A Suite For The Mafia Boss

The Thirteenth Floor

AURORA'S POV

I couldn't pinpoint the exact reason they wanted me on that floor.

Whatever happened on that floor was never handled by an assistant manager. It is usually handled by the general manager or even someone higher; through the private line only a few people had access to it.

I have been here for the past two months now and had never even entered that floor.

My mind suddenly remembered that today was the manager's day off; why didn't I think of that earlier?

I let out a deep breath.

"Did they tell you what happened?" I asked Ben as I followed him toward the elevator.

"Not really." He responded without looking directly at me. He had this look of guilt like someone who knows what is about to happen but has zero control over it.

The elevator doors closed, and it was just me and my reflection in the polished steel; my uniform had gotten slightly wrinkled from all the working since morning.

I ran different scenarios and ways I could sort out any misunderstanding.

“I'm sorry for any inconvenience, sir. I'll handle it personally.” It sounded weird saying it outloud.

I sigh, watching the elevator climb, floor numbers ticking upward in silence, and somewhere in that silence my mind wandered somewhere I didn't want it to go.

My mother had also walked through halls like this one.

Different wing, different decade, but the same hotel, the same kind of quiet that made you feel like you were being watched even when you weren't.

I remembered how she used to come home smelling like the lobby's flowers and complain about guests who had no manners.

I pushed the thought down before it could go any further. This wasn't the right time for it.

The doors opened onto the thirteenth floor, and the air changed the second I stepped out of the elevator.

It felt thicker and wrong.

I heard a man's voice, low and pleading, coming from behind a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

A staff member stood outside the doors, and the moment he saw me, he pushed the door open without a word and let me in.

I walked in and stopped.

The number of men in the room was 6 in total, the same men that I had seen earlier holding matching briefcases.

Two of the men were kneeling in the middle of the suite in front of Damien. One of them stood close to him, his eyes scanning the room; that was his guard. I understood it without being told.

Two others were standing at the other side, their heads faced downwards.

Damien sat on the couch like none of it concerned him.

His white sleeve had a big red stain spreading across the front of the fabric, and telling from the color, it was wine, red wine.

“You are the assistant manager.” He said, but it wasn't a question.

“Yes sir.”

“I want her fired.” He said, without gesturing or making any explanation.

I looked around the big furnished room and immediately understood what had happened without being told.

A young woman stood at the far side of the room, a tray still in her hands; her fingers had turned pale around the edge of the tray.

She was shaking so hard the glasses on the tray clinked together.

His eyes stayed on me. Sky blue, giving no hint of human emotions away. Like firing someone and every other thing in the room was just a bored routine he couldn't wait to end.

“I completely understand, sir.” I kept my voice even; being scared right now wasn't going to do me any good. “I'm very sorry about your shirt. I'll have someone bring another sleeve immediately.”

He didn't give me a response.

“Sir, if you don't mind, may I ask what happened?” I asked.

He leaned back against the couch, his eyes still on me, almost letting out a scoff, then he took his eyes back to his shirt. The gestures alone, telling me I must be ridiculous for asking something very obvious.

I glanced at the woman again. She looked like she might be sick. I had seen that same look before, on staff who had made a mistake they knew could cost them everything.

The kind of fear that had nothing to do with losing a job and everything to do with what came after.

"With respect, sir," I said, "accidents happen in this line of work. She's one of my best servers. I'd like to ask that you reconsider."

The room fell dead silent.

The guard's eyes flicked toward Damien, waiting for a reaction. One of the men kneeling lifted his head slightly, just enough to glance at me before dropping it again.

Damien studied me for a long moment, the kind of look that made me feel like he was deciding something, though I couldn't tell what it was.

"Fine," he said finally. "She keeps her job but she won't work on my floor again."

It wasn't a full win, but it was enough.

"Thank you, sir." I turned to the woman before he could change his mind. "Go. I'll handle the rest."

She didn't wait to be told twice.

She set the tray down with trembling hands and was out of the room before I even finished the sentence, not daring to look over her shoulders.

I turned to follow her out, already thinking about the shirt, about getting someone up here with a replacement so I could put this whole thing behind me and get back downstairs where I belonged.

"I'll send someone up with a fresh shirt for you right away, sir," I said, already halfway toward the door.

"Stay."

I stopped abruptly.

I turned back slowly, and that was when I noticed it properly for the first time.

How the two kneeling men hadn't moved this entire time. Not even an inch. Like they already knew what was coming and had made peace with staying exactly where they were.

Damien wasn't looking at his shirt anymore. He wasn't looking at me with that distant and unreadable look he had a moment ago either.

He was looking at me the way someone looks at an audience.

"Sir?" My voice came out steady but a little rough.

He reached toward the side of the couch, unhurried, and I felt something cold settle low in my stomach before I even saw what his hand landed on.

"I want you to watch." His voice was light, sending a cold chill down my spine.