Submitting in Vegas: (Vegas Morellis, #3)

by Sam Mariano

  There’s a click in the background when the call connects.

  Sitting back on my haunches, I pull the phone away from my face and look down at it. I end the call, but I’m not sure what to do.

  On one hand, I want to text Rafe and ask him if there’s any chance his cousin’s pain in the ass watchdog might have tapped my phone when he had it.

  On the other hand, what if it wasn’t Rafe’s family who tapped my phone? He said that Felix was an undercover cop, and while he clearly has men at the department working for him, they didn’t know Felix was a cop, so they’re not on the level they need to be.

  Then I remember that my procrastination sometimes pays off. My phone has been asking me to update the software for like 30 years, and I keep telling it to remind me later because I’m lazy about doing boring things like that. If I update the software, maybe that will clear out whatever it is.

  Or, that’s my thought, but despite knowing my phone needs an update, when I touch the ‘software update’ with the red bubble also telling me I need to update my software, a screen pops up telling me my software is up to date.

  Nothing to see here, folks!

  My phone might as well be twisting its handlebar mustache and whistling.

  Someone is spying on my phone, and I don’t know if it’s my husband, his family, or cops.

  Well, shit.

  All right, I need to concentrate.

  One of the waitresses sees me sitting here on the floor with my busted phone and she stops to ask, “Are you all right?”

  “Yep, I’m good.”

  She watches me for a moment before wandering away, but I’m busy reviewing memories.

  You haven’t even called your mom.

  That could be potentially suspicious. Rafe isn’t around me every hour of every day, yet he didn’t ask if I called my mom—he knew I didn’t. In fairness, maybe he figured if I had called my mom while he wasn’t home, I would have mentioned it to him, so I guess it’s not proof that he is behind the bugging of my phone…

  But they did give it right back to me the next morning. I had no supervision in that bedroom with that phone, it wasn’t until after I left the room that Rex began following my every move.

  They gave me time to myself to call for help if I had anyone to call.

  “Motherfucker,” I mutter.

  There’s not much I can do with this information until I get home. I don’t even know if I have information. I review it all again and again, checking for holes. Could I be wrong? I remember vividly the update popping up on my screen last night, though. I didn’t feel like dealing with it, so I told it to remind me later.

  I guess I should have updated the damned phone right then. Would it have let me? Would it have cleared the spyware that must be installed on my phone? Or would it have taken me to that dummy screen and told me I didn’t need to update my phone after all?

  At least I would know who bugged me if I had cleared the bug when I was on the couch with Rafe’s arm around me. All of a sudden his phone would have been lighting up as his cousin’s damned sneaky agent informed him he couldn’t spy on me anymore.

  Adrian deserves a damned award for all this pro bono bad guy-ing he’s doing, I swear to God. I’m going to make him one and present it to him at Laurel’s wedding.

  I grab for my phone to look for local trophy shops I can buy a plaque from for my sarcastic gift, but then it occurs to me if he is bugging me phone, he would be able to watch me do the search.

  Nuts. How did people do things before cell phones?

  Well, mine is useless, so since someone is bugging it, I storm into the kitchen, fill up a pitcher full of water, and drop my phone into it.

  There. Take that, assholes.

  Business picks up as the dinner rush starts, and before I know it, my shift is nearly over.

  Rafe hasn’t come in, though. I assumed if anyone associated with Rafe’s family had bugged me, they would be alarmed when they lost me. That should definitely alarm them. I expected Rafe to check in and touch base to make sure everything is okay, to call the restaurant if he had to.

  Nothing happens.

  That makes me start to worry. What if it wasn’t Rafe’s family who bugged me? What if Adrian reset my phone to its factory settings in case I was a cop, and my phone was bugged, to rid it of someone else’s spyware?

  I try not to obsessively worry about it, but I find myself searching my memories for anything I might have said to Laurel or Rafe or anyone else. I’m aware of the danger, so I am casually careful, but I didn’t think there was anything to actively worry about.

  Trent walks over, rolling his eyes in annoyance at something he must have encountered prior to approaching me. “I hate to ask you to clean restrooms now that you’re the queen around here, but Melanie insists if I make her do it, she’ll throw up. Can you clean the men’s room? A customer just told me it’s a mess.”

  Shaking my head, I joke, “I’m much too important now to clean toilets. Sorry, Trent.”

  He stares at me.

  I glance up. “Obviously I’m going to clean the bathroom. Give me a minute to close out this bill first.”

  I take my bill to my table and head for the rubber gloves. As I slide them on and head for the men’s restroom, I consider that I really shouldn’t have to clean toilets now that my shared bank account with my husband has so many zeroes. This is grunt work, dammit.

  Melanie is such a lazy girl, though. If I sent her to clean the toilets, she would walk in, check her phone, and leave, insisting it’s fine.

  I should have a chat with her. I can fire her ass now! She better embrace the rubber gloves and stop being so damned lazy. Sometimes you have to update your phone when it tells you to, Melanie. Jeeze.

  I’m mentally lecturing Melanie—and myself—so I am not immediately alert to potential danger. It doesn’t hit me until my arm has already been latched onto, and I’m being pulled into the handicap stall in the men’s room.

  I open my mouth to scream for help, but then my gaze lands on Felix, and my eyes widen.

  “It’s just me, okay?” he says, reassuringly.

  My gaze rakes over his stealth gear. He’s wearing sunglasses, a dark hoodie, and a pair of jeans. Not precisely how customers dress here, but he couldn’t very well walk-in without at least trying to hide his identity.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I whisper scream, backing myself up against the stall door and resting a hand against my thundering heart. “Oh, my God, I thought you were—actually, I wasn’t even sure. It’s been a weird day.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he says, nodding. “We had a bug in your phone. When it went dead, I worried something happened to you.”

  My heart plummets, but he’s in a hurry, so he immediately goes on.

  “Listen, I can’t stay here, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I echo lamely, shaking my head in overwhelmed disbelief. “I don’t even… you shouldn’t have come here to begin with. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I need your help, Virginia,” he says seriously.

  I shake my head immediately. “I can’t help you, Felix. The extent of my help is this advice: leave right now, and don’t come back.”

  “These are dangerous men, Virginia. Do you know why I was so fucking worried about you? They kill women who become problems for them. Rafe isn’t even marriage material; he’s going to get sick of you, and what do you think happens when he does, huh? Do you know what Mateo Morelli did to Beth Parsons? The mother of his first child who wanted out and tried to leave him, tried to go to the police?”

  My eyes narrow with suspicion and drop to his chest. “Are you wired? Are you trying to get me to say something you can use against them? Get the hell out of here, Felix. I mean it. Leave now before I call Rafe myself. Next time, asshole, don’t use full names when you’re trying to be stealthy. Good lord.”

  “Hey,” he says, coming up behind me and grabbing my arm. “Virginia, this is not a joke. I know you
think Rafe isn’t as bad as he is, I know that you don’t see—”

  “I see plenty,” I assure him. “And I don’t know anything, so you’re wasting your time trying to get anything out of me.”

  He releases my arm so I go to storm out, but he stops me with a quiet plea. “Virginia, please. They’ll kill me. They’ll fucking kill me.”

  I stop, my heart beating wrong, and brace my hand on the wall.

  Felix continues. “I don’t know what else to do. I didn’t get enough information working here, I couldn’t get close enough, I didn’t… I can’t inform if I don’t know anything, and they say I can transition to witness protection, but only if I give them something. Anything. It doesn’t have to be against Rafe. I know you love that asshole. It doesn’t have to be him. Give me something with Sin, or Shane, or… Fuck, I don’t care, give me Chicago information. It’s not what they wanted, but if my department won’t help me, I can go to the feds with it. They’d fucking love to nail Mateo Morelli. Give me something on one of them. I know you’ve brushed elbows; don’t tell me you haven’t picked anything up.”

  Mia flashes to mind, sitting on Rafe’s bed, terrified I hold evidence in my head that might rip her family apart.

  I shake my head. “Nope. I know he doesn’t like Mexican food. That’s all I know about Mateo Morelli.”

  “Adrian Palmetto. He was here for Skylar’s party. He’s Mateo’s number two. Tell me what you know about him. Fuck, give me Vince. Nobody even likes that guy. He’s not even connected anymore, but I bet he’d talk if pressed.”

  “He sulks sometimes, but that’s not a crime. Carly really likes his abs. They’re nice abs, admittedly. Is any of this helpful, Felix?”

  Giving me dead eyes, he says, “You are my only fucking hope, Virginia. This is my Hail Mary. I don’t know what I’m going to do if you don’t help me. Please?”

  Reaching into my apron, I draw out all the bills I’ve collected from tips and straighten them, then I hand him the stack. “Take this. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have on me. You’re going to have to run. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, but I can’t. Do not try to hurt the Morelli family. It’s a bad idea. They’re too big, too far-reaching. You’ll lose much more than they will. Just run. If you try to take on any of them, I would make sure you can nail all of them, because… well, have you seen The Sopranos? That’s the extent of my personal frame of reference about alleged Mafiosi, but my understanding is they really don’t like rats.”

  “You’re really not going to help me?” he demands, looking a little lost. “Seriously?”

  “I’m so sorry, Felix. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  42

  Virginia

  Rafe gave me my car back, but when I get to it, Rex is leaning against it, arms crossed and waiting for me.

  “To what do I owe this immense pleasure?” I ask him tiredly.

  Nodding to his car, he informs me, “Rafe wants me to bring you to him. He was too busy to stop in for dinner at the restaurant tonight. He tried to text you, but you never answered.”

  “I need a new phone,” I tell him, walking around to the passenger seat.

  “Actually, you might want to sit in the back. He sent you a change of clothes.”

  I frown. “And you want me to change clothes in the backseat of your car?”

  Rex shrugs. “Just following orders.” He misses a beat, then rolls his eyes. “Come on, I’m not going to look. I’m not a fucking pervert.”

  I’m too worn out to argue, so I open his back door and climb in.

  I find presents inside. A box of shoes containing pale pink heels, and a V-neck white, sleeveless dress that falls mid-thigh. I awkwardly change out of my work clothes and into the outfit. My hair is pulled back into a severe pony tail. I pull it free and shake it out, but there’s not much I can do about that.

  “Where am I meeting him for dinner?” I inquire.

  Rex glances at me in the rearview mirror as I tousle my hair. He shrugs and murmurs, “I dunno, some fancy fucking place, probably.”

  Helpful. So helpful.

  He takes me to the strip. That could mean anywhere, but I start to get confused when I see the mini Eiffel tower right up close, and Rex pulls into the same parking lot Rafe did the night he took me to that night club.

  I am further confused when Rex escorts me to the doors of that night club, but there is no line. There is a doorman, but it’s a ghost town, so I don’t know why. The place appears to be closed.

  Sure enough, the doorman opens the door for us and I walk inside the empty night club. It’s eerily quiet. I can hear the click of my own heels as I walk.

  Then I see the sole occupant. Rafe, in the rounded booth we sat in that night in the VIP section. It strikes me as so Rafe-like and completely adorable that he’s sitting in the VIP section, even when he is literally the only person here.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, narrowing my eyes playfully as I approach.

  The table is set for two with a candle in the center, resting in a small pile of red rose petals.

  “Is this how gangsters do date night?” I inquire as I drop into the booth and slide in beside him.

  Rafe smiles, settling his arm around the back of the booth. “Maybe. You like it?”

  “I do,” I tell him, leaning in to give him a kiss. “Work was long.”

  As he snuggles me close, the silence is broken and music starts playing over the speakers. Not loud and overbearing the way it is when the club is open, but nice, soft background music to accompany our meal. I listen for a moment before I identify the song. I actually wouldn’t have even known it prior to setting up a Rat Pack playlist for Giordano, but I included this song on it. Dean Martin sings Everybody Loves Somebody, and I snuggle up next to my very favorite Vegas gangster, past, present and future.

  “Thank you for this. This is lovely. You’re my favorite husband,” I inform him.

  “You only get one, sorry.”

  I crack a smile and rest my hand against his chest. “That’s all right. I’m a busy woman. I’m not sure I would have time for two anyway.”

  “I’m glad we agree.”

  “We do,” I murmur, kissing him again. “How was your day?” I inquire, reaching for the goblet of ice water already on the table. “No wine for me tonight, huh?” I joke, before taking a sip.

  His lips curve up. “Nope, you’re cut off.” Instead of answering me about his day, he takes the silver dome off my plate for me. “Let’s eat. I’m already eager for dessert.”

  “Is it me?” I ask, lifting a suggestive eyebrow.

  “You’ll be my dessert. You get cheesecake.”

  I sit up, grabbing my roll of silverware and open it up. “Best husband ever,” I declare.

  Rafe chuckles and sits forward to uncover his own meal. “Hopefully you still feel that way by the end of the night.”

  “Uh oh,” I murmur. “What did you do now?”

  Nodding at my plate, he tells me, “Eat your dinner.”

  Since he’s gone to all the trouble of arranging this nice evening out for us, I file away whatever he’s fucked up to deal with later. I’m saving Felix to tell him about later, too, so by night’s end, neither of us might be happy with one another. At least now I know we’ll go home and bury all of the day’s disagreements long enough to make love and curl up close to sleep. I can handle any fight as long as I know at the end of the day, we are on the same team now.

  Dinner is delicious. A server comes and clears away our plates when we finish, then she brings out two more plates covered by silver domes.

  “I thought you said I was your dessert,” I tease, as she walks away. “What’s wrong, Mr. Morelli? Too shy for a little exhibitionism?”

  “Don’t tempt me, you little minx,” he says, taking the dome off his plate.

  The single slice of classic cheesecake on his plate makes my mouth water, so I grab for the dome on my plate.

  Rafe’s hand comes to rest on top of mine,
stopping me. “Actually, before we make nice with dessert, we should talk.”

  I sit back, folding my hands in my lap. “All right,” I say, somewhat warily.

  “I owe you an apology,” he tells me.

  That wasn’t what I expected him to lead with. Lifting my eyebrows, I question, “You do?”

  “I do.” He reaches into his pocket and draws out his cell phone, placing it down on the tabletop.

  I cock an eyebrow at it and look at him, confused. “I’m not following.”

  “There’s no gentle way of saying this,” he tells me. “So, I’m just going to come out with it. I had Adrian bug your phone.”

  My jaw inches open and I glance at the phone I assumed was his. “You…? So, that’s…?”

  “A new phone,” he verifies, nodding. “This one’s not bugged, so try not to dunk it in a pitcher full of water. I mean, I can keep buying you new ones, but if you want to waste our money, there are a lot of ways that are much more fun.”

  Shaking my head, trying to make sense of this, I wonder if phones can be double bugged. Felix admitted the police had bugged my phone. Could both sides have been snooping around in my business?

  “That’s not what I need to apologize for, though. It’s probably not your favorite thing I’ve ever done, but I needed to know that I could trust you after finding out how much you’d kept from me, and that helped me get there.”

  “To clarify, you’re not apologizing for spying on me,” I reiterate.

  “Correct. The position I’m in, I’m sorry, but I had to. Trust is expensive, and I had to make sure the woman I was investing in had my back. Still best husband ever?”

  “Jury’s out. Let’s see what else you’ve got.”

  Meeting my gaze, he pulls my hand between his and holds it tight. “I sent Felix to the restaurant tonight.”

  My heart does a flip, his words filtering in a little at a time. It registers first—and somehow foremost—that he knows Felix was at the restaurant. It clicks that he knew I dunked my cell phone in a pitcher full of water, so he checked the tapes, but there are no cameras in the restroom.