1

Sondra

I tug down the hem of my one-piece, zippered housekeeping uniform dress. The Pepto Bismol pink number comes to my upper thighs and fits like a glove, hugging my curves, showing off my cleavage. Clearly, the owners of the Bellissimo Hotel and Casino want their maids to look as hot as their cocktail girls.

I went with it. I’m wearing a pair of platform-heeled wrap-arounds comfortable enough to clean rooms in, but sexy enough to show off the muscles in my legs, and I pulled my shoulder-length blonde hair into two fluffy pigtails.

When in Vegas, right?

My feminist friends from grad school would have a fit with this.

I push the not-so-little housekeeping cart down the hallway of the grand hotel portion of the casino. I spent all morning cleaning people’s messes. And let me tell you, the messes in Vegas are big. Drug paraphernalia. Semen. Condoms. Blood. And this is an expensive, high-class place. I’ve only worked here two weeks and I’ve already seen all that and more.

I work fast. Some of the maids recommend taking your time so you don’t get overloaded, but I still hope to impress someone at the Bellissimo into giving me a better job. Hence dressing like the casino version of the French maid fantasy.

Dolling myself up was probably prompted by what my cousin Corey dubs, The Voice of Wrong. I have the opposite of a sixth sense or voice of reason, especially when it comes to the male half of the population.

Why else would I be broke and on the rebound from the two-timing party boy I left in Reno? I’m a smart woman. I have a master’s degree. I had a decent adjunct faculty position and a bright future.

But when I realized all my suspicions about Tanner cheating on me were true, I packed the Subaru I shared with him and left for Vegas to stay with Corey, who promised to get me a job dealing cards with her here.

But there aren’t any dealer jobs available at the moment—only housekeeping. So now I’m at the bottom of the totem pole, broke, single, and without a set of wheels because my car got totaled in a hit and run the day I arrived.

Not that I plan to stay here long-term. I’m just testing the waters in Vegas. If I like it, I’ll apply for adjunct college teaching jobs. I’ve even considered substitute teaching high school once I have the wheels to get around.

If I’m able to land a dealer job, though, I’ll take it because the money would be three times what I’d make in the public school system. Which is a tragedy to be discussed on another day.

I head back into the main supply area which doubles as my boss’ office and load up my cart in the housekeeping cave, stacking towels and soap boxes in neat rows.

“Oh for God’s sake.” Marissa, my supervisor, shoves her phone in the pocket of her housekeeping dress. A hot forty-two-year-old, she fills hers out in all the right places, making it look like a dress she chose to wear, rather than a uniform. “I have four people out sick today. Now I have to go do the bosses’ suites myself,” she groans.

I perk up. I know—that’s The Voice of Wrong. I have a morbid fascination with everything mafioso. Like, I’ve watched every episode of The Sopranos and have memorized the script from The Godfather.

“You mean the Tacones’ rooms? I’ll do them.” It’s stupid, but I want a glimpse of them. What do real mafia men look like? Al Pacino? James Gandolfini? Or are they just ordinary guys? Maybe I’ve already passed them while pushing my cart around.

“I wish, but you can’t. It’s a special security clearance thing. And believe me—you don’t want to. They are super paranoid and picky as hell. You can’t look at the wrong thing without getting ripped a new one. They definitely wouldn’t want to see anyone new up there. I’d probably lose my job over it, as a matter of fact.”

I should be daunted, but this news only adds to the mystique I created in my mind around these men. “Well, I’m willing and available, if you want me to. I already finished my hallway. Or I could go with you and help? Make it go faster?”

I see my suggestion worming through her objections. Interest flits over her face, followed by more consternation.

I adopt a hopeful-helpful expression.

“Well, maybe that would be all right...I’d be supervising you, after all.”

Yes! I’m dying of curiosity to see the mafia bosses up close. Foolish, I know, but I can’t help it. I want to text Corey to tell her the news, but there isn’t time. Corey knows all about my fascination, since I already pumped her for information.

Marissa loads a few other things on my cart and we head off together for the special bank of elevators—the only ones that go all the way to the top of the building and require a keycard to access.

“So, these guys are really touchy. Most times they’re not in their rooms, and then all you have to worry about is staying away from their office desks,” Marissa explains once we left the last public floor and it was just the two of us in the elevator. “Don’t open any drawers—don’t do anything that appears nosy. I’m serious—these guys are scary.”

The doors swish open and I push the cart out, following her around the bend to the first door. The sound of loud, male voices comes from the room.

Marissa winces. “Always knock,” she whispers before lifting her knuckles to rap on the door.

They clearly don’t hear her, because the loud talking continues.

She knocks again and the talking stops.

“Yeah?” a deep masculine voice calls out.

“Housekeeping.”

We wait as silence greets her call. After a moment the door swings open to reveal a middle-aged guy with slightly graying hair. “Yeah, we were just leaving.” He pulls on what must be a thousand dollar suit jacket. A slight gut thickens his middle, but otherwise he’s extremely good-looking. Behind him stand three other men, all dressed in equally nice suits, none wearing their jackets.

They ignore us as they push past, resuming their conversation in the hallway. “So I tell him…” The door closes behind them.

“Whew,” Marissa breathes. “It’s way easier if they’re not here.” She glances up at the corners of the rooms. “Of course there are cameras everywhere, so it’s not like we aren’t being watched.” She points to a tiny red light shining from a little device mounted at the juncture of the wall and ceiling. I’ve already noticed them all over the casino. “But it’s less nerve-wracking if we’re not tiptoeing around them.”

She jerks her head down the hall. “You take the bathroom and bedrooms, I’ll do the kitchen, office and living area.”

“Got it.” I grab the supplies I need off the cart and head in the direction she indicated.

The bedroom’s well-appointed in a nondescript way. I pull the sheets and bedspread up to make the bed. The sheets were probably 3,000 thread count, if there is such a thing. That may be an exaggeration but, really, they are amazing.

Just for kicks, I rub one against my cheek.

It’s so smooth and soft. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lie in that bed. I wonder which of the guys slept in here. I make the bed with hospital corners, the way Marissa trained me to, dust and vacuum, then move on to the second bedroom and then the bathroom. When I finish, I find Marissa vacuuming in the living room.

She switches it off and winds up the cord. “All done? Me too. Let’s go to the next one.”

I push out the cart and she taps on the door of the suite down the hall. No answer.

She keys us in. “It is way faster having you help,” she says gratefully.

I flash her a smile. “I think it’s more fun to work as a team, too.”

She smiles back. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think they would go for it as a regular thing, but it’s nice for a change.”

“Same routine?”

“Unless you want to switch? This one only has one bedroom.”

“Nah,” I say, “I like bed/bath.” Of course that’s because of my all-consuming curiosity. There are more personal effects in a bedroom and a bathroom, not that I saw anything of interest in the last place. I didn’t go poking around, of course. The cameras in every corner have me nervous.

This place is the same as the last, as if they’d paid a decorator to furnish them and they were all identical. High luxury, but not much personality. Well, from what I understand, the Tacone family—at least the ones who run the Bellissimo—are all single men. What can I expect?

I make the bed and move on to dusting.

From the living room, I hear Marissa’s voice.

“What?” I call out, but then I realize she’s talking on the phone.

She comes in a moment later, breathless. “I have to go.” Her face has gone pale. “My kid’s been taken to the ER for a concussion.”

“Oh shit. Go—I’ve got this. Do you want to give me the keycard for the last suite?” There are three suites on this top floor.

She looks around distractedly. “No, I’d better not. Could you just finish this place up and head back downstairs? I’ll call Samuel to let him know what happened.” Samuel’s our boss, the head of housekeeping. “Don’t forget to stay away from the desk in the office.”

“Sure thing. Get out of here.” I make a shooing motion. “Go be with your kid.”

“Okay.” She digs her purse out from the cart and slings it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I hope he’s all right,” I say to her back as she leaves.

She flings a weak smile over her shoulder. “Thanks. Bye.”

I grab the vacuum and head back into the bedroom. When I finish, I hear male voices in the living room.

“Hope you can get some sleep, Nico. How long’s it been?” one of the voices asked.

“Forty-eight hours. Fucking insomnia.”

“G’luck, see you later.” A door clicks shut.

My heart immediately beats a little faster with excitement or nerves. Yes—I’m a fool. Later, I would realize my mistake in not marching right out and introducing myself, but Marissa has me nervous about the Tacones and I freeze up. The cart stands out in the living room, though. I decide to go into the bathroom and clean everything I can without getting fresh supplies. Finally, I give up, square my shoulders and head out.

I arrive in the living room and pull out three folded towels, four hand towels and four washcloths. Out of my peripheral vision, I watch the broad shoulders and back of another finely dressed man.