Page 46 of Tangled Vows

A few minutes before midnight, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from the hotel. A hushed voice shared new info.

“He just took the elevator to his room. Seventh floor, room seven-fourteen.”

A shot of adrenaline flooding my veins, I address the girls in a calm, steady voice.

“Walk up and down the hallway, acting like you’re drunk. When he gets out, pretend you lost your keys. We’ll take care of the rest.”

These girls have balls... I told them Simeone is no ordinary man. He’s almost forty years old and has spent most of his adult life bashing heads, breaking bones and shooting people. Some men would be afraid to even go near him. Not Nicki and Brandi. Of course, they’ll make good money out of this. I’ve promised them thirty thousand dollars each if all goes to plan. For a five-minute job, that’s a lot of cash. Yet, this job is dangerous, much more dangerous than spending the night with a stock broker or a realtor like they usually do.

The Palms Hotel & Spa looms tall and bright in a rather dark neighborhood. Its gold and red sign is over the entrance, the light from the lobby illuminating a big chunk of the road outside.

The girls go in first; Ivan and I wait in the lobby for them to take the elevator up to the seventh floor.

This place has an air of luxury to it. There’s a statue of Mercury, the Greek god, just next to the entrance. Beige carpets line the floors with lounge sofas and armchairs at the numerous tables across the hall.

The distinct ding of the elevator sends my brother and I pacing past the reception desk. We get into the empty car, tensions rising. My gaze lands on the chrome railing in front of me, Ivan counting the magazines in his pockets.

“Quick and painless?” he asks, shoving a full magazine into place. “Or slow and painful?”

I screw the silencers onto my Glocks and put them behind my back, their grips sticking out over the belt of my pants. “I would love to tear this fucker apart, piece by piece. We’re not on Bratva ground, though. It’s got to be quick and painless.”

The clang of the elevator arriving fills my ears; its doors open sideways. I peek out and notice the two girls strolling away from me. They giggle, Brandi leaning on Nicki, her arm raised in the air. I hear her cheering, my gaze stopping on the door almost directly across from me. It’s got the number “716” on it.

I leave the elevator and jog toward the pillar to the right. Having climbed a flight of stairs, Ivan stops on the steps that overlook the hallway. The numbers of the rooms closest to me make something very clear. They are numbered 719 and 720, which means that Simeone’s room is well down the hallway.

“Oh, man!” Brandi moans in fake frustration, turning around. “Where did I put our keys? They were in my purse when we left the bar.”

“Which one?” Nicki wonders, the two of them laughing out loud. “Why did you take two?” Brandi clutches her stomach, doubling over with a loud chuckle the moment she strolls past room 714.

The sound of the door clicking open makes my heart jump in my throat. I reach behind my back, the tip of my index finger making contact with the grip of my gun. I ease it out and slow my breath, a gruff, male voice rising above the giggles of Nicki and Brandi.

“What the fuck?!” Simeone exclaims, stepping out of his room. “What the fuck are you girls doing out here? There’s people trying to sleep.”

Brandi laughs harder; she looks up at him over her shoulder. “Oh, we’re sorry!” she says in a playful voice. “We didn’t mean to wake you, sir. It’s just that we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” he asks, scratching the back of his head. That prick is eyeing her from top to bottom. The hunger in his eyes isn’t just obvious—it’s palpable.

“Well...” Brandi pauses, both girls blocking my view as they turn to face him. “I can’t find my keys. Can we use the phone in your room to call the reception? I’m a little too drunk to go back downstairs.”

“So am I,” Nicki says in a husky voice. “Go ahead, honey,” she urges her friend, pushing Simeone back against the wall. With his side in view, I step out of my hiding spot. I level the gun at him, Nicki pushing my target aside. She jumps into the room and slams the door shut; Simeone’s left knee brushing the carpet as he looks up at me.

“Hey, asshole,” I growl, holding the Glock with a steady hand. “We finally meet.”

His smirk fuels my anger. I lower the gun to his head.

But this son of a bitch is quick—quicker than I imagined.

In a swift move, he thrusts his arm up. He slaps his fingers into my wrist and knocks the Glock from my grasp before bursting off. He starts a frantic dash up the stairs as I’m picking my gun up from the floor.

“Don’t move!” Ivan shouts.

I jump up, the sound of thumps and grunts much louder than the sound of my footsteps. I reach the second flight of stairs, catching a glimpse of a door swinging back and forth. The sign on the wall next to that door reads “Roof.”

Three long strides send me right to the door. I throw my elbow forward, the glass hitting my body with force—but the sight that greets me forces me to bolt my feet to the ground. A skyscraper in the backdrop, Simeone is standing near a fallen Ivan. My brother is crab-walking backwards, the Italian aiming his gun down at him.

“Stay where you are, motherfucker!” Simeone yells, lifting his gaze from Ivan to me. “Drop the piece! Drop it or I’ll pump your buddy full of lead!”

“Okay, okay,” I say in a hurry, letting my Glock fall to the ground in front of my feet.

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