Page 8 of The Mafia’s Girlfriend

“Chill, man. It’s all right.”

He didn’t. Cringing, like he was about to lose his shit, he looked like a mess.

“Just hand me the key card. I’ll take this one.”

His brows shot up. “Seriously?”

We stopped before the branch that would lead to the VIP condo. They were so spaced out that this one had a huge lawn separating it from the previous one.

“Yes. Seriously.”

He lowered his head and shook it. “No, dude. I can’t let you take the heat for my fuck-up.”

I thrust my hand out further. “Maybe it isn’t a fuck-up.”

“Huh?”

“If this condo wasn’t broken into and the guest is just bitching about the lock, then it’s simply a matter of things falling through the cracks.”

He gritted his teeth. “On my watch. My responsibility. Nothing is supposed to fall through cracks at the Tropican.”

“Yeah, well shit happens, doesn’t it?” I grabbed the key card from him. “Don’t worry about.”

“Luke. She’s really mad.”

I shrugged one shoulder, backpedaling toward the condo. “What, am I supposed to be scared?”

He grunted a weak laugh. “No one scares you.”

You got that right.

Hurrying after me, he shook his head, still looking so worried. “I can’t let you take the blame.”

“I said don’t worry about it.” I chuckled, wondering why he was so worked up. These things happened. What was the worst this angry guest could do? Threaten to have me lose my job, too? Tim valued us too much, but I bet he’d be irritated about having to smooth this incident out. The last thing we wanted was to make his work worse.

Even if it came to me losing my position here—or rather, positions—so what? It’d free me up to focus on nothing but fighting, and that would get me more money faster. I’d be able to provide for Mom much better with less effort. Perhaps this could be one of those cases of one door closing letting another one be opened.

Randy stopped, wincing as I approached the front door to the condo. Red hibiscus flowers waved in the slight breeze, blocking him from my view as I took the turn on the path to the door.

“Go. I’ve got this.” Whatever the hell this is.

He frowned, still uneasy, but he left.

I knocked on the door. “Building services,” I called out.

No one answered, so I tried again.

And again.

Since this was a potential security issue, it had to be dealt with now. I followed the protocol of alerting the guest three times, but I knocked once more and called out anyway. After calling the room and not getting an answer on the land line—not like anyone uses those anymore—I called the cell number on file, since it showed on the smart phone we all had to carry. It was amazing how technologically forward the Tropican was with apps for these things.

“All right,” I muttered to myself since no one answered.

I unlocked the door, finding no issue with the lock panel.

Then I stepped in and walked into one of the sexiest sights I ever could have imagined.

Damn. I mouthed it, glad that I kept the words silent as I noticed the slender brunette at the other end of the room. In nothing but high cut, lacy panties that didn’t cover half of her luscious ass, her wavy hair tumbling down over the smooth curve of her bare back, she looked like a walking wet dream. I never saw faces vividly in my dreams, never imagined specific individuals when I relied on my thoughts to jerk off—which was less messy than finding and dealing with a one-night stand. Without her turning to face me, I knew from the first glance that the image of her would forever be etched in my mind.