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.”