Requiem of Sin - A Mafia Romance

I'd usually scold my best friend for poisoning my child with junk food, but not tonight. Willow needed to forget what we just went through, and Roxy knew exactly how to make that happen. She's been making it happen for me since we were kids. "You okay?" Roxy lowered her voice as she glanced around for my bags. "You should call in. Pack your things and come with us." I shook my head. "I need the money. I know Martin wasn't holding his end well, but it was still more than I can do on my own. Plus... I could use the distraction. The normalcy." "Right." Reluctant as she was, Roxy respected my decision to go to work as if everything was normal. I made sure to grab the old, dented coffee can Martin never paid attention to before I locked up the house and tucked it under my arm as we made our way to the SUV. She cocked a brow at my choice of luggage. "Isn't that a bit small for a weekender bag?" I managed a genuine, albeit small, laugh. "It's enough to buy me a weekender bag." Her eyes widened when I opened the lid once we were safely buckled inside her car. "Holy freaking shit." "Language!" Willow scolded from her booster in the backseat. Roxy snorted. "Sorry, Wills. But really, Clara... what...?" I shrugged and pulled a few bills from the thick wad nestled inside the can. "I may have only told Martin about... half of my tips." Which is how I ended up walking The Strip to work in a sexy cocktail dress with almost every penny I had tucked inside my strapless bra. I left the rest with Roxy in case she needed anything for Willow, despite her protests and reassurances that there's no way a tiny girl could rack up a huge pizza bill. I knew that, but what I didn't know was how Martin would react when he returned home to find it empty. I left my car there, my things there, but it wouldn't take long for him to figure out we were gone. And if anything happens to me, I need to know Willow is going to be okay. Which brought me to the front of the casino. I've walked past The Meridian a dozen times since taking on this second night job, but this was the first time I'd ever paused to actually look at it. I don't know why I did this time. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was simply because the golden lights matched my dress. The Meridian Casino & Hotel is one of those places that makes it clear that it caters to an elite clientele-crystal chandeliers, marble balustrades, and amber lights enveloping every square inch of Strip-facing architecture in a way that manages to pull you in without blinding you. It's open to anyone who wants to try their luck at the slots and tables, but I've always dismissed it as one of those places a peasant like me would never be able to afford to even breathe in. Nothing had changed about my financial situation, that was certain. What changed was the fact that I literally had nothing to lose. A handsome executive in a sharply tailored tuxedo stepped out of a car behind me, nearly clipping me with his door. He didn't seem to notice-he certainly didn't bother apologizing-but he was very attentive to the gorgeous woman who draped herself on his arm the second she slid out of the vehicle. They looked like celebrities walking the red carpet as they made their way into the casino. Something tugged me in their slipstream, down that same rich carpet leading to the front doors of The Meridian. I watched the couple nod to the attendants who scurried to open the doors for them. And as I watched, something in my heart ached. I've never desired wealth or status, but in that moment, I wanted so much for a taste of that world. Just a taste. And tonight, I could afford it, because I had nothing to lose. I quickly changed from my flats to my heels and tried my best to make my bag look like it was part of my ensemble. The attendants smiled, nodded, greeted me with "good evenings," and opened the doors for me just as they had for the couple before me. I felt like Dorothy entering the Emerald City for the very first time. Everything shimmered and glowed and dinged and tinkled. Even the staff had an inner shine. As if they were part of the architecture, brought to life by the setting sun and the neon lights, their veins flush with absinthe and dreams. Table games scared me. The leers, the scowls, the desperate men hunched over hands of cards with menace in their eyes. I don't know much about slots, either, but they seemed easier to handle. Push a button and pray-that was more my style. I don't remember walking across the floor, through the pit, or really moving anywhere at all. But I must have, because I somehow found myself at a cluster of slot machines tucked into a corner. An older woman in a garish pink tracksuit huffed in frustration and stood from her stool at the machine closest to the pit. She grumbled something about "gone cold" and shuffled her way over to a different row of the same game. I stared at that stool. Why not? That was the question burning on my mind as I sat down and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from my bra. This is insane. I need this money. But my hands moved like they couldn't hear what I was thinking. I didn't know how the game played, or what it paid out, or what all the connecting arrows on a super complicated chart meant. I just watched a few people nearby feed their money to their machine, press the big, glowing button, and wait. So I fed this machine my hundred-dollar bill, pressed the big, glowing button, and waited. Things spun. Lights flashed. Buttons whirred. And then, a seven-letter word popped up to change the course of my life. Jackpot. The sound comes rushing back in now. The vacuum punctures and the world hammers at my eardrums. Which means I can very clearly hear the bells and whistles screaming at me that I've won. A small slip of paper spits out of the machine, and I take it. It's oddly underwhelming. I thought it would start spewing gold coins and I could dive into my newfound money jacuzzi like Scrooge McDuck, but I guess not. Nothing but a small little ticket, single ply paper, fading ink. "SEE CASHIER FOR WINNINGS" is printed in bold across the top. So neat. So simple. So mundane. Like my whole damn life didn't just change. My lungs are finally working again, though, and they suck in a deep breath. Then I cry out as loud as I can, "YES!" I leap to my feet with victory fists punching the air. I've escaped hell and won my way into heaven. Roxy, Willow, and I are going to take the first private jet out of Nevada. We're going to find somewhere warm and quiet and we're going to wear matching coconut bikinis and drink mocktails on the beach. We're going to be okay. We're going to be okay. But, as I realize a moment too late, my victory fist is on a crash course with a nearby server just as she rounds the corner bearing an overloaded tray of hot coffees and watered-down vodka cranberries. I turn in horror. It's too late to stop it. My hand keeps going. Up and up, until it collides with the waitress's tray... Everything after that happens in slow motion. First, I see the girl's mascara-encrusted eyes go wide as saucers. I'm sure mine are doing the same. Then the tray tips. Coffee sloshes over the rim of the highest mug in the stack. It becomes a murky brown waterfall, then intermingles with the vodka crans until it all looks like sewage. The whole nasty mess flies through the air, a tidal wave of the stuff, and sends it surging down... All over a gorgeous man in a sharply tailored tuxedo. Glass shatters. People scream. The man, though, just turns to glare at me full-on. Champagne drips from his nose and hair. He's gorgeous; there's no denying that. I don't know if he's an avenging angel or a fallen one, but he's carved from the same marble as this palatial room and he's breathtaking. And all I can think is, ... Jackpot?