Chapter 44 NEW YORK NIGHTS
••Luciana••
As the days rolled on, we seamlessly fell back into our familiar routine. Before we knew it, Roman had business in Sicily once again. When he brought it up, I saw an opportunity to join him—this way, I could check in on Sapphire Lounge while we were at it.
We had just begun to settle into the villa when Roman got a phone call. The look on his face instantly signaled that the news was unsettling.
“I need to be in New York by tomorrow morning,” he informed me, “which means we have to leave tonight.”
I let out a resigned sigh. “That was quick.”
With his typical resolve, he asserted, “You’re coming with me. I can’t leave you here by yourself, and Theo has to accompany me as well.”
“There are guards all around,” I countered. “I’ll be perfectly fine.”
But Roman was unmoved. Just like him. Stubborn and resolute once he made a decision. A few hours later, we found ourselves airborne, en route to New York.
We landed late at night, and the city welcomed us with its vibrant, restless pulse. As we drove from the airport, the lights outside blurred into a dazzling display, and the towering skyscrapers loomed, creating an exhilarating backdrop for whatever lay ahead.
I leaned my head against the glass, watching my reflection flicker and disappear.
Roman sat beside me, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in Russian. He had been on calls since we landed, his voice low and sharp. I barely understood a word.
By the time we pulled up in front of the hotel, exhaustion weighed heavily on my body.
Roman ended the call, slipped his phone into his pocket, and handed me a sleek black card like it was nothing.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Get us the best suite. I’ll be right back.”
I took the card, nodded once, and stepped out of the car. Cold air brushed my skin, sharp and unfamiliar compared to Sicily. Inside, the hotel smelled of polished marble and expensive indifference.
The receptionist barely looked up.
“Good evening,” I said calmly. “I’d like a suite.”
She finally raised her eyes and scanned me from head to toe. I was sure she would have checked my legs too if the counter hadn’t blocked her view. Then she turned to her computer.
“Payment,” she said flatly.
I stretched out the card. She swiped it.
“Declined.”
I was too tired to react properly. “You can try again,” I said. “It might be a network issue.”
She swiped it again. Declined.
Her smile tightened, “I’m sorry, ma’am. It seems the card isn’t going through.”
My brows furrowed. “That’s strange. It should. Please try once more.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” she said, already pulling the card back. “Perhaps you’d like to consider a different room or another form of payment.”
A wave of heat crept up my spine, and my thoughts raced as I realized my bank account was dwindling. My father had stopped sending allowances long ago, and Roman hadn’t offered any support either—not out of unwillingness, but because I never found the words to ask. Now, he wasn’t even here, despite his insistence that I book the finest suite.
I squared my shoulders, determined to maintain my presence. “Just give it one more shot,” I urged. “I’m convinced it’s an issue with the network.”
She dismissed my comment, her fingers flying over the keyboard as if the conversation was over. My jaw tightened; if I had brought my knife tonight, this woman would have deeply regretted her life choices.
“Is this how customers are treated in this place?” I demanded sharply.
Before she could respond, I felt Roman’s presence looming behind me.
“What’s the problem?” he asked in a low, calm voice.
The receptionist immediately stiffened; Roman had quite the impact on people.
“There’s a problem with the card,” she replied hastily. “It was declined.”
With a firm jaw, Roman took the card from my hand and slid another one across the counter. “Process this.”
It went through immediately.
He leaned forward slightly, voice calm but deadly. “Now apologize to my wife.”
The receptionist blinked. “I—”
“To my wife,” he repeated, eyes cold.
“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, turning to me. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”
••Roman••
When I walked back in, I didn’t expect to see Luciana at the reception desk. One glance told me something was wrong. As I approached, I caught the tail end of the conversation. I wasn’t letting this slide.
I held the receptionist’s gaze a moment longer before stepping back. She should consider that her warning. People went missing for less.
“Suite. Highest floor,” she said, her voice shaking as she handed the room card to Luci.
We took the elevator in silence. Inside the suite, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a living painting. Luci dropped her bag and let out a slow breath.
“I could have killed her if you hadn’t shown up when you did,” she remarked.
“If you really want me to handle her, just say the word, princess,” I replied.
A soft laugh escaped her.
“I don’t tolerate anyone disrespecting what’s mine,” I added.
The air hung heavy with my words as she turned her gaze to the window, feigning interest in the city below.
Later, once room service arrived and the bustling city faded into a low murmur, we found ourselves sitting across from each other. Shoes were strewn about the floor, and remnants of our meal cluttered the table—Luci barely touched her food.
“Aren’t you going to take a bath?” I inquired as she lounged on the bed, looking dozy.
“When did that become your concern?” she shot back
.
I raised my hands in surrender. “Fair enough.”
“It’s chilly in here,” she grumbled.
“You don't like the cold?”
Her lips curled into a faint smile. “I grew up under the sun. Cold feels like a punishment to me.”
“In Russia, cold is just a part of life,” I countered.
She chuckled softly. “Well, that explains a lot.”
Just then, my nose itched and I sneezed—once, then twice.
She smirked at me. “Look at the guy who claims cold is normal.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, waving it off. “Just the new environment.”