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15
MATTEO
“He’s beenin Vegas a long time. Are you sure we can trust him?” I roll my neck in a semicircle, stretching the kinks out.
“I wouldn’t vouch for him if I didn’t trust him with Maddie’s safety.”
Dante and I walk through the lobby of the Barry, one of the few hotels that aren’t owned by Santorini. Sure, we’re using an alias, but I’m neither green or cocky enough to pull that stunt in one of his hotels. Especially not with Madison here.
A group of dueling bachelor and bachelorette parties try to exit the same revolving door. And even though it’s an extra-large one with four huge wings, there’s no way one group is all fitting in one rotation, let alone two.
The group of women clutch big blue drinks, with tiny plastic dicks around their necks and matching shirts proclaiming “Tish’s shitshow.” And the men are loud and obnoxious as fuck. My patience is at an all-time low, but even knowing that doesn’t ease any of my annoyance at having to weave through them in the lobby. It’s nearly dinnertime, but we’re in the city that never sleeps, so I wouldn’t be surprised if these people have been fucked-up since they woke up today. If they went to bed at all.
I curl my lip at a straggler careening through the lobby, face flushed and gait choppy. Dante and I sidestep him as we get onto the elevator.
There’s nothing out of the ordinary about that whole scene, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Like some sort of bad omen or premonition. Leaning against the back of the elevator, I watch the two groups still arguing over who should go through the revolving doors as the elevator doors close.
Our reflections stare back at us from the mirrored walls. I look at my best friend of twenty years. “Something doesn’t feel right. And I’m not talking about your cousin—not exactly.”
“I know. But I can’t decide if it’s worry for Leo or Madison or something else.”
“Tell me we’re doing the right thing, that we're making the best choice for her.”
Dante adjusts his hold on the duffel bag of firearms we’re going to smuggle into Carnival tonight. He meets my blurry reflection in the elevator doors, ever the picture of stoicness, but it's not enough. I turn to take in his features with my very own eyes, undistorted by the metal across from us.
I already know his allegiance has shifted. She's his sun, and he will orbit her from now on. Something uncomfortable jabs inside my chest. Jealousy but also a little bit of respect, comfort even. I'm jealous that Madison will split her time between us all. Not that I don't think they'd be good for her, because I know they will. And I'll be there to shove them back in line when they step over.
I've been trying to marry my reality with my fantasy. I had plans—Dante and I had plans. And in the back of my mind, she was always the end game. I'm a selfish bastard, and I knew I didn't want to spend the rest of my life, however long it may be, without her.
Dante’s silence tells me more than his words ever could. He’s not sure. He doesn’t have the best course of action, and neither do I. For men who live and breathe by plans and contingencies, this spontaneity is fucking brutal.
I feel my brows lower as anger tightens my features. “Do you know how fucked up it is to be pining after a girl that you broke up with for three years? So tell me, Dante, are we doing the right thing?”
I scan his face for any kind of sign to clue me into his thoughts on the matter. He's the hardest man to read, outside of my father. And even then, Dante has him by a mile if he really wants to play his cards close to the vest. The difference is Dante doesn’t want to intentionally leave me in the dark.
His eyebrows don't twitch. He doesn't so much as squint at me. “It was our only choice.”
Frustration bubbles underneath my skin, but I resist the urge to fidget and pull up my collar. “But is it the right one? Should we send her back on a plane?”
He turns to face me, holding my gaze for a moment. “She was going tonight. It was either going to be with us or without. I'd rather her be included in the plan so we know where she is rather than have her sneak off or ditch some half-assed tail we can muster up on short notice in enemy territory where our allies are slim.”
When he lays it out like that, it makes more sense. It doesn’t settle my rising anxiety, but it does make the whole situation a little more bearable.
“Besides, there's no way you would have gotten her on a plane.” He smirks at me before adjusting his hold on the duffel bag.
I rub my index finger across my brow and look away. He's right, I know he’s right. But that doesn't mean that something else isn’t wrong. “I know. But . . . that’s not it. I don't know what it is, but something doesn't feel right. Prepare yourself for tonight.”
“That's the plan,” he says right as the elevator dings and the doors open up to our floor.
I reach inside my suit coat and grab my gun out of the dark brown leather shoulder holster. The weight is comforting in my hands, and some fucked-up part of me instantly settles. Dante already had his in his right hand. It’s been a near permanent fixture in his hand ever since the safe house, which feels like it should be much longer than only weeks ago.
I have a healthy distrust for apartment hallways now. Lots of room for an ambush with little to no secondary exit or backup plan. Hotels are a lot like apartments if you think about it.
We walk side by side down the long hallway toward the last room where my brother and my girl are. Hopefully, they’ve moved on from their little show on the balcony earlier. I try not to think about the fact that my brother had his face buried between my girl’s thighs while I watched. Her moans drew me to the balcony in the first place, and then when I saw her laid out that like that, I couldn’t fucking look away. She was mesmerizing, a fucking goddess when she shatters like that. I had a foot out the door, single-minded determination driving my movements toward her, when Dante’s hand landed on my shoulder. He murmured something about letting them have a moment and dragged me out the door. I honestly couldn’t tell you what he said, I was too wrapped up in her.
We don't encounter a single person thankfully, because I just spaced out, wrapped up in thoughts of Madison’s pussy like some sixteen-year-old boy.
“You good?” Dante asks as he scans the hallway again.
