Staying in Vegas: (Vegas Morellis, #1)

by Sam Mariano

  “You ever see the Grand Canyon?”

  “I’ve only been here with you, so I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that question.”

  Glancing back at me with a winning smile, he says, “This is the best way to see it.”

  Ah, shit, I do want to see the Grand Canyon.

  On one hand, I feel badly about spending the day with him when Sin isn’t around, but on the other hand, as many times as I’ve checked my phone since leaving the house with Rafe, I haven’t heard from Sin once. I didn’t expect to hear from him at all, but then, until the alarm went off and he called me, I didn’t even realize Sin had my phone number. This is the first day he has taken the chance to leave me uncuffed while he left the house, and he hesitated even after the good morning blow job I gave him before we got out of bed.

  All caught up now.

  Thinking about this morning—and especially last night—makes me feel even less okay about Rafe holding my hand right now, so I drop it. He’s very touchy-feely, which I definitely didn’t mind before, but it’s much less appropriate now that Sin and I are… whatever we are.

  Sighing heavily, I let my bag of books slide to my elbow and use my now-free hand to dig out my phone. I’m not even used to having my phone again yet, but I check again to see if Sin has checked in.

  Nothing.

  Well, there’s a message from Carly, but nothing from Sin. I wonder if he’s even thinking about me while he’s working? On impulse, I stop walking and take one of my new books out of the bag, lowering it to the pavement. I snap a picture, then type out, “New books!!!” and pop a couple heart-eyed emojis onto my text.

  Rafe stops me with a firm, “Who are you sending that to?”

  I glance up at his imposing figure, basked in sunlight. Ugh, like I need another reminder that he’s attractive. I look down and go to push send, but he grabs the phone out of my hand.

  “Hey!”

  Checking my phone, he shakes his head. “You can’t send that to Carly.”

  “Why can’t I?” I demand, standing and holding my hand out for my phone.

  He ignores me and runs his finger across my screen, shaking his head like I’m an idiot before flashing me the screen. “Because your privacy settings are garbage and she can find out exactly where you are just by saving the picture and…” Since the picture is apparently worth a thousand words, he shows me the picture I just took, then swipes the screen and cocks an eyebrow at me.

  Ooooh. It’s a literal map, pinpointing my current location.

  “Now, either you’re technologically challenged, or you want your sister to find you,” he states. “Either way, I’m going to delete this.”

  Shoving my book back in my bag, I stand and follow Rafe to the helicopter. He hasn’t given me my phone back yet, so I offer my hand palm-up. “May I have my phone back, please?”

  “That depends, are you planning to send out any additional maps to my doorstep?” he asks, holding it, but not handing it to me.

  “My sister already knows where you live,” I remind him, taking the damn thing and shoving it back in my purse.

  “Yes, but since you’re supposed to be in Chicago with an imaginary Scottish friend and a made-up boy-toy, it’s probably best you refrain from sending evidence that you’re lying.”

  “I didn’t think about my settings. I’m not used to being sneaky, okay? I’m not good at it.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” he replies.

  I’ve never been in a helicopter before, but this one is sleeker than I imagined. Jet black with red horizontal stripes and black leather interior. I climb onboard, sinking into one of the soft, upholstered seats. There are headsets hanging over the seats, but other than that, it looks like the back seat of a car. There are cup holders between the seats, two chilled bottles of water already inside them. Seeing there are enough seats to comfortably fit four people, I sort of wish Sin could have come with us. I have no idea if he would enjoy flying over the Grand Canyon, but I’d like him here anyway.

  Rafe climbs in behind me, but instead of dropping into his own seat, he crouches down in the floor in front of mine. His dark eyes meet mine, a glint of playfulness shining on the surface, mischief tugging at his lips. “What do you think?”

  Knowing he must have gone to a lot of trouble to arrange all this, and seeing the hint of eagerness on his face, I melt a little. I’ve been as friendly as I could all day, but I don’t know how to straddle this line. I don’t know how to be familiar with Rafe without feeling like I’m somehow wronging Sin. I know there’s nothing like a commitment between us, I even know logically I’ve only known Sin for a few days, but it feels like I’ve known him longer. We fit together effortlessly—and the jagged corners I’ve encountered fit nicely into custom notches that seem to open up to accommodate him.

  Would I have ever envisioned myself in bed with a killer? No. But I’ve probably bedded two of them at this point.

  It’s also hard to reconcile the light, teasing Rafe squatting here right now, waiting for me to be impressed by his grand gesture, with asshole Rafe who kicked me out of his house, or mob boss Rafe, who stood on hallowed ground in Chicago with a literal army of men backing him and his rise to power.

  Sin was one of those men. I was blinded by Rafe then and I didn’t even notice him.

  Rafe cocks an eyebrow since I still haven’t answered.

  “I think this was very nice, thank you.”

  “I take it this is your first time on a helicopter?”

  I nod my head. “You guess correctly. Got any pro tips for me?”

  Pointing upward, he says, “Those blades? Don’t get your head near them.”

  Smacking my forehead theatrically, I tell him, “I’m glad you said that. I planned to poke my head out first thing.”

  Pointing to the headset hanging to my right, he adds, “It’s going to be loud, so you’re gonna want to put those on. We’ll be able to talk to each other through them and they’re noise-canceling, so the noise from the blades isn’t so bad. The pilot can hear us too, so keep that in mind,” he adds with a wink.

  I roll my eyes, smiling faintly. “I’ll try to control myself.”

  After an absolutely incredible flight over Lake Mead and the Hoover Dam, we make it to the Grand Canyon. I can’t help marveling endlessly at the awe-inspiring geographical wonders as we hover above them, but then the helicopter dips down into the canyon and lands below the west rim.

  “What are we doing?” I ask Rafe on the headset.

  “I figured you might want a picture,” he says. “Just, you know, don’t send this one to your sister unless you think you can convince her the Grand Canyon relocated.”

  I narrow my eyes at him and shove his leg with the pointy part of my heel. “I’m not an idiot; I won’t send it to Carly. I do want a picture.”

  It’s a little surreal, climbing out of the helicopter and standing on the Grand Canyon floor. The view is breathtaking, the sky clear. Rafe hands his phone to the pilot, telling him he wants one with both of us. Then he comes over and casually drapes his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side so the pilot can get the shot.

  Rafe takes one of just me, then we stand there for a few minutes, admiring the view.

  Glancing over at him, I ask, “So, how often do you do this?”

  Looking over at me as if surprised, he says, “Hang out in the Grand Canyon? Oh, all the time. I basically live here.”

  I sway over and nudge him in the arm. “I’m serious. I won’t be offended. I want to know how often you pull this out of your bag of tricks.”

  I expect his easy, charming smile, a cavalier response, but his gaze drops and he shakes his head. “No bag of tricks. I just thought you’d like it, that’s all. I already took you on a tour of the strip last time you stayed with me. I figured I should do you one better this time around.”

  Memories of last time flit back. I only spent one night with him in Vegas—the night my sister and Vince decided to have an impromptu Vega
s wedding. Rafe did not approve of the plan at all, but he still made some calls and made sure that even though only the four of us were there, Carly and Vince had a beautiful wedding memory in front of the golden glow of the Bellagio fountains. Rafe was the best man, and in that moment, I was pretty sure he really was the best man. Maybe ever.

  As if he has a shared screen and watches the memory play out in my mind, he reaches an arm around my waist and pulls me close, just like he did that night. My head tries to rest on his shoulder, but I catch it before it lands and force my attention to remain on the natural wonder before me.

  “That was a nice night,” I murmur.

  “Yeah, it was,” he agrees.

  Sighing heavily, I look down at the ground, looking at my nude heels on the desert rock. Someone’s shoes, I guess. Not mine. How the hell did all this happen? Why couldn’t this Rafe have been the one that stuck around even after I delivered the news about the pregnancy? The one who arranged Carly’s wedding, who took me to a used bookstore and brought me to the Grand fucking Canyon in a helicopter.

  “What’s wrong?” Rafe asks.

  I shake my head. “I just hate messes.”

  “What’s a mess?”

  I feel my eyes widen as I turn to look at him. “Seriously? Everything is a mess. Everything. None of this was supposed to happen.” Humiliation and dread mingle together in my gut as I feel the burn of tears prickling behind my eyes. Oh, God, not again. I’ve cried more this week than I have in the last year. Pregnancy is the fucking worst!

  Rafe catches it, of course. His voice softens and he turns toward me, offering me the protective shelter of his chest as he guides me into his arms. “Hey, now, there’s no reason to cry.”

  “There’s every reason to cry,” I mutter. “Everything is fucked up and wrong. My life is… wrecked. It’s wrecked.”

  His voice is calm and steady, while mine is uneven and brimming with emotion. “Your life is not wrecked. Your life is fine. We’ll figure it out.”

  I don’t want to deal with this, so I don’t. I bury my face in his navy dress shirt and let him wrap his arms around me, considering the ridiculousness that I’m crossing an item off my bucket list—visiting the Grand Canyon—with the mobbed up father of my child. I don’t even like thinking of the pregnancy as a baby, despite Sin’s best efforts, but thinking it with Rafe is different. I still don’t know if he actually accepts the pregnancy, but I assume even if he accepts it, he still doesn’t want it. Without knowing ahead of time how he’ll respond, I don’t want to talk to him about it. I don’t want another disaster like last time.

  My stomach hurts. My heart hurts. I’m all twisted up inside. Sniffling and pulling out of his arms, I turn around and look at the helicopter. “How long are we going to be down here?” I ask, my voice at a regular tone, like none of this happened.

  Rafe watches me for a moment, but reluctantly follows my lead, pretending everything is fine. “We’ll head out in a few minutes. Are you hungry? I thought we’d grab lunch next.”

  I nod my head, slowly making my way back toward the chopper. “Yeah, lunch sounds good.”

  “Great,” he says, his hand moving reassuringly down my arm. “I’m gonna make a call real quick and talk to the pilot, then we can take off.”

  “Is it okay if I wait in the helicopter?”

  “Of course.”

  He escorts me over there like a gentleman, making sure I’m inside safely before striding off toward the man in the white ball cap who flew us here. I sink back into my seat, grabbing my water and uncapping it. The cabin is stifling without the AC on, the sun beating down on us making it a million times worse. I hope the water will be refreshing, but it’s been sitting here too long. Making a face, I screw the lid back on and put it in the cup holder.

  “Gross,” I mutter.

  Checking where Rafe is one more time, I open my little purse and draw out my cell phone, lighting it up. Service is shit here, but there’s nothing from Sin again. I consider texting him, but I don’t know what he’s busy doing. What if it’s something dangerous and he would be distracted by me texting him?

  I’m still debating texting him when I get an incoming text. It’s not from him, though. I touch the new message and see it’s from Rafe. It’s the picture the pilot took of us with the Grand Canyon backdrop. Damn, that’s a good picture. I even managed to keep my eyes open despite the blinding brightness of the sun. I touch the picture and it fills my screen. Another pang of something unpleasant lodges in my gut, but I shove it down. I save the picture to my own phone, then go back to the message and send back a quick thank you text.

  “Anytime,” he replies.

  Sighing, I stare at the phone for another minute. Nothing changes, so I slip my phone back into my pocket and sink back against the seat, closing my eyes and trying to outrun the conflicted feelings I don’t have time to deal with.

  28

  Rafe

  I have ruined this poor girl’s life.

  During the short trip from the canyon over to Willow beach, it’s all I can think about. Laurel started the day off happy enough, but something happened at the Grand Canyon. Now even as she stares out the window of the helicopter, there’s a hint of sadness hanging around her instead of the light, happiness she emanated earlier.

  I yearn to reach out and tuck the tendrils of hair falling out of her messy bun behind her ear, but that might only make her feel worse, so I keep my hands to myself.

  This is all my fault. If she’s sad because she’s pregnant, that’s my fault. If she’s sad because she feels guilty for having fun with me today, that’s my fault. I’m the reason she turned to Sin in the first place. I should have invited her to stay while we figured out what to do about her situation—even if it hadn’t been mine, I should have done that. She came to me for help either way.

  When Mateo called earlier though, he corroborated Laurel’s claims that she hasn’t slept with anyone in a long-ass time—certainly not since me. He asked if I wanted him to keep looking into it, but I told him not to bother. I would still feel more comfortable if she would agree to a DNA test, but I’m not going to ask again right now. It’s taken a few days to get here, but I believe her.

  It makes my stomach hurt, but I believe her.

  When the helicopter lands at our next destination, I climb out first and help Laurel. I keep hold of her hand once she’s out, even though it probably doesn’t help. I can’t help it. I generally use touch to cheer women up, and I’m unaccustomed to having that trusty tool off the table.

  I want to kiss her, so just holding her hand is frankly a compromise, whether she sees it that way or not.

  “Where are we going?” Laurel asks, holding her skirt down as we hasten away from the helicopter. “I thought we were going to lunch.”

  “We are,” I assure her.

  “This is a beach. Are you going to drown me?”

  “Damn, I thought I was being so slick.”

  Flashing me a smile, she implores me, “Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “You know.” She lifts her eyebrows at me. “Come on. Say it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Smacking me on the arm, she says, “Tell me I’m gonna sleep with the fishes! God, don’t you know anything about the mob?”

  “Nothing,” I deadpan. “Will you teach me?”

  With a solemn nod, she says, “I will. Under my tutelage, you will learn all you need to know about how to run your very own criminal organization.”

  “What would I do without you?” I tease.

  “Be the worst mob boss ever, clearly.” Looking over at me again, she says, “Do you know how old I was when Carly let me watch The Godfather?”

  “I’m going to guess way too young.”

  Laurel nods. “Nine. She had this boyfriend—too old for her, obviously—and he would come over after Nana and Granddad went to sleep, but I was a night owl and I always wanted to stay up with Carly. He brought it o
ver to watch with her, and I was just sort of there.”

  “Aw.” I release her hand and drape my arm around her shoulder, tugging her close. “Always the afterthought, huh?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. Carly always put me first. She’d do anything for me. She’ll be a great mom. She’s already good at it and she doesn’t have any kids of her own.”

  Her tone drops at the end of that statement, her mind clearly going back to her own problems.

  If we can’t ignore them, maybe we can address them. “You don’t think you’ll be a good mom?”

  “I don’t know. I hope I will be. It’s a big, scary job.”

  At least on that, we agree. “Yeah, it’s pretty permanent.” Glancing at her to gauge her reaction, I ask, “Should we talk about that, or keep ignoring it for a while longer?”

  “I think the second one, the ignoring it thing.”

  Smiling faintly, I nod my head. “All right.”

  Laurel falls quiet, looking around at the scenery as we continue on our way. Once we get to the private beach, she sees what I had set up ahead of our arrival. A large, wicker picnic basket sits atop a traditional checkered blanket. Laurel clasps her hands together, grinning up at me.

  “A picnic?”

  “Unless I have a Tommy gun stashed in there instead,” I tell her.

  Delighted, she breaks away from my hold to go over and investigate. I follow a little slower, smiling as she drops to her knees and opens up the basket. I had Juanita pack it up, so everything is nice and neat. Laurel pulls out two plates, some napkins, two bottles of ice cold water, and a couple spoons. She looks so pretty with the emerald green water behind her, a few ducks floating along, minding their business. I can’t resist pulling out my phone, turning it sideways, and framing her up.

  I take the picture, but I can’t see her face. I want to be able to see her smile in the days ahead, when I’m trying to remember why I’m working so hard when I don’t have to.

  “Laurel,” I call, to get her attention.

  Her head snaps up and she smiles, resting her hand on the picnic basket.