“What the fuck—” he gasps as he reels back in shock.
I hum a little patronizingly, really. “Seems all those muscles are just for show.”
Without letting him reply, I storm away, resigning myself to swimming lengths in the pool instead.
Though not as taxing as running, the water does its job, washing away my sinful thoughts as I allow the steady movements of my strokes to occupy my mind entirely.
By the time I get out and take a moment in the steam room, I’m almost entirely convinced that I will be absolutely fine.
That is until I leave.
And find an ambulance waiting outside.
It shouldn’t hold my attention. It’s New York, for God’s sake. I must have seen a fire truck or a cop car or an ambulance every hour on the hour since the moment I was born.
But I suppose it’s not really the ambulance that grabs my attention. It’s the man being wheeled into the back of it. A mess of sandy hair poking out of the giant, white neck brace.
For a moment, I stupidly wonder if maybe I accidentally hit him too hard.
But then the girl from reception is at my side, arms wrapped around her torso, looking nervously at the scene.
I swallow a little nervously before asking. “What happened?”
She seems a little startled at the question, as if she hadn’t quite realized I was standing there. “Oh. Um. Well, I’m not sure if I should say,” her voice quivers slightly.
“Are you okay?” I ask gently.
“He just…landed right in front of me.”
My brow furrows. “Landed?”
Her wide eyes dart to my face. I don’t think she’s going to continue, but evidently, she seems to find something in my expression that makes her trust me.
“He…fell. From the fourth floor, they said. From the state of him…he must have tripped or…or…” she swallows thickly, clearly holding back tears.
But my mind has immediately launched itself elsewhere.
To the CCTV footage of the Prince’s Hand. When Teo had catapulted that guard from the banister.
It couldn’t be…
And yet, I find myself drifting back into the gym, looking up the staircase that spans four separate floors, wondering why I feel so disappointed that there’s no one looking back down at me.
Feeling almost as shaken as the poor receptionist outside, I take off home at a jog. Instantly, all the work I put into dispelling any thought of Teo Vitale has evaporated.
And still, that prickly feeling of being watched persists. I run faster, push myself harder until I’m absolutely exhausted by the time I return to my apartment.
After a very long, very cold shower, dangling on the edge of being absolutely petrified and insanely anticipatory, I decide that the safest place I can be is at the casino.
It takes no time at all for my car to arrive and even less time for me to walk up to the steps of the Harlem property. Crowds ofregulars and tourists alike have already gathered in the foyer as I push through the huge front doors.
I earn a few turned heads as I walk by, courtesy no doubt, of the floor-length red gown I decided to wear.
It’s an old trick, one that my mother taught me at an eyebrow-raising age. But there is little else these old-money misogynists love more than a woman in red. And if I’m going to hide out here, I may as well make the family some money.
As I take my seat at the highly visible and insanely priced poker table up on the elevated stage, I make bets with myself about how many men will join me. Sure enough, across the floor, they start to pull away from their games and their wives to come over.
Simon appears a moment later, brandishing a glass of champagne. “It’s a good turnout tonight.”
