Bender (Vegas Venom Book 4)

By the time Madison wakes up, I’m already dressed, and my bags are waiting beside the front door. When she comes out and finds me in the living room, her eyes are rimmed in red.

“I woke up,” she says, “and you weren’t there. And I thought… that you were…”

“It will be that way for a while, amore,” I tell her. “I did not want to make you sit and watch me prepare to go. I thought it would be making you so sad, and that is not what you need. And your melancholy breaks my heart in two, for I cannot inspire your smile as I once did.”

Madison opens her mouth. After what she offered yesterday, about getting married, I expect her to say something else about me staying. One final plea, and I do not think I can survive that. I know that she wants me here at her side, but there is nothing I can do now, and I know that it would not work if I stayed. Not like this. In order to love her through this lifetime and into the next, I must be strong and capable enough to be her husband. To be the father of her children. Right now, I am in the wind. I do not know what is next for me.

But God, how I am going to miss her. The way she smiles steals the very breath from my lungs. The sound of her laugh licks over me like sin.

Instead of mentioning me not leaving, she rolls her shoulders back and tosses her hair. “So not fair,” she says. “I can’t believe that you get to go off and have a fun adventure while I’m stuck here. Just think of all the food you’ll get to eat. Real cheese! Good pizza! Ugh, I bet every dinner is going to be like that tasting menu we tried at the Armónico on our first date. I’m so jealous.”

I shake my head. “Oh, Madison, this is not true at all. You have such a big journey for yourself. You have a career that is going so well. Soon, I think you will be so busy that there is not any time for me anyway. Other men will step up to admire your confidence.” I do not tell her that the thought of her with another man makes me want to do damage to something. “You will not even notice that I am gone. And you will have more time for your friends, the magical dinosaur and the one with the sweater… ah, I cannot even remember all of their names, you have so many friends right here in Las Vegas! You will never be lonely. But please, do not forget me.”

She swallows hard but keeps her smile in place. “Y-yeah. Although I should probably check on Cash from time to time. He seems like the kind of guy who needs someone to keep an eye on him, don’t you think?”

“That would be bueno.” I open my phone and navigate to the rideshare app that Cash showed me. “Cash Denaro has many facets, but underneath them all, he is il mio migliore amico.”

My car is parked at the house I shared with him for now. The leasing company will come to pick it up this week, I am told. My room at the old place stands empty, although I have nearly twice as many bags as I brought to Las Vegas with me from Italia.

“Do you need a ride to the airport?” Madison asks.

“No, cara mia. I do not want to say arrivederci there and leave you. I want you to be here, where you will be safe, and I will not have to worry about you crying behind the wheel and driving yourself into danger.”

Dante has arranged a private plane to take me back to Italia. I suppose that it is kind of him, in a way. Or maybe he just wants to make sure that he will be rid of me and remind me of the power he has over me and everyone else in his employ. That seems the most likely, but I will never know the truth about what is actually inside that man’s mind.

Madison sniffs and reaches for a tissue, but she keeps smiling. She knows that I need this, and as always, she is doing her best to give me what I need. I have never met anyone like her, never had a woman give so freely of herself without ever asking for anything in return, never loved a person so fiercely.

My mind swirls with every precious memory involving her… us. I am a tsunami of thoughts, emotions, and regret.

We will be alright. Not now, but someday. Home is wherever she is, and not even Dante Giovanetti can take my home away forever.

I just hope she does not forget about me before I can return to her as a whole man who is worthy of claiming her future.

“Have a nice flight,” Madison says in that bright, hopeful voice. “And make sure you text me when you land so I know you got there safely.”

She kisses me one last time, but I do not linger. If I do, I will crack like an egg. With each breath I take as I leave the woman I love, the air becomes thicker. So instead of crushing her against my chest one last time like I long to do, I pretend that I am leaving for an away game and that I will be back in a few days’ time.

My aching and squeezing heart reminds me that I do not believe it, but it is nice to pretend.

* * *

I manage to keep calm all through the drive to the Harry Reid private terminal. I am no longer a celebrity, but not everyone seems to have realized this: a handful of people stop me for photos and autographs, and all of them tell me that they are sorry to see me go.

“I bought your jersey,” a man tells me. “And I signed a petition online. My wife’s been spamming the Twitter page with #SaveMarco posts. We’re big fans, Rossi. I guess this means we’ll have to start keeping track of the IHL. Maybe we can even watch you on satellite TV sometime!”

I smile for his photo and do not bother to tell him that the IHL does not appear to want me either, since I have shamed myself in America. I am now a stain on the fabric of the hockey community even from oceans away. I always knew there would be life after hockey. I recall Iva Mazza’s warning the day that I got the call from Dante, that I would not be able to play forever, and that I should have something in my life in addition to the game. A safety net. It is just like the Canadian woman sings, so ironic that I finally had those things because of hockey, and that I do not get to keep them. A lover. Friends. A life that could have made me happy, and yet I have nothing to show for it.

My spirit fades just as the people fade away too.

Airport security is easier when you have money, and once again, Dante’s lifestyle has its perks. I do not have to wait in the long line with everyone else. Instead, a smiling attendant escorts me back to the more exclusive part of the airport where there is a VIP lounge and the runway where Dante’s private jet awaits. Unlike the rest of the airplanes, there is no walkway connecting the gate to the plane, and I am shown out into the open air, to a rolling set of stairs that leads up the side of the sleek aircraft.

“Have a nice flight, Mr. Rossi,” the attendant tells me.

With a throbbing head and a heavy heart, I gaze out over the city of Las Vegas one final time.

“Marco!”

I stop in my tracks, wondering if another fan has recognized me, but when I turn, it is not just any fan. A familiar, round figure comes pelting out of the terminal, dragging a small suitcase behind her. She’s waving something small and blue above her head.

“Madison?” I ask in wonder, too soft for her to hear.

“Wait for me!” she puffs as she runs toward me. To have caught up with me, she must have been running all the way through the airport. When she reaches the metal stairs, she lets go of the handle of her bag and slumps forward with her hands on her knees, gasping for breath.

“I thought I was going to miss you,” she pants.

“I will miss you, too, Madison,” I say, “but—”

“No, dummy.” Madison stands upright, bolts up the stairs, and thrusts the blue booklet toward my face. The woman who led me here clearly has no idea what to do. I can only guess how Madison managed to get past security.

“What is this?” I ask as she shakes the book in my face.

“It’s my passport. I’m coming with you.” Madison’s jaw is set, and her eyes glimmer with fire. She is not a woman who will take no for an answer, even though that is exactly what I must tell her.

My tongue presses to the roof of my mouth as I search for the right words. The words she must hear. “No, you are not. Your career—”

“Is my business.” She lifts her chin defiantly as if daring me to argue.

Argue I must. “What will Caesar’s management say if you break your contract? That is not the woman I want you to be—the woman who breaks her promises just to be with me.”

That gives her pause. She bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes shifting from me to the city beyond us. “Anna will take care of it. My career can wait. Our love can’t. Marco, I’m telling you right now, I can’t live without you! Why can’t you understand?”

“No, amore.” I gather her close in my arms and rest my forehead against hers. “We are the ones who can wait because we are strong and so is our love for one another. I am in no rush. I will leave America, but I am not going anywhere. I once thought I was lost, but I have found myself in you. My heart beats for you, Madison. Only you.”

She kisses me with her trembling mouth. So full of fire, my principessa. She would make an excellent Medici. If she had been alive in Artemisia Gentileschi’s day, her likeness would hang in the Uffizi.

And she is mine. Dio, I am not sure how or why it happened, but I do know that our bond can never be broken. Where there is a will, there is a way. That is one idiom of America that I know to be true. It is universal.

“I will call you when I land,” I promise. “I will time your face. We will not be apart for long. I will not let it happen. But for now, be patient for me. Can you do that, Madison?”

She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes me tight. “For you? Always.” Then she hands me something that I instantly recognize. It is the remote control for her vibrating panties. “If you just let me know when, you can use it. There’s also an app for your phone apparently. It’s so we can feel closer to each other even though we’re oceans apart.”

With a smile, I peel away from her and head for the stairs with my luggage in tow. It is a slow climb with all my things, and I do not look down at her again until I reach the top. I lift my hand to wave, and below me, she waves back.

Gulping down a burning lungful of regret, I turn my back on the woman I love. That is when the buzzing begins in my pocket. I have not yet set my phone for the airplane. I pull it out to see my agent’s number scrolling across my screen. I frown at it before answering.

“Marco,” he says, even before I can offer a greeting. “You’re not going to believe this. Are you sitting down?”

“No. I am standing on metal airplane steps on wheels.” Nobody has opened the door of the plane, and what am I supposed to do? Knock? I am stuck out here for the time being as I stare at the morning mist enveloping the Strip. I only hope Madison remains firmly and safely on the tarmac.

“Well, hold onto something sturdy.”

I grip the metal rail and finally turn around, staring down at my amore. The airport employee leans in to say something to her, probably telling her to go back inside, but she has not moved a centimeter, and I am sure she will not until I am safely inside.

“I am as sturdy as I can be up here,” I tell him.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it because you have a job offer.”

If I were not holding so steady to the railing, I might very well pitch forward down the steps as my knees buckle with relief. “Where? In Italia?”

“No,” he says. “Right here. In Vegas.”

“I—” I am going to be sick. I am going to scream. I am going to cheer. I will flip burgers for a living if it means I can stay here. I will sell Luigi’s terrible taco pizza with a smile on my face and an operetta in my heart. I will even pound cheese into dust to caress limp noodles. It takes me a moment to croak, “Where? How? Does it meet the requirements of my visa?”

I almost do not believe him when he says, “It’s with the Venom organization.”

“Dante has changed his mind?” This is impossible. I am dreaming. I have died and ascended to the afterlife. The good one. The one where things actually work out for people like me.

He pauses just long enough for my stomach to flip over again. “Not exactly. There’s an opening in the Venom broadcasting booth. They’re offering you the chance to provide color commentary since you know the sport and the team. It wouldn’t pay as well as your current contract, obviously, but you’d qualify for the O-1 visa, and they’re willing to sign you today and push everything through—”

“Si!” My voice comes out louder than I intended, my agent’s ears are probably ringing from the volume, but I do not care. “Si, si, si! I will sign whatever they want, so long as I can stay.”

He chuckles. “Great. Meet me at my office in an hour, and we’ll get this all squared away—”

My phone buzzes again with another incoming call. I remove the phone from my ear just long enough to see who it is. When I do, I feel as though I have been punched in the chest.

“Si, I will meet you there,” I tell my agent. “But I must go. There is another call, very urgent. Grazie, grazie!”

“Congratulations, Marco. I’ll see you in a bit!” he says. “Damn, I’m so glad this worked out. Couldn’t happen to a better guy.”

I end the call and switch over to the next, swallowing my fear. “Ciao, Mr. Giovanetti,” I rasp.

“Marco.” He sounds as impassive as ever. “I take it that you’ve spoken with your agent?”

“Si, signore.”

“You’re a popular man, Marco. People have been quite outspoken about the organization’s decision to let you go. I’ve received so many messages begging for me to reconsider releasing you from your contract, it’s becoming quite tiresome. You and I both know that you don’t measure up when it comes to the game. I hope that you will not be such a disappointment in your new position.”

I hear all the words he does not say: that this job offer is a consolation prize. The people who have been clamoring to ‘save’ me, who have boycotted his hotel and stopped buying tickets, are the only reason he is letting me stay. He has found a way to keep his pride and save face. The fact that I benefit is only incidental. He means to humiliate me by offering me a lesser role.

He is the punchline of this joke, however, because I could not be happier. In this new role, I will excel.

“Non, signore,” I tell him. “I will not let you down.”

I do not thank him this time. No doubt I will end up thanking him many times in the future, but not this time. It is my small act of rebellion.

“See you soon,” he tells me. “Don’t fuck up again. There won’t be any third chances.”

I am already bounding down the steps, my luggage forgotten, my arms outstretched. “Principessa! Principessa! I have just heard the best news! I am staying!” I shout at Madison.

She does not ask how or why. Not yet. Instead, she falls into my arms with a squeal of delight. Our lips crash together, and I have never felt more elated in my life. I knew if I had faith in myself and my values that things would work out in the end.

It takes a few minutes to explain everything and to tell the confused attendant that I will not in fact be flying to Italia today. The door of the jet is still not open, and I wonder if Dante had someone waiting inside to tell him the exact moment to call. He never intended to let me leave. He just wanted to break my heart in the meantime while I contemplated what a disaster my life had become.

Scarlett was right. All the support people have shown for me made him sweat, and now he is giving me a second chance. He probably already had this in the works the evening of the Lamborghini party. He is a small, evil man, but I need not worry about him and his machinations. I will take this bull by the horns and not milk it. Non, non. I will in fact milk it for everything it is worth and then some.

I will succeed for failure is no longer an option for me.

Let him have his moment because I will not let him have this hold over me for long. I will stay with the Venom as long as I can because my friends are with them; but the next time Dante tries to scopare con me, he will not be able. I will not let him have the power to send me away again.

My next goal: become a citizen of the United States of America. This… this is now my home. With the people I love.

When I have all my bags collected, Madison and I walk side by side back toward the airport.

“We should call the family,” she says, bouncing on her toes as she walks.

I tilt my head. “Famiglia?”

Her arm swings around my waist. “Yeah, the rest of the crew, you know? We should tell them the good news. They were your ride or die. They had a hand in this, I just know they did.”

I smile wide as we walk. I have never called them that before, famiglia, but it feels right. “After I sign, we should get together. Maybe we can go for dinner.”

“We can get some American pizza,” Madison laughs.

“As long as it does not have plastic cheese.” I squint at her. “America is my home now, but my Italiano pride is still strong.”

But the truth is, I would eat even the very worst pizza that Las Vegas has to offer and still be happier than if I was eating the best Italia had to offer at a table for one in Naples.