I wriggle my toes out from under the bedspread while scouring the room for my clothes. My dress, draped over a chair, the shoes beside it. I don’t need the undergarments, wherever those are. My slim purse sits on a table, forgotten, my cell phone definitely dead by now. I need to use the bathroom and freshen up, but don’t want to risk waking him with any more movement than necessary. I’ll go home and pretend this never happened. Check into the office on the way.
He doesn’t move when I get out of bed. He stirs softly when I dress, but I hide in the shadows so he won’t see me if he wakes. I’ve got the robe nearby in case of emergency so I can quickly slide it on and pretend I was heading to the bathroom, but that doesn’t seem necessary either.
My hands tremble.
Rossi.
The ruthless mob that rules New England. They own property in the North End, lots of it. Restaurants and bakeries and hotels, though those are more recent acquisitions. He probably owns this one. They’re known for being hard-ass loan sharks, for racketeering with the best of them, and rumor has it they’re involved with a cartel that’s bent on bringing illegal narcotics into Boston. Romeo Rossi, their leader, was arrested and held without bail last year but eventually released. The details fade. Their father died several years back, and Romeo’s the oldest brother.
I’ll find out everything I can. Everything.
I just spread my legs for… which one? I’ll know before lunchtime.
I feel sick to my stomach at the very thought.
When I’m dressed, I glance back at the bed. I swallow the lump in my throat.
I don’t care who he is. I don’t care what he’s done or what he’s capable of. That man gave me the night of my dreams, and I won’t ever forget it. Ever.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth wordlessly to him as I lift his jacket and slowly remove his wallet. I take out the money and slide the loose bills in the jacket, then wince as I pull them out again and put them back in the wallet. I don’t need his cash and hate the idea of stealing from him, but he’ll know immediately I took his wallet if he sees just the cash left. No, I need to make him question it a little. If the entire wallet’s missing, he’ll look around in his hungover stupor and wonder if he left it in the car or if it fell out of his pocket on the way to the room. So I take the whole thing, cash and all. I swallow down bile.
I bite my lip as I carefully tuck his wallet into my bag for perusal when I’m alone later at the station. I look over at him, so carefree, lying in bed.
I’m sorry, I mouth again. So goddamn sorry.
I take his cell phone, too. I don’t have a plan quite yet, but I need to know… everything. And the more I can keep of his possessions, the easier this will be.
I swallow hard and lift my head. It’s time to go. I’ve already stayed too long. I unlock the door between our room and the adjacent one. He doesn’t move. I slide through the opening and leave it slightly ajar so I can see him. Still, he only gently snores in bed. I walk noiselessly to the exit on the other side of the second room, unlatch the door, and give one last backward glance in his direction. Again, he doesn’t move.
I sigh, kiss the tips of my fingertips, and blow an imaginary kiss toward him. I imagine it floats through the air and flutters onto his cheek.
“I’ll miss you, mystery man,” I say in the shadow of a whisper, so quietly he can’t hear me.
A part of me hopes he’ll chase after me. A part of me hopes that he won’t let me go so easily. But the elevator door slides open on its own with no chase. I wipe at the tears that fall down my cheeks, and shake my head at myself.
The elevator slides closed. My cheeks are wet when I hit the button for the second floor. I blink in surprise, and swipe angrily at my cheeks. I’m not sure why I’m crying, but it feels as if I could cry for days.
I hold my head up high and take in a deep breath. Quickly fiddle with my hair so it looks presentable. I don’t want to make a grand exit in the main lobby. I’ll leave down the fire escape and get home.
I swipe angrily at another tear, then another, mad at myself for crying over something so frivolous and meaningless.
There will be other nights, I tell myself.
There will be other men, I lie to myself.