William nodded at me from where he stood, his eyes holding a hint of relief. He’d been the one to find me that night, after all. I owed him my life, though he’d wave off any mention of gratitude with his usual stoic grace.
Meanwhile, Matt had sauntered over to James, both accepting wineglasses from a hovering server with such casual grace you’d think they were born doing it. Their heads dipped together, undoubtedly diving into discussions about markets and mergers. William maintained a careful distance, sipping his whiskey by the window—the invisible wall between him andJames as solid as ever. I’d learned early on about their strained relationship, though no one seemed willing to tell me why.
I watched the three billionaires for a moment, wondering if they ever discussed anything besides money and deals when they weren’t sizing each other up like chess players. Did they share jokes or talk about their hopes and fears? Did they ever just… hang out like normal friends? Somehow, I doubted William and James had ever shared a pizza and beer while watching the game.
A knock at the door interrupted my musings, followed by Fin’s head poking through the narrow opening like a mischievous meerkat. His eyes scanned the interior before landing on me, twinkling with delight. “Hello? Is this Andy’s private party, or did we take a wrong turn at billionaire avenue?”
Ethan’s voice followed close behind, tinged with amused exasperation. “Either get in or get out, Fin.”
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Yes, you dork, you’re in the right place. Get in here!”
Fin bounded in like an excited puppy, wrapping me in a hug that was equal parts enthusiastic and careful of my still-healing body. “Thank God you’re out of that hospital, man!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine warmth.
As I steadied myself back on solid ground, I took in their outfits—both brothers looking sharp in clothes that definitely weren’t from their usual bargain hunting. I recognized the designer labels—the same ones Matt had filled my closet with. Matt’s generosity had extended beyond just me, and I knew they’d bought more than just a few items each.
I led our little group toward the drinks, where Fin eyed the crystal decanters like a kid in a candy store. “I’m thinking they’ve got some top-shelf juice here. What do you reckon, Andy? Cranberry or orange?”
I chuckled, grabbing a ginger ale that I pretended had a sharper bite. Ethan, ever the more sophisticated brother, gratefully accepted a glass of wine from a hovering server. We gravitated toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, drawn by Vegas in all her electric splendor. The city spread out before us like a circuit board of endless possibilities, each light a story, each flicker a secret.
“Look at that view,” Fin mused, pressing his nose against the glass. “Makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.”
“Looks like someone dumped a box of glitter on black velvet,” I added, the view offering more sparkle than any diamond Matt had ever flashed my way.
“Speaking of sparkly things,” Fin started, turning to us with an expectant raise of his brows, “any idea what’s on the menu tonight? My stomach’s been fantasizing about this dinner since we got the invite.”
Ethan rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Your mind’s always filled with food. If brains were made of meals, you’d be Einstein.”
“Hey, I’ve seen you demolish a plate of nachos with more gusto than a tornado ripping through a trailer park,” Fin shot back, though his eyes were already scanning the room for any sign of a menu.
The three of us fell into a comfortable silence, sipping our drinks and watching the city pulse below. The neon glow painted shadows across Fin’s face, and I noticed his expression grow serious, the usual mischief in his eyes dimming as if remembering something dark.
Then, almost as if the words escaped without permission, Fin blurted out, “Thank God Carlos is dead.” He clapped a hand over his mouth as quickly as the words had tumbled out.
“It’s okay,” I assured them, reaching out to pat Fin’s shoulder. “We can talk about it.”
Fin searched my face, concern etched into his features. “You sure? After everything…”
The truth was, I didn’t remember much from that night—just snippets of consciousness pierced by pain and darkness. Most of it was a blur of fists and Carlos’ thick mustache twisted in rage as he took his revenge, punctuated by periods of blessed unconsciousness. The moments that did emerge from the fog were vivid flashes: William finding me first, his pale hair gleaming in the dim light like some kind of grim reaper coming to collect. But it was Matt’s face that haunted me now—the horror etched into his features when he saw me battered and bruised, an image burned into my brain.
Even now, with Carlos dead and buried—or more likely dissolved in acid, knowing Matt’s men—Bruno and Tyrone shadowed my every move like twin mountains in suits. They’d stood guard at the hospital too, despite my protests that the place was secure enough with its key card access and army of nurses. Matt had been adamant though—Carlos might be gone, but in the cutthroat world of Vegas business, enemies lurked around every corner. Being as successful as Matt meant making more than a few people unhappy, and after what happened with Carlos, Matt wasn’t taking any chances with my safety.
Later, I’d overheard snippets from Matt’s men about how they’d cleaned up after Carlos’ crew—the way they spoke about it with such casual detachment reminded me of how they handled that botched drug deal. They discussed disposal methods and cleanup protocols like they were talking about taking out the trash, not eliminating all traces of a Mexican drug lord and his men. But unlike last time, when they’d left breadcrumbs for the cops, this time there wasn’t even a whisper on the news. Carlos and his men had simply… vanished, as if Vegas herself had swallowed them whole.
Even now, I could feel Bruno and Tyrone’s watchful presence just outside the dining room door. Matt had insisted they stay close, though I doubted anyone would be foolish enough to try anything. Still, after everything that had happened with Carlos, I understood Matt’s paranoia better now. In his world, today’s business partner could be tomorrow’s Carlos, and he wasn’t about to let me become collateral damage again—even if it did make bathroom breaks feel like a presidential motorcade.
To lighten the mood, Ethan glanced around the room. “Are we waiting for anyone else? Is that why we haven’t started dinner?”
“Yeah,” Fin piped up with an urgency that only those truly ruled by their stomachs could muster. “I’m starving here.”
I smirked at them both and was about to spill the beans when the door swung open and Tory strolled in. His entrance had the same effect as a headline act hitting the Vegas Strip—all eyes drawn to his effortless charisma like moths to a particularly stylish flame. The chandelier, an extravagant whirl of crystals and light, didn’t stand a chance against his megawatt smile.
“Sorry I’m fashionably late,” Tory announced, flashing that disarming smile of his as he sauntered in. “The Strip’s more congested than James’ inbox after a holiday weekend. I considered parachuting in, but I didn’t want to upstage the chandelier.”
Fin’s jaw practically hit the floor while Ethan seemed to be doing his best impression of a tomato ripening at high speed. Ethan swallowed hard enough to hear it echo through the room and turned to hiss at me, “Why didn’t you tell me Tory was coming?”
Unable to hold back any longer, laughter bubbled out of me—genuine and unforced—at their expressions as they both gawked at Tory like he’d just stepped off the runway instead of out of Vegas traffic.
Tory accepted a glass of wine from a hovering waiter with the grace of a diplomat accepting a peace treaty, then began working the room like it was his own personal stage. First stop: James and Matt, where their brief exchange looked like it could either solve world peace or orchestrate a hostile takeover—with these guys, you never could tell. Their conversation was punctuated with the kind of chuckles that were more about shared power than shared jokes.
