Tarnished Tyrant - A Mafia Romance

BELLE

If the plane ride was a dream, the hotel is a nightmare.

"You can't expect me to sleep here." Elise draws away from the bed like she's afraid it'll swallow her whole.

I don't entirely blame her. The comforter is threadbare, the pattern faded. The thin carpet looks clean enough, but it feels sticky against my feet. And the porcelain in the bathroom is tinged yellow in a way that makes my skin crawl.

"It's not that bad."

Her eyes bug out. "Belle!"

"What?" I snap. "What do you want me to do about it? This is the place my company booked for us to stay."

"You mean Roger."

"Yes, Roger. My boss. He booked the rooms and this is where we're staying."

Elise crosses her arms. "I don't know why I'm being punished, too. I'm not the one who turned him down."

"I'm not being punished."

That's a lie. It is entirely like Roger to make my life at work hell because I won't sleep with him. Elise is right-I should report him to HR or something.

But fuck, I need this job. I needed it before Elise lived with me, but now, I definitely can't be toeing the poverty line while I'm responsible for a teenager.

Elise deserves something resembling stability for once in her life. I have to be that something.

Which means I have to put up with handsy assholes in order to secure a paycheck. There are worse things in the world. I'm tough; I can survive. I've survived for a long time just to make it here.

Elise spins around and throws open the curtains to the only window. Immediately, we're greeted with a stunning view of... the graffitied, soot-stained brick building next door.

"You're right. This doesn't look like a prison cell at all," she drawls. "This place is great. Ten stars."

I groan and rummage through my suitcase. "I'd love it if you could at least pretend to have a good time while we're here."

Elise studies the bed for a moment before changing her mind and perching on the edge of the armchair in the corner. A puff of dust rises out of the cushions, swirling around in the dingy light coming through the window.

"But I'm not having a good time," she pouts.

"You've made that abundantly clear. That's why I said 'pretend.' I have to be here for work, so let's just get through this and then we can go home, okay?"

"To your apartment, you mean?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Teenagers are people, too. My sister has been through a hard time. It's not her fault. I need to cut her some slack.

Did I really expect her to be excited about having her own room and thank me every day for giving her a warm bed to sleep in? Well, maybe. But I'm wiser and less idealistic now.

I release the breath in a whistle between pursed lips. "Yes. To my apartment. Where you now live. We won't be here long. Maybe a week."

"A week?" Elise exclaims. "I thought it was only three days!"

"Oh, you don't listen when I ask you how your day was, but you listen when I explain our travel itinerary?"

I slip out of my jeans-the jeans that still smell like Handsome Stranger-and pull on a pair of black, high-waisted slacks. If the clock above the television is right, I have twenty minutes to get across town to the offices of Zhukova Incorporated.

"Belle!" Elise cries out. "Answer me!"

I shrug on a pale pink blouse and button it. "Anyway-yes, a week. That original three-day plan was from before Roger bailed on me. Now, I'm doing this on my own. It's for a big company, and things might take longer."

"Call someone to come help," she practically begs. "Like... like Georgia. She's your friend."

"She's my coworker." The admission feels embarrassing. I really need more friends. "And no. I'm doing this alone. Can I trust you to stay here while I'm gone?"

Elise huffs, pouting her lower lip out. She looks so much like our mom when she pouts, but with her dad's reddish blonde hair and green eyes. It makes me shiver every time.

"What am I supposed to do for food?"

I pull a twenty out of my purse and leave it on the TV stand. "You can walk to the bodega on the corner and then back again. No further."

She snatches the money off the table and shoves it in her back pocket.

"Understood?" I ask.

She tosses me a mock salute. "Sir, yes, sir."

I hate leaving things like this. I hate that I have to play the role of her parent. That we can't be normal sisters who fight over clothes and watch movies together.

But there isn't time to sort through any of that. I'm already running late as it is.

"Good. I have to go."

I grab my purse and toss my phone, a water bottle, and my laptop inside. Then I hurry out the door.

Just before I close it, I pop my head back into the room. "I love you, E."

Elise sighs. "Love you, too, B."

For now, that will have to do.

I'm finally standing in front of the building that houses Zhukova Incorporated. Sweaty and panting, but here. No thanks to the New York City Transit Authority or the millions of yellow cabs that drove right past my waving arms.

My phone rings. I answer it in an exhausted daze.

"I can't talk right now, Georgia," I mutter, shoving the phone between my ear and shoulder as I dig through my purse for a napkin or scrap of paper to dab the sweat from my forehead.

"Then why did you answer?"

"Because I... shit, I don't know."

"Is it because you're having a heart attack?" she asks. "Are you delirious?"

I decide a panty liner is as good as anything and mop up my face. "I don't know how subways work. Or how to wave down a taxi."

"Roger has been to New York a million times. Why didn't you ask him for help?"

"Because I don't see how he'd be any help from Aruba." The words come out exactly as bitterly as I feel.

The line goes silent, and I wait. Finally, Georgia hisses into the phone. "That asshat is in Aruba? What the fuck? He's supposed to be on this trip with you!"

"I know. He called this morning and bailed right before I got on the plane."

"Shit," Georgia says. "So you're handling this project alone?"

"Unless you want to hop on a plane and come help me?" I'm joking, but just barely. I'd love Georgia's help.

I was being honest when I told Elise that Georgia is just a coworker. But she's still the closest thing to a friend I have. I've only been in Oklahoma City for eight months, two of which revolved around getting Elise settled in my apartment. My social circle is less of a circle and more of a dot.

Georgia cackles. "I've done my time at Zhukova Inc., thank you very much. That's probably why Roger bailed for an island vacation. The owner is a hardass."

"I wish everyone would stop saying that."

"It's true. Most of these places want to butter up to the accountants, you know? They cater in lunch and stop by to chat, show you pictures of their kids or whatever. But Zhukova is run like a military base."

I look up at the silver building. It gleams like a bullet, disappearing into the bright blue sky above. "Have you met the owner?"

"No. When I was there two years ago, I spoke with the VP. The owner wouldn't deign to see me. He just issues written memos from his office. Like he's a villain in a Bond film or something, lurking in the shadows."

"What kind of memos?"

"Mostly telling me to hurry up," Georgia snorted. "Apparently, I wasn't moving fast enough. He ended up sending down some of the in-house accountants to help out and rush me along."

I frown. "That kind of ruins the integrity of the audit, doesn't it?"

"When you get in there, you'll understand. Whatever it takes to get done fast, do it. Then come back and tell me all about it. When you get home, we'll go out for drinks, okay? You'll need 'em."

"Yeah, definitely." I smile and then hear the church a few blocks down chime the hour. "Shit. It's three o'clock already. I'm so late. I have to go."

"Good luck and godspeed," Georgia says.