Page 1 of Twisted Trust (Mafia Lords of Sin #10)

MAEVE

“ I ’m going to kill you!”

The drunken Miss Frankfurt stands before me with fury in her eyes, glaring past the clumps of mascara clinging to her tear-stained lashes.

Both her hands slam down onto the desk so hard that my potted succulent jumps precariously close to the edge.

“Ma’am.” It takes all my willpower to maintain the fake, pleasant smile plastered to my face. “Threats against staff aren’t acceptable. If you can’t speak to me calmly about this matter then I’d ask for you to please return to your room and?—”

“Return to my room?” She cuts me off like the snap of a whip. “I can’t return to my room because you gave it away to some other fucker!”

“As the hotel already explained to you, ma’am, check-out was five hours ago and you missed it. I was able to have your belongings moved to another room that meets your requirements, but as I said, this will incur another charge?—”

“I’m not paying for two rooms!” Miss Frankfurt yells once more.

“She shouldn’t have to pay for what you did,” snaps her more sober friend. “You’re the event planner. You’re the one that did this, so honestly, we should take this out of your fee!”

Miss Frankfurt’s eyes widen like that’s the best news she’s heard all day. “What an excellent idea!” She points at me with one long, perfectly manicured finger. “You said on your little website that you take care of everything, so that should include paying for my extra accommodation.”

Lightly biting the inside of my cheek, I widen my smile until my cheeks ache.

“And as it also says on my little website, all arrangements for hen parties and hotels can only be maintained within the guests’ commitment to check-out times.

You also agreed to cover any additional costs should you break any of our agreements which, I’m sorry to say, you have. ”

“It’s not our fault!” whines the third member of the group. “We were partying and didn’t know what time it was. Why don’t they have any clocks inside those casinos?”

It’s not the first time one of my clients has been caught off guard by how quickly time passes in Las Vegas, and it won’t be the last.

No matter how much I stress to clients the importance of keeping track of the itinerary, it rarely sticks.

There’s something about the lights and fantastical allure of Las Vegas that makes people forget all sense.

“So.” Straightening my spine a little, I slide the card reader toward Miss Frankfurt. “If you try to take the room cost out of my pay, then I’ll gladly see you in court. If not, how do you want to pay for the second room?”

“Fuck you,” she slurs slightly, leaning heavily against the counter. “We’re gonna one—one-star your fucking website. People should know the shitty stunts you pull.”

They’re all too tired and too drunk to realize how this entire situation is their own fault, and I will never see the apology that will enter their minds hours later when they realize I did nothing wrong.

The threat of a one-star review washes over me like water off a duck’s back.

I have more than enough glowing reviews that someone’s shitty attitude won’t affect my score too much, and I’ve been working with this hotel for two and a half years.

The money I bring in speaks for itself.

After finally dragging the extra four hundred dollars out of Miss Frankfurt for the second room and the extended stay, she fires me on the spot and refuses to listen when I tell her I technically work for the hotel, not her.

In the end, it’s easier to let her win the argument because dealing with her party rolling into the hotel so obscenely late has made me late for the one person I swore never to be late for.

A promise I’ve broken more times than I ever dare to admit.

Each time the alarm rings on my phone reminding me of a more important place to be, I tell myself that this time will be the last time I leave my son hanging around waiting for me.

I tell myself the money I make is worth it for his future and that once I save enough to stop scraping by from paycheck to paycheck, I’ll make it up to him.

Online, other mothers tell me that he’s only four and he won’t remember my being late to pick him up from school or his activity clubs, but I remember that and more from my own childhood.

I swore I’d be different.

How weak that promise was.

I pawn the group onto the front desk staff to help organize their check-out and flee the hotel into the vibrant, thriving Las Vegas strip.

Moving here had been a dream three years ago, but now I’m not sure how I feel about the strip that never sleeps.

The money’s good, but the bills are expensive and I’m as poor here as I was living in New York.

At least here, I’m safe. There’s no better place to vanish than one of the busiest places in the world.

It takes me an agonizing ten minutes to hail a cab, and then an even longer ten-minute drive from the hotel to the activity center where my son, Scott, finished up his introductory sports class thirty minutes ago.

My heart clenches painfully as I sprint inside the building and spot him sitting alone on a plastic chair, kicking his legs back and forth.

He seems happily distracted by the picture book balancing on his skinny knees, but before I can reach him, Sarah, the activity center coordinator, materializes out of her office and into my path.

“You’re late,” she says with that perfectly polite but also extremely snippy tone she uses for scolding parents in front of their unsuspecting kids.

“Sorry,” I gasp as my face flushes from the sprint in here for the taxi outside. “I had a crazy day.”

“Mmhmm.” She purses her lips while smiling sweetly.

“So did I. Caring for the twenty screaming children their parents dumped here definitely kept me busy, but you know what? I told myself it would be worth it because I’m going to dinner with my husband at seven and I’d have three whole hours to get ready!

” Her thin, over-plucked eyebrows raise. “Do you know why my plans changed?”

I want to smack that sweet, condescending smile off her face but I can’t afford to get into any kind of altercation. “I have no idea.”

“Because you’re thirty-six minutes late.” She briefly looks me up and down, causing a hot, prickly flush to burst across my skin. “Aren’t you an event coordinator? Isn’t timing supposed to be what you’re good at?”

“In theory,” I reply tiredly. “Do you want to make yourself later by talking to me or can I take my son and go?”

Scott finally catches on to the sound of my voice and looks up at me with his gigantic golden eyes.

He smiles at me, and all the stress tightening in my chest instantly fades away.

Sarah sighs and sucks on her teeth, then she pulls a folded slip of paper from her pocket and hands it to me as her fake smile fades. “Your last check bounced. My boss says you can’t come back until you’ve paid your outstanding fees.”

“What?” Snatching the paper from her hand, I unfold it to see the gigantic red letters reading INVALID stamped on my check.

Shit.

I thought I had enough in my account to cover this. “I get paid in two weeks. Can’t he come until then?”

Sarah’s fake smile turns into a smug one of real enjoyment. “No. We can’t run this place on promises, Miss Jackson. You understand.”

With that, she turns and saunters back into her office. The door closes firmly in my face, silencing the hundreds of excuses that flood my mind.

Shit.

I rely on this place, which is why it’s easy to put up with bitches like Sarah.

They have a partnership with Scott’s school so when school ends, he’s brought straight here with a handful of other children.

The extra time has been a godsend when it comes to my unpredictable work hours.

Now what am I going to do?

“Scott!” I call for my son, and he slips off the chair, abandoning his book and running straight into my arms.

“Mommy! You’re late!”

It kills me a little every time he points this out. “I know, baby. I had to deal with an ogre at work.”

His eyes widen in amazement as I scoop him up with a light grunt and carry him outside. “What did it look like?”

“Oh, you know. Exactly like the ones in your books. Big and green and so, so smelly! This one also had a lot of trouble standing up straight so it was pretty easy to take it down.”

“Wow,” he breathes and then he presses a wet kiss to my cheek. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

His hunger admission turns into cranky complaining less than five minutes later and by the time we reach my car, he’s on the verge of a full-blown over-tired meltdown.

I hold it off by driving him to a local fast food place, and blissful silence descends as he stuffs his face with a mini-cheeseburger and a handful of fries.

I settle for just a coffee.

It’s all I can afford, and the judgmental glances from child-free assholes walking past kind of kills my appetite.

Two types of people exist in Las Vegas—the people like me who scrape by on every last cent because the cost of living is so high that every dollar is immediately swallowed by bills, or the rich assholes who think they’re better than everyone else with thousands to blow at the roulette table.

I wouldn’t mind being like the second type.

Scott eats in blissful, cheesy silence, and I enjoy it until my phone jingles in my pocket.

Easing myself out of the booth, I walk a few steps away and keep one eye fixed on Scott as I answer.

“Hello?”

“Maeve!” The fuzzy, comforting voice of my neighbor Cameron buzzes down the line. “Sorry to call you like this, but I knocked on your door and you didn’t answer.”

“I’m out at McDonald’s,” I reply. “Sorry, I’m not home right now.”

“You’re fine, you’re fine.”

“Is something wrong? I’m like a block away so I can be there in two minutes.”

“Don’t be silly.” Cameron chuckles. “I just made way too much pasta tonight so I thought I’d share while it’s hot. Don’t stress. I’ll store it and bring it round to you later.”

“Thanks, Cameron.” For some reason, even that simple act of kindness is enough to bring an unexpected burst of warmth to my eyes.

“You good?” Cameron’s soft voice immediately turns concerned. “You don’t sound good.”

“Long day,” I groan.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Scott’s happy munching on his fries so I keep my voice low and immediately surge into a ten-minute rant about the assholes from work, the lack of reading comprehension in the majority of my clients, and the disaster at the activity center.

Cameron is as sweet as ever and provides just the right amount of hums and listening noises to make me feel heard right up until the end of my rant.

“Shit,” Cameron murmurs. “I thought my day was bad with stale cheese. I’m sorry, Mae. What are you going to do?”

“I have no clue,” I mutter, briefly closing my eyes. “I can’t afford to find another activity center. That one was perfect because it was so close to his school and they handled transportation. I can pay them when I get paid in two weeks, but until then…”

“Can you take Scott to work with you?”

I squint at my son who yawns widely and abandons his last handful of fries. “I could, but it’s hardly the greatest environment for a child.”

“Do you want me to watch him?” Cameron offers.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering.”

“But for two weeks?”

“What of it? We get on great as it is. I’d just have to pick him up from school, right? And then it would be like all the other times I’ve watched him.”

“But I can’t pay you this time.”

“Mae.” Cameron’s voice turns stern. “Not every good deed requires payment, okay?”

He’s offering me a lifeline and I’d be a fool not to take it.

But every good deed is just a debt that hasn’t been called in yet.

Before I can answer, tiredness drives Scott back to his earlier unstable mood and he begins to wail, which brings the attention of every other diner.

“Damn, I have to go. I’ll think about it, Cameron. Thank you!”

Ending the call, I hurry back to Scott and quickly take his hand. “Come on, buddy, you don’t want the rest of your fries?”

He answers me with a wail so loud that it makes my spine twitch.

The allure of fast food can only appease for so long. I try to guide him out of the booth but he resists with every pull, eventually lying flat down on the seat so I have to pull him out by his legs.

I try to scoop him up and carry him out, but as soon as he starts crying, Scott becomes this impossible bundle of squirming limbs, tears, and little sharp nails.

It’s a miracle I get us both out of the restaurant in one piece.

“Stop it!” I snap at him as I set him back down on the ground. “I know you’re tired but we’re going home now, okay? Home and to bed.”

“I don’t wanna go to bed!” he yells, pulling back on my hand as I walk toward my car.

“You do, you just don’t know it.”

“I don’t!” he yells, fighting my grip on his wrist. Each scrape of his nails against my forearm and tug of his weight against my hold drives my irritation higher and higher.

All logic flees my mind as the stress of the day mingles with a screaming four-year-old, and I’m at the end of my rope.

“Scott—”

As I spin around to yell at him, something dull and heavy collides with my face.

Scott’s little wrist slips from my grasp as my head snaps back, and all sense of balance vanishes from my mind until I hit the tarmac of the parking lot.

A sharp whine rings in my ears and pain throbs through my cheek and jaw.

What the fuck!?

Shaking my head, I glance up just in time to see the fist flying toward my face, and it takes all my strength to roll out of the way.

As I roll, my bag snags on something and stops me from rolling too far.

It takes me a split-second to realize the snag is my attacker—he has one meaty fist around the strap of my bag and the other is against flying toward my face.

“Give me the fucking bag!” yells a deep voice from behind a black balaclava.

Instinct has me clinging to it, and I kick one leg out toward the mugger’s ankle, but he sidesteps and then turns to where Scott is cowering in fear next to the trunk of my car.

“No!” Lunging upward, I make it to my knees and wrap both arms around the mugger’s leg, dragging him backward and away from my son.

He twists in my grip and his fist smashes down onto my face once more, sending a flood of pain through my entire skull.

“Take the bag!” I yell through the blood flooding my mouth from where my teeth cut into my cheek. “Take it!”

He doesn’t listen. He pushes me back, and I land hard.

Then he’s on top of me with one hand around my throat and his fist is colliding with my ribs again and again.

Panic screeches through my mind, caught between survival and protecting my son.

Only one wins.

“Scott, run!” I croak around the meaty fist crushing my windpipe. “L–Like we practiced! Run!”