VAGRANT: A Billionaire Romance Mafia Story

CHAPTER 4

I press the button for the lobby and feel the elevator start to descend. I take in deep breaths as I prepare to get into character.

I need to be furious and I need to make sure that everyone who passes by me can tell.

I feel a little sorry for Pedro, the nice receptionist who manned the lobby, knowing that I’m about to throw a fit at him makes me a little sad, but I squash the feeling nonetheless.

I glance at the two men standing next to me. Olav and Andrew, my glorified babysitters.

They both look worried and concerned because I refused to tell them what went down with Mr. Vidal last night. Even despite them helping me dispose of the body they still aren’t entirely convinced that I am doing okay.

Olav and Andrew have been looking after me since I was a little girl, they had both watched me grow, rise through the ranks, and undertake some gruesome assignments for my father, but all of that never changed how they looked or fussed over me.

It's a little annoying but they are the closest things I’d have to real friends and family, outside my father of course.

"Are you okay, Irina?"

"Do you need anything, Miss Blankoff?"

"Would you like to talk about it?"

I groan at their ceaseless barrage of questions, their well-meaning gestures only serve to grate on my already frayed nerves.

They can’t possibly understand the emotions churning within me, the raw sensations still roiling from the events of last night.

I can’t speak for others, but whenever I take a life, I become overly sensitive and hyper-aware. It’s almost as though my senses were reveling in the fact that they were still very much alive while my victims weren’t

I hated it.

I really don't want to talk. I don't want to think. I just want to get out of this nightmare and forget everything about this particular assignment.

I need to forget Vidal. Forget his face. His voice. His touch. His blood.

The elevator stops and the doors ding open. I step out and walk briskly towards the reception. I don't pay any attention to the people who balk at my choice of outfit.

I intentionally did not put on any clothes underneath my bathrobe. I needed to sell the guise.

“We’re closing in on the receptionist,” Olav whispers as we round a corner.

True enough, the poor and unsuspecting Pedro seems to be finalizing a conversation with a strikingly handsome man.

If my present situation wasn’t so dire, I’d have taken some time out to get to know this stranger.

‘In another life I guess.’ I mentally cheer myself up as I breeze by him.

I spot the target of my fabricated ire, the man behind his desk. Pedro, his name tag says. He looks up and smiles nervously. He greets me in Spanish. I ignore him and slam my hand on the bell. I want his attention and his fear.

I want his public apology.

I start to yell at him in Spanish. I tell him how incompetent he is, how terrible this resort is, how awful his service is. I tell him what happened in my room, how the faucet broke and flooded the bathroom, how everything is wet and ruined, how no one came to fix it. I exaggerate and lie of course.

I just need to get under his skin and get him to trip up and fall for my ruse.

He does.

Pedro begins apologizing profusely and tries to calm me down. He tells me it was an accident, a technical failure, and nobody's fault really.

He tells me maintenance will get to work on resolving to solve it as soon as possible. He tries to pacify me, begging for my patience and offering a courtesy room in the same breath.

I snort and roll my eyes.

If only he knew that there was nothing he could say or do to placate me.

I grab the brochure of the solstice festival from the desk and throw it at him. I switch to English and tell him what I really want.

“I’m going to be at the beach for an hour, by the time I come back, I want my room fixed up and cleaned. I’ll have to check out of here tomorrow before something even more tragic happens.”

I turn around and walk away, followed by my bodyguards. I hear him sigh and pick up the brochure and the bell from the floor. I don't care. I don't look back. I don't feel sorry. I don't feel anything.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

We barely make it out of the hotel before Olav calls my attention.

"Irina, it's your father." Olav thrusts the phone into my hand as I exit the lobby. He looks nervous and apologetic.

I stare at the phone in disbelief. My father? Why is he calling me now?

I glance at the screen and see his name flashing. I feel a surge of anger. I don't want to hear his voice. I don't want to hear his excuses. I don't want to hear his orders.

But I can't ignore him. He's my father. He's my boss. He's the reason I'm here.

I sigh and press the phone to my ear. "What do you want?" I snap.

"I want you back home, now." His voice is deep and authoritative. He doesn't waste time on greetings or pleasantries. He doesn't care about how I feel or what I want. He only cares about his agenda.

I'm immediately outraged. Who does he think he is? He threw in a last-minute assignment that f****d up my vacation and now he wants me back in Moscow? He doesn't have the right to do that. He doesn't have the right to control my life.

"No," I say firmly. "I'm not going back just yet."

"Don't argue with me, Irina. This is not a request. This is an order. You have to come back."

I roll my eyes. He always says that. He always makes it sound like it's a matter of life and death.

But I don't. I don't owe him anything. He on the other hand owes me. He owes me an apology. He owes me an explanation, and he owes me a vacation.

" You can't treat me like this. You can't-"

I hear a loud beep. He hung up on me. He hung up on me!

The nerve of that man!

I throw the phone back at Olav. He catches it and looks at me with concern. He opens his mouth to say something, but I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything because my mind is already made up.

I'm not going back.