51
After the taxi drops me off at the entrance to the Luxor, I pause to look up at the pyramid-shaped structure. The smoky glass walls of the hotel angle steeply upward until they meet at a sharp peak at the very top of the building, where a blinding column of light shoots straight up, illuminating the night sky.
Dark creatures flap in and out of this beam of light, like ancient fire-breathing dragons. Bats, I realize with a start. The moon is a tiny fingernail of silver in the distance.
I feel eyes on me, but when I turn no one’s looking my way. Weird. Probably just overthinking things since I’m stressed. I run shaky hands over the shimmering white satin of my dress, taking comfort from its cool silkiness. The sleeveless bodice shows off my long creamy neckline and the soft hollow between my breasts. The dress fits like a glove. There’s no way it could fit so well if it hadn’t been made for my mother.
Earlier, when I was getting dressed, I had unzipped the garment bag that held the dress, and a faint scent of flowers and perfume, decades-old like a distant memory, wafted out. Again, I wonder when my mother wore it last.
Right before I left my room, I had glanced at my smudged full-length mirror and had frozen, staring at my reflection. I look good in this white dress. I won’t use the word beautiful. My mother is beautiful. I’m a poor imitation of that, like a faded print when the copy machine runs out of ink. But in this dress, with my hair and makeup done, I can admit that I’m pretty.
I suck in one last breath of the crisp night air and head inside to find Stewart in the hotel lobby. We’ve arranged to meet there so he can escort me up to the party. “I’ll have to get you past all the security,” he had told me earlier, which made my heart constrict with fear.
When Stewart sees me for the first time across the crowded lobby, his mouth drops open. His obvious admiration fuels my confidence. I walk slowly to him with my head held high.
Cheeks turning red, he stutters, “Wow, Tiffany, you look…gorgeous. I’m going to be the…the envy of every other man in the room tonight. I can’t wait to show you off.”
Now it’s my turn to blush. “Thanks, Stewart, that’s nice of you to say.”
Traitor, my mind screams, you’re going to break his heart. I shove the intrusive thoughts away. If I’m going to play my role this evening, I can’t afford to be distracted by my conscience.
Stewart sticks out his elbow and says, “Shall we?”
Like a scene in a glamorous Hollywood movie, I loop my arm through his and say, “We shall.”
He leads me to a single elevator in the back corner of the lobby, partially hidden by large potted palm trees. It has golden doors with an ornate scrolling pattern. There’s no button to push, just a small square metal plate with a sign above it that reads Private.
Using his free hand, Stewart digs in his front pants pocket. He produces a rectangular plastic badge that has his picture and name on it. I go rigid when I see the keycard in his hand.
That’s it. That’s what I need to steal from him tonight.
Seeing it makes everything real. If I take it from him, there will be no going back to who I was before. That person will be gone, dead to me. I’ll cross a threshold and become a criminal. Someone willing to sacrifice innocents like Stewart for my own needs.
Do I want to be that person? Do I have any choice?
When he places the keycard over the metal plate next to the door, a chime sounds and the elevator whirs to life. Soon it arrives, and we step inside. A subtle jolt of the floor tells me we’re in motion, although the ride is incredibly smooth.
“Is it true this elevator is actually going sideways because of the building’s pyramid shape?” I ask, trying to distract Stewart with small talk as I carefully watch him return the keycard into the same front pocket.
With a restrained laugh, Stewart says, “Not sideways. It’s on an incline…a 39-degree angle, but so subtle you can’t really feel it. If you’re being technical, they aren’t actually elevators. They’re called…called inclinators.”
The inclinator doors ding open, and a long hallway with polished marble floors stretches in front of us. The walls are papered with shiny gold wallpaper. Large mirrors are set into the ceiling. It’s disorienting to see an upside-down version of myself when I look up.
A door labeled “stairs” is located to the right of the elevator, a green exit sign glowing above it. I mark it in my mind.
We step into the hallway, and Stewart says, “Oh, almost forgot.” He drops my arm to reach into his opposite pants pocket and pull out a black fabric mask. He puts it on, covering the skin around his eyes, but leaving his nose and mouth exposed.
I retrieve a similar mask from my purse. My mask is made of white lace that I hand-sewed with Shelly’s help. A thin band of elastic holds it tight over my eyes.
It’s funny how a small scrap of fabric can make such a big difference in a person’s appearance. Stewart looks almost like a dashing pirate with his mask and tailored three-piece suit. He watches me adjust my mask until it fits comfortably. His bashful gaze hangs on me a little too long. Guilt twists my insides, sharp and painful.
A short line of people are waiting to walk through a metal detector manned by a burly man wearing a dark suit. When it’s our turn, I notice a bulge under the man’s jacket that looks suspiciously gun-shaped. I gulp down my fear.
A stunning black woman stands just past the guard, checking sheets of paper clutched in her hands. A thin wire extends up her neck to an earpiece, which she occasionally touches, pushing it closer and frowning as she listens. When we approach, she drops her hand from her ear.
“Stewart,” the woman says warmly. “How lovely to see you, and you’ve brought a date.” The way her honey-colored eyes light up confirms what I already know, that Stewart doesn’t usually attend these events with a woman.
She looks me over approvingly and says, “My, aren’t you lovely?” I flush at the compliment. I’m about to respond, but Stewart jumps in and answers, “Thanks, Irene.” He says it like he’s personally responsible for my beauty. He preens at my side, standing straighter and more confident than I’ve ever seen before.
Irene nods regally. “Your father is already inside.” She gestures to a set of double doors with the same metal plate on the wall beside them.
Stewart scans his keycard once more, and the doors swing open. I walk into the most gorgeous room. It has a massive sunken living room, grounded by the same marble floor as in the hallway outside and surrounded by soaring floor-to-ceiling windows. There are no curtains to impede the view. The twinkling lights of the world-famous Las Vegas Strip spread out before us in breathtaking glory. We’re so high up that I can see the rooftop pools and bars of the smaller hotels.
A string quartet plays quietly in the corner of the room. The buzz of lively conversation fills gaps in the music. Model-perfect waitresses circulate, holding silver platters of champagne and appetizers. When a masked waitress stops before us, Stewart takes two bubbling flutes from her tray and hands one to me. “Cheers,” he says, gently clinking his glass against mine.
“Cheers,” I echo halfheartedly. I hesitate before I bring the drink to my lips. When I drank alcohol before, at the Starlight party, it had been in the dark with a bunch of kids my age. Now, out in the open and surrounded by adults, it feels wrong. I worry I’ll get in trouble, which is ridiculous because of all the laws I’m here to break tonight, underage drinking is the least of them. I tell myself to stop being silly and take a small sip, letting the bubbles fizz in my mouth before swallowing it down.
My gaze wanders, and I’m immediately overwhelmed by the elegance in this room. I had thought my mom’s dress is beautiful, but it pales next to the beaded gowns glittering before me. Fancy gold watches and diamond-studded cufflinks on the men’s wrists reflect light back into my eyes.
The scene is even more surreal because everyone is wearing a mask. Some only cover the wearer’s eyes while others cover half of or the entire face. Elaborate feathered and sequined masks make my homemade one look cheap by comparison. The sheer opulence of the setting leaves me feeling small and unworthy.
Sensing my hesitation, Stewart leans toward me and whispers, “You look beautiful.”
I shoot him a grateful smile, paired with another stab of guilt.
“Come on. I want you to meet someone.” Stewart takes my hand and leads me through the crowd. We make our way past clusters of people talking and drinking. I stare at the floor, scared to step on any of the exquisite dresses with skirts so long they puddle on the marble.
I almost bump into Stewart when he stops before a small group of partygoers clustered around a thin man with dark hair and sharp brown eyes. The man is about my mom’s age. He’s impeccably dressed in an expensive-looking black tuxedo.
Once the crowd clears, Stewart steps forward, still holding my hand. “Dad, this is Tiffany.” Stewart beams proudly at me.
The man reaches out to shake my hand. His grasp is almost painfully firm. “Tiffany, nice to meet you. I’m John Stralla. Glad you could make it to the party.”
Johnny Stralla, the owner of this penthouse, of this whole hotel and casino. Johnny Stralla, who, if rumors are to be believed, is also called Johnny the Shark with ties to the Mafia in New York and Chicago. A man who owns numerous businesses throughout the city, some legal and some not. Drugs, guns, and who knows what else supposedly filter through his shadier establishments. I shift uncomfortably, thinking about how this is the man that Shelly and Rafe plan to rob. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy anyone should mess with.
We’re in over our heads.
“Um, hello. Thank you for having me. Your home is gorgeous.” I keep my grip firm as I return his handshake.
His easy smile doesn’t match the coldness in his eyes. “Of course. Please make yourself at home—” Johnny freezes, his gaze on my dress. It lingers there for seconds that stretch into minutes. His eyes snap up and search my face, looking puzzled. “Beautiful gown,” he says slowly, then trails off. He gives his head a shake, like he’s waking up. Before I can give his odd behavior much thought, he abruptly changes the topic, his expression warming as he looks at Stewart. “My son has told me what a brilliant student you are, Tiffany. Have you given any thought to where you’d like to attend college?”
The fact that Stewart has been talking about me to his dad is a shock. I don’t think of myself as important enough to warrant their attention. “Honestly, I’ll go wherever I get the best scholarship.” I glance away, embarrassed to discuss my poverty with someone so rich and powerful.
Just then, a large man with an earpiece approaches Stewart and whispers in his ear. Stewart frowns. “Tiffany, can you excuse me for a minute? They’re having problems with one of the gaming computer systems downstairs. It’s frozen, and they need me to access the administration software to fix it. I’ll just be gone a minute.”
Not understanding half of the computer jargon Stewart used, I nod. He quickly squeezes my elbow and then he’s gone, leaving me alone with his dad.
Feeling his eyes on me, I meet Johnny’s narrowed gaze. “If you are planning to stay in Nevada, I have some connections at the university. I could make a few phone calls—if you want, that is.” His eyes slide over to the empty spot that Stewart just occupied. Shocked, I realize that he’s trying to bribe me to date Stewart by dangling admission to college.
He continues coldly, “Or I could make the same phone calls and guarantee that you don’t get into any college.” I can see why he’s called the shark now. His eyes are black and bottomless. There is no emotion in them, only cunning.
His threat infuriates me. I’m already stretched tight with tension this evening. Johnny’s words provoke me, bringing on a quiet, fiery rage. My hands clench into fists by my side. “You would do that? Take away my only real chance for a future?” My eyes shoot daggers at him. I’m walking a thin line between my anger and the need to control it for Rafe’s and Shelly’s sake. “You must really care about Stewart to say that.”
There’s a flicker of surprise, maybe even admiration, at my reaction. Clearly, Johnny’s not used to people talking back to him.
His expression neutral, he says, “It’s true. I do care about Stewart. I also care about my business. My son is integral to running my casino successfully. I won’t have him distracted like a heartsick puppy.” Johnny’s look grows distant. “I’m going to need Stewart’s full focus over these next couple of years.”
I’m about to respond when our conversation is interrupted by Stewart’s return.
Sensing the tension in the air, Stewart asks, “You okay, Tiffany?” His face puckers with concern, his brown eyes bouncing back and forth between his dad and me.
My smile is bright, but false. “I’m fine.” Deliberately, I angle my body away from Johnny. I don’t want to talk to him anymore. Maybe he deserves to have his money stolen.
Without a clear thought in my head, I wrap my arms around Stewart and hug him, putting my back to Johnny. As I draw Stewart close, my hand slips into his front pocket and retrieves the slick plastic keycard. “Did you get everything fixed?” I ask as I pull out of the embrace.
A happy smile crosses Stewart’s face. “All good now.”
Johnny stares at me suspiciously before he excuses himself with a nod of his head and a “Nice to meet you.”
I don’t respond to him, still silently fuming as I slide the keycard deep into my pocket. I’ll fight for my mom and my future, even if that means taking on Johnny the Shark.