Luciano | Book I ✓

Chapter Ten

You wouldn't believe it, but housekeeping came for the bodies later that morning.

I was standing near the kitchenette, sipping on a glass of orange juice when they knocked on the door.  They entered without a response from me.  I gave them a soft smile behind the rim of my glass, sipping my juice loudly as the two women stepped in.  They gave me a smile before quickly moving to the two bodies that littered the floor.

"So," I slurp my orange juice, "you guys do this a lot?"

They both give me a quizzical look, before turning back to the dead men and bending down.  With one grabbing the shoulders and the other gripping onto the legs, they were able to combine their strength and lift the men onto the cart they had brought.  I wasn't about to question just how they were going to roll this cart down the hallway while managing to dodge guests and other unaware employees.

"They don't speak English, Ms. Mitchell," Liam strides into the room, his hands fumbling with his necktie.  He greets the women in their native language and turns back to me, his lips pursed.

"Ms. Crawford." I correct him while resting my glass down. I lean my weigh against my hip, allowing the counter to support my weight, "So, let me understand something, you use women – and men – that cannot speak English fluently—"

"—that cannot speak English at all," he corrects.

"—at all," I state and fold my arms across my chest, "and you have them do your dirty work?"

Luciano's jaw sets as the women stand to their feet and wipe their hands off on their aprons.  They tug at the cart as they pass us.  Liam's attention drifts to them as he nods, murmurs something in their language – something I assumed was a thank you – and slides each of them a hundred-dollar bill.

Once they leave, I stick out my hand, expecting a sum of cash for myself.  All I get from Liam is a bored, annoyed look.

He leans forward on the balls of his feet, "Correction," then he leans back, "They do my dirty work, because yes, if something were to ever get out and they were to be interrogated, it's highly likely that once the police realize they can't even say hello in English, that they'll send them on their way.  Police are not only lazy, but people in America also seem to think that anyone who can't speak their language is stupid."  His eyelids close a little as he finishes and stalks off, brushing by me, muttering something about hating this country.

I clear my throat and turn around, extending my hand and wiggling my fingers, hoping he gained the hint.  I lift my eyebrows, "Don't I get a little incentive for keeping your murderous ways a secret?"  Luciano takes a step towards me, his eyebrows creasing together.

He slaps my hand as it hangs, suspended between the space between us.  His fingertips brush against my palm; they were definitely rough enough to cut my skin.  Someone needs to recommend him a brand of moisteriz—

Liam leans forward, lowering his voice as if we weren't the only ones in the room, "You would never reveal my murderous ways, not considering I'm saving your life," He pulls away as I ball my hand into a fist, feeling paper crumble underneath my touch.  My heart skipped a beat.  "Finish packing and meet me downstairs in the lobby once you're done, we're leaving."

I waited until he slammed the door to un-ball my fist and glance at the bill that he had slipped into my hand.

I was disappointed, but not surprised.

It was a dollar.

- - -

The first thing I spotted when the elevator doors parted and the lobby can into view, was police. A bunch of them were huddled by the rotating doors, while others were grouped off in pairs, interrogating a few of the tourists.  Two women dressed in uniforms were standing off to the side, crying.