Right now it feels like I’m on automatic pilot, just going along with whatever this crazy week decides to throw at me.
The doorman greets Adriano, his entire posture respectful. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rizzo. Welcome back.”
Adriano gives a slight nod like he’s heard it a thousand times before, then his hand settles on my lower back as he guides me into the hotel.
The moment we walk inside, my lips part.
Oh wow.
The lobby is massive, all polished marble floors, soft lighting, and towering flower arrangements. There’s sleek black furniture that looks more like art than something someone would actually sit on, and the people seated on them look absurdly wealthy. The men are all wearing tailored suits, and the women are draped in diamonds and designer dresses.
I’m the only one glancing around, telling me this level of wealth is normal for everyone else. For the second time today, I feel like I’m sticking out like a sore thumb.
My gaze lands on a man playing the piano, the music drifting gently through the air while guests speak in quiet voices that somehow make the entire place feel even more expensive.
Adriano fits into it so naturally it scares me a little, because it’s an indication of just how stinking rich he must be.
Staff greet him with respectful smiles, and a woman behind the marble front desk immediately straightens the second she spots Adriano. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rizzo.”
“I’ll be using the penthouse for the unforeseeable future,” Adriano says in an authoritative tone.
“Of course.” The woman reaches for a keycard without even looking at a computer. “The penthouse has already been prepared.”
My eyes flick to Adriano.
Prepared?
Like they were expecting him?
Nobody asks for any identification or form of payment, and none of the staff even look at me.
As we head toward what looks like a private elevator, a man presses the button, and by the time we reach it, the doors are open.
Adriano nudges my lower back, and after I step inside, he joins me, and Little Ricky follows with my suitcase.
“I can take that,” I say as I reach for my luggage, but Adriano grabs hold of my hand and tugs it to his side.
With a firm shake of his head, he silently tells me to leave the suitcase, and when he doesn’t let go of my hand but instead weaves our fingers, my pulse shoots through the roof.
Adriano glances down, a frown forming on his forehead as he stares at our joined hands.
A tense silence fills the elevator as it climbs the floors, and by the time the doors open, my stomach spins wildly with a nauseated feeling.
Stepping into the room for lack of a better word, my jaw drops because…Holy shit!
My God, this place is bigger than some houses.
Warm lighting spills across enormous cream-colored rugs and sleek furniture while floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the entire space.
I can see Manhattan stretching beyond the glass in every direction.
My head whips from one side to the other as I take in the sheer opulence of the room.
There’s even a grand piano near the living room and fresh flowers everywhere, and the ceilings are so high they make me feel small standing beneath them.
The air even smells expensive.
Pristine, luxurious, and filthy rich.