hell is she doing here? I haven't seen her since Michael's funeral.
Seth Malvagio slips somewhere in the back of my mind, allowing me to focus on the strange reunion. “Oh my God, what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” my sister smiles, pulling up a chair at my table.
“I'm in town with Nick for some business.” I don't even get to finish my sentence as I see her eyes roll all the way to the back of her head.
“ Oh… You're still with him?” her tone isn't one of joy.
“What's oh supposed to mean?” I don't even know why I'm asking, I already know what it means. She hates Nick and I think I'm finally beginning to understand why.
It’s just that for the first time she admits it. “I think you can tell I'm not very fond of Nick. But as long as he makes you happy it's fine with me.”
Makes me happy... I can't even remember the last time he made me happy. I guess this is where my own oh should step in. I'm not going to ask myself for the tenth time today what I’m doing with my life. I'm finally seeing my sister after almost three years, so coming to Vegas seems to have its benefits.
“Greg collaborates with some clinics here. We come to Vegas almost once a month.” My sister tries to change the subject so it wouldn't turn into a fight less than one minute into our get-together.
Greg is her husband and a very skilled plastic surgeon. Maybe that's why I never know if we have flawless family genes or if he sometimes takes his work home. I never asked her but I do secretly hope when the time comes I’ll get a free facelift for Christmas.
“Are you staying here at this hotel?” I ask with reticence. I don't want to involve her in my business in any way, and I also know she doesn't want that either.
It seems too late for that. “Yeah, we just checked into the Royal suite on the 10th floor. Greg is supposed to come down any minute now.” She turns her head, checking to see if he’s already around. “How about you?”
“13th floor just for a few days, then hopefully back to Cali.” If I don't die in the process, but I don't tell her that.
“Perfect, I was a little worried we wouldn't have time to catch up. I really need to go to the clinic when Greg arrives, but I do have the whole evening off. He's meeting some of his fellow doctors and I'm sick and tired of hearing them talking about scalpels and body fat. Do you think we could meet for drinks later on?” she asks.
I really want to say no, not because I don't want to spend time with her, just because of the circumstances. “I'm not sure about my schedule for tonight. It's up to Nick and the people I’m meeting with.” I don't say no to her just so that I wouldn’t refuse her right then . The truth is I'm not going to meet with her. Maybe we’ll catch up on another occasion. I have too many things on my mind as it is.
“Well text me if your schedule clears up. If not, maybe tomorrow night or the day after. I wanted to call you so many times. It's just that...” she pauses, regret shadowing her face.
“That you can't risk having your image associated with mine,” my words have spikes that I know hurt her. I don't even think I'm entitled to say that. It's not her duty to save me from myself. I'm not even sure that anyone can save me right now.
“I can't risk my marriage or my husband’s reputation if that's what you're implying. I grieved losing Michael the same way you did. Just because I'm not close to you doesn't mean I don't love you. But the media scandal that could arise from me being associated with any sort of crime has the potential to destroy Gregg's reputation. And believe me when I say he doesn't deserve that.” She casts me a bitter smile.
I understand her reasons perfectly. They are in love. Beyond that, she respects him for the way he helped her grow and would do anything to keep him safe.
Talk about couples’ goals… Mine are just surviving another day with Nick.
I feel her little speech like another knife twisting in an open wound. I know she's right, and I low-key envy her for it. I'm too much of a coward to admit how much I respect her for casting a lowlife like me out of her future. I should do the same with Nick. I'm just not that strong yet.
I want to say something, anything to let her know I don't hold a grudge for us not being in touch but I can see Greg entering the restaurant and I don't want to get in the discussion with him present. We just salute each other and just as quickly as we say our hellos, we give our goodbyes, but not before I promise Christina that I will try to fit a few drinks with her into my schedule.
My hour of relaxation turns into another weight to press down on my soul. Life doesn't seem to give me a break. Or maybe it's just me.
I returned to the apartment before a meteorite would hit me. Judging by my luck, I have every chance of that happening.
Nick moved from the couch to the bedroom where I took my bags. I guess he didn't get the memo that I don't want to share a room with him. I just want to have my mind clear and decide what I want to do after all of this ends. But I can't deny that my body is going to riot against me soon if I keep denying it from sex. Isn't this a double-edged sword?
Even if I'm tired myself, I don't join him. I can't sleep right now and I definitely can't do it next to him. I'm too afraid I will start sleepwalking and murder him in his sleep. That would be a very poor decision considering he made me promise a mobster that I would deliver his relic. And I can’t do that while being charged with murder.
Picking up my phone, I try to distract myself by going on TikTok. I don't even like the app, but it’s the only social media I have, mostly because I don't post anything there, just look at videos.
Nick doesn't like me having an Instagram or Facebook account.He thinks different men would approach me through DM's. Maybe if he were more responsible, he wouldn't have to worry about it. He still doesn’t have a reason, but that’s just because I am loyal like a dog. And apparently have the same number of neurons as one since I chose to remain by his side. He doesn’t even feed me!
I never bother to fight him about social media anyway. I don't have any friends so I didn't see the point of it. It's just the idea that I'm not allowed to that bugs me so much that I would open the accounts just to prove to him I'm not under his command. But for now, we are still being chased by the LA mafia so posting a check-in at the Pyramid would be bad for my health .
Grabbing the TV remote control, I throw myself onto the couch where Nick had been lying earlier and turn on Netflix. I miss having Netflix.
And yeah, we are that poor.
There's a Vikings show I'd like to watch but that's just too much testosterone in one go and I feel I haven't been serviced since the real Vikings last ruled the seas.
I chose something lighter, or at least I hoped it would be, yet it seems all shows evolve around a hero fighting for some damsel in distress. It only depresses me even more since I realize I am the hero and Nick is the damsel in distress. And I'm sick of it.
I only dream of someone who would fight for me. Is that so much to ask? I don't need Prince Charming galloping from the sunset on a white horse and building me a castle. I just need someone who helps me grow or even grow together like Greg did for my sister. And it would be a bonus if he would carry a six-pack of muscles, not beer.
Dream on.
I keep telling myself as the show ends and there's no way I'm subjecting myself to such torture again. If I'm not getting my happily ever after then I don't want to see anyone else fulfilling their fantasies, at least not today.
Besides, there's something that has been bothering me ever since I returned to the suite. Nick's luggage is thrown somewhere in the middle of the living room. He even opened it, probably searching for something to change into, and that makes my OCD kick in even stronger. This man is such a mess.
I need to get his trash out of the way. Still, I can't decide if I should take it to the spare bedroom or to the one where I took my own clothes.
My vagina strongly advises me to put them next to mine, maybe even jump in bed with him. Still, I have some sanity left and I carry the luggage to the spare bedroom. Depending on how he reacts, I’ll figure a way around things. Maybe I’ll just tell him we both needed more closet space.
I start unpacking because I know he's only going to throw his clothes all over the floor. And if he's not ashamed of the maids coming in to clean, I am.
He doesn't have that many things to begin with, but as I come to arrange them one by one on the shelves, I find something in one of the pockets of the jeans he had on earlier. It's almost like I'm afraid to reach in and grab whatever it is hiding there. I know it's not some kind of monster lurking in a cave but if my hunch is right it has the potential to be.
I pull out a little velvet black box. The symbol of the Pyramid is shining in gold engravings on its lid so that would mean it's been purchased from this hotel.
I'm totally confused, and as I come to open it my confusion only grows. There's a ring inside. Diamond by the looks of it.
Fuck, he's gonna propose.
The thought takes my breath away, and it's not in a good way. I have no idea what I would say when he does propose. I think I remain in shock for a few minutes.
I know he said he's gonna marry me, but I just don't know if I want it to happen. I still love him in a way, but I don't think it’s in the necessary kind of way to make a marriage work.
I want to put it back and pretend I don’t know anything, maybe even think of something to say when he would actually pop the question. I never have the chance to slip the box back into the pants pockets. An angered roar stops me from hiding the evidence. “What the fuck are you doing?” Nick is standing in the doorway with a very displeased look plastered all over his face. I've ruined his surprise, but that's no reason for him to react that way. “What the fuck were you thinking going through my pockets?”
“I was just placing your clothes in the closet. I didn't mean to ruin this for you,” I try excusing myself, although I have no real reason to do it.
“Well, you managed to fuck it up. Didn't you?” He slams the door behind him and walks into the bathroom.
Wasn't this the part where he would say it doesn't matter baby, I just want to marry you? I’m totally thrown back by his attitude. Nick never knows how to react to things but this definitely hit rock bottom.
The truth is I have no idea what to say if he did pop the question. I'm dysfunctional myself because I don't know if I should be mad or relieved about it. But I do believe this is what Nick's been hiding. Lately, I had the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me and I think this might be it.
I put the box back in the jeans where I found it since I have no idea what to do with it, then wait for Nick to get out, hoping that he got some sense back into him. I just blame it on the shock of waking up to me ruining his surprise, but as he comes out of the bathroom I realize it isn't true. Without saying another word, he picks up some clothes and changes from the casual shirt and pants he has on, then takes the black box from the jeans and throws it into the nightstand drawer. He's still pissed off and this kind of reaction puzzles me.
He's overreacting about things and that is only leading my answer toward being a no .
I admit I might have made a mistake by snooping around. I blame myself for him being so disappointed, even if deep down, I know I'm just searching for excuses for him.
“Where are you going?” I ask since I know he's not gonna say anything if I don't question him about it.
“I'm meeting with a few of the people that could facilitate us getting into the safe,” he just mutters, heading towards the door.
He would say anything to get away from me. I can’t leave things this way, mostly because I don't believe him. “All of a sudden?” I'm sick of him running away from any kind of conflict.
Yet he's doing it once again. “I need some space.”
The entry door slamming behind him gives him just that—space, while I decide to do the same. Seeing this job through will mean freedom for both of us.