King of Hearts

by C. A. Szarek

  She was so damn appealing, even with her glorious honey waves gathered in a ponytail, but he drew the line on the memories of her in his bed. Otherwise, he’d be in boner at work territory. Again.

  Maddie had been animated with his fellow detectives, and in the short time, showed him how good of an investigator she was. Back when they’d met eight years ago, she’d been in town on a fugitive retrieval mission, and he’d been a uniformed rookie cop.

  They hadn’t worked together, not like they were now.

  Well, she was working. He was voyeur-ing.

  He’d finally excused himself late afternoon, lying to her about having to complete a few things from his last homicide case. He’d even assured her after he was finished, he was all hers.

  Maddie had arched an eyebrow at his wording and Gio had dared her to verbally deny him, and added a wink for good measure. She hadn’t, of course, but her pink cheeks were adorable.

  Thank God Captain Olinsky had been in a meeting, and not present in the conference room the taskforce had taken over. His boss would’ve called him on his bullshit about the closed case, and he would’ve been stuck there.

  His task was complete in no time, because it’d only taken about ten minutes to do a cursory background check on Marco Fratelli.

  The dude had no paper trail in Sin City, until about nine months ago when he’d started working at The Giovanni. No history on the social security number, or proof that he’d ever had a job before arriving in Las Vegas.

  What the fuck?

  His father had created a position for the prick. He was part liaison, part VP, part casino sales, and obviously a general gigantic kiss-ass to Big Tony. Probably had his lips glued to Gio’s father’s cornhole.

  The cockstain worked in the accounting department with Elise, too. If that wasn’t a red flag, he didn’t know what was.

  He dug deeper, going back to Chicago, starting with some background on the old man who’d rolled over for the FBI and the Marshals Service, Cesare Fratelli. The man was around Big Tony’s age and married.

  His father had been born and raised in Chicago in a tightknit Italian-only community, so maybe what his sister’s soon-to-be ex-fiancé had said about their fathers being friends was true. Big Tony didn’t really discuss his childhood any the time before he’d moved to Vegas.

  He’d married a Greek, instead of an Italian, and had always alluded that their extended family had an issue with Gio’s mother’s ethnicity. As they’d never had much contact with any Chicago family, it’d be hard to confirm.

  Gio had copies of Maddie’s case files, so building on her information about Fratelli wasn’t difficult. The former CEO had a few kids, and among them, a son, Marco.

  His heartrate had kicked up the more he read.

  The boy had been born thirty-two years ago, so the age was about right, but there were no photos, no other pertinents. Like his birth had been recorded, and nothing else. No school records, and the social security number he’d managed to locate didn’t match the one his sister’s fiancé had on file at the casino.

  The more he uncovered, the more he hung on the edge of his chair.

  The kicker made him curse.

  According to a death certificate from Cook County Records, Marco Alberto Marino Fratelli had died at age five.

  He’d had a short, tragic life. Born with a congenital defect in his little heart, and he’d passed before he could receive a transplant.

  So, who the fuck was engaged to his sister?

  Gio was sure as hell going to find out.

  He pushed his chair into his desk and cursed some more. Shoved his arms into his leather jacket and grabbed his helmet. His brooding face didn’t get far; since LVMPD was fond of glass walls and doors, and he had to walk past the conference room the taskforce was working in.

  The door was open, and his team was in various stages of investigating. Hector jotted notes on the whiteboard from a paper in his hand, Navarro stared at a computer screen.

  The captain was still gone, but he didn’t expect Olinsky to remain hands-on over the course of the investigation.

  “Gio? What’re you doing?” Maddie asked, peering up from some paperwork with Mary Foster at her side.

  Both women had yellow highlighters in hand, and sat across from each other, stacks of bound papers on the table in front of them.

  More fucking financials that couldn’t be right.

  He gritted his teeth. Thrust away his curiosity. He could go over their evidence later, when he was done with his own quest.

  Gio couldn’t share with the class just yet. Needed to figure out who the hell his sister’s ‘Marco Fratelli’ really was.

  Then maybe he could clue Maddie and the team in.

  He looked at his watch. “It’s ten to five. Sorry, but I have to call it a day.”

  Maddie exchanged a glance with Foster, and he didn’t miss that Hector was subtly watching over his shoulder.

  Navarro generally didn’t miss much, but the guy didn’t look up from whatever he was doing on the computer.

  Gio was going to have to lie.

  Maddie hated liars.

  His former lover pushed her chair back and joined him in the hallway.

  He took a few steps away from the door; didn’t need an audience from nosey coworkers.

  “Gio?” A frown marred Maddie’s pretty face. She’d followed his feet, and stood too close for comfort.

  Her familiar scent of fresh-cut flowers tickled his nose and he really wanted to grab her up. Couldn’t help but watch her mouth and again remember that kiss yesterday in the supply room. Like he hadn’t been obsessing about it all day.

  She’d stated she’d moved on long ago. Declared she didn’t want him, but that was all bullshit.

  Maddie had kissed him back. Fervently. Hungrily. Her body had melted against his, like it always had.

  God, his blood had boiled. No other woman could make him so hard so fast. He’d had to stay in that little room until he’d gotten his shit under control.

  He’d wanted to strip her and take her against the shelves that held more office supplies than Staples. If she hadn’t pushed him away, he would have. Been inside her in two seconds flat.

  Gio wanted to knock his head against the wall.

  How the fuck had they gotten here?

  He wanted her back; wanted another chance with her, but everything was an obstacle.

  Maddie had shoved him away and rejected him.

  Her case made it look like his dad and his whole family were a bunch of criminals. Even if he could prove otherwise, how could they make things work?

  She was likely leaving when the case was over, too. Could he let her walk away again? He’d barely survived the first time.

  He’d have to convince her to give him another shot, first.

  The idea straightened his shoulders. Convincing her could be fun. A challenge.

  “Gio?” she prompted again, irritation lacing his nickname, and she crossed her arms over her breasts.

  Bad idea to call his attention there.

  He cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry. I know you’re not done for the day, but my sister called. I need to head to the hospital.”

  Her expression softened and she dropped her arms. Maddie reached for him, but stopped short of touching him.

  That was probably for the best.

  Her genuine concern churned guilt low in his gut, but she’d promised to let him prove his father was innocent, and that was what he was doing.

  He just couldn’t tell her yet.

  “How’s Elise? How’re your brothers coping?”

  Gio bit his bottom lip to hide his surprise.

  Right, Maddie and Elise had made fast friends back in the day. His sister had been in college, and in her rookie year of officially working at The Giovanni.

  Genius that she was, his sister had graduated high school at sixteen and wrapped up her double-bachelor’s in accounting and business in three years.

  Their father ha
d only let her do so because she was so good with numbers, and as far as the family business was concerned, Elise was a benefit. Big Tony could look past conservative presumptions for a fatter bottom line.

  One more reason to growl at his hypocrisy.

  His brothers had been kids back then, Dom barely eighteen, and Sam only fourteen. Dom had already been on the path he was currently embracing, but Sam had been much like he was now, sweet; shy and quiet. His baby brother had really connected with Maddie, who’d been raising her younger sister.

  He’d never met Jamie, since Maddie had been in Vegas temporarily on a man hunt, but she was around Sam’s age, if memory served.

  Gio and Maddie had had an incendiary affair lasting eight weeks that felt like years.

  She’d marked him.

  Ruined him for other women.

  He’d never been the same, and hadn’t told her how he’d felt. Regret and pain had driven him for a long time.

  Breast cancer had taken his mother only a few weeks after he’d met the US Marshal who’d shattered his heart, so the Giovanni family had been in a rough place.

  Mix in the shit with Big Tony, and he’d been a fucking mess.

  For a long time.

  Maybe he still was.

  “Gio, are you okay?”

  Now her worry made his chest hurt. It was so honest.

  So Maddie…his Mads.

  The nickname he’d given her all those years ago made it hard to breathe.

  “I…know what it’s like to lose your parents, and your dad’s all you have. This must be hard…”

  Gio didn’t correct her. She couldn’t know how badly things between him and his father had deteriorated after she’d left. Didn’t know he hadn’t talked to the man in years.

  He couldn’t tell her now. Big Tony needed to be his cover.

  He averted his gaze, and it was an urge he didn’t have to fake. “I need to go.”

  Her hand landed on his, and he almost jumped. It was warm, and welcome, but more than that, familiar, like no time had passed.

  Tempting. The barest touch, and it made him crave more.

  He looked there before he met those beautiful hazel eyes.

  Mixed emotions churned in his already roiling gut. How could she look at him like that when she thought his father was a criminal?

  How could she give a shit?

  Gio scanned her face, and all he could read was real worry. One hundred percent sincere.

  For me.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He severed their physical contact, tightened his grip on his helmet and left.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time he parked his Ducati in the casino parking garage, rage surged in Gio’s stomach; fury guided every beat of his heart.

  Maddie. His father. His siblings.

  The case.

  Fucking Marco Fratelli.

  It was a mishmash he couldn’t make sense of, and it was so loud in his head he wanted to scream.

  Maybe Dom had it right.

  Gio didn’t drink anymore, he’d had to quit when his sister had accused him of being an alcoholic. He’d never caved and gone to AA—he wasn’t a pussy, but he’d seen her point—and wanted her to shut up about it. Besides, he’d wanted to be an example for Dominic.

  Fucking failure there, but right then his brother’s wayward habits weren’t such a bad idea. Maybe it could quiet his headfuck.

  He stalked into the casino, and jogged down the stairs in lieu of waiting on the escalator or the elevator. The security office was probably the fastest way to find the piece of shit he sought, so he headed to the private employees-only elevator that required a fob to operate. It went to floors that weren’t patron-public.

  Getting to the top floor only took a few moments, but it felt like hours, and he tapped his foot as he waited for the elevator doors to retract.

  This corridor was more lit than the one that lead to the executive suites a few floors down, and all the doors on both sides were sealed shut, as if forbidden.

  The beige walls contrasted with the deep red carpet with swirled designs inside the black borders. Instead of sconces, the place was lit by fluorescents in the drop-ceiling that highlighted a lack of art on the walls, as in other casino hallways.

  He tried not to stomp his way down, but he made it to the nondescript door with only a few strides. Scanning his fob on the black box next to the door resulted in a green light, but the door swung open and someone met him before he could set one foot inside the large security office.

  “Uh, how can I help you, Mr. Giovanni?” The security officer game him a onceover, and slunk back a bit from Gio’s obvious anger. He was dressed sharply, in a dark suit and wore a clear spiral-corded radio earpiece Secret Service-style, because it’d always been important that everything related to The Giovanni appear expensive and high-class.

  They had uniformed security officers too, of course, but they were on all the floors, to be visible to the public. They were armed, like cops.

  The Secret Service lookalike team watched from the shadows and handled real problems with stealth and discretion.

  Gio didn’t know the kid, but it wasn’t unusual that he’d be known to all the casino staff. He straightened his shoulders.

  Don’t be a dick, needed to be his current mantra.

  Like Maddie and his taskforce teammates, he didn’t need anyone at the casino to know anything was amiss.

  “I’m looking for Marco Fratelli. Have you seen him?” Over the guy’s shoulder, his eyes scanned the curved wall of computer monitors stacked upon computer monitors.

  The main security office had three huge banks on three separate enormous desks. Three full-time officers in the room at all times, manning each one, in addition to their teammates that roved the casino floors. It was a twenty-four/seven operation, and because his father had always been security-minded, the department was vast; one of the biggest percentage of employees at The Giovanni.

  Had things not gone south with Daddy Dearest, Gio wouldn’t have minded running it. Something Dom could never handle, yet he’d been given the task.

  He’d wanted to be a cop more, always a point of contention with Big Tony, even before his mom had died. Partly, because of the choice of profession, and partly because his father had accused him of turning his back on his family.

  Gio paused. His father had never wanted him to become a cop. Could there be more to that other than him not wanting to follow in casino-rooted footsteps?

  No, Dad’s not a criminal.

  “Mr. Fratelli is likely with Ms. Giovanni, getting ready for the gala. It starts at seven.”

  The officer’s voice yanked him back to the present.

  “Ah, the gala.” He pretended he knew what the fuck the guy was talking about. “So, the banquet center? What ballroom?”

  The officer nodded. “Yes. It’s in Sicily, A through D.”

  Damn, that meant it was going to be a giant thing. All of the ballrooms were named after Italian cities, and with its ability to be broken into four separate rooms, Sicily had the largest capacity.

  “Thank you, I’ll head over there.”

  “It’s black tie.” The guy flashed a small smile, like he was trying to be helpful.

  “I don’t think I’ll be staying,” Gio grunted and whirled at the officer’s nod, striding back to the elevator before he even heard the door close.

  He was going to have to find the fucker alone. Couldn’t confront him with Elise around.

  A glance at his watch told him it was five to five, so he had time to have a chat with the fuckwad and get gone.

  His next move would be guided by what he discovered.

  Luck was on his side, and when he got to the vast conference and banquet wing of the casino, cockstain number one was alone in the corridor, chatting on his phone, outside the farthest restrooms from the largest ballroom.

  Like the bastard needed privacy.

  Well, that was fine with Gio.

  Marco’s ba
ck was facing him, so he did a cursory search of the bathrooms to make sure they were really alone, then he approached from behind.

  Guy still hadn’t noticed him.

  He slammed the shorter man against the wall.

  The cellphone clattered to the carpet.

  Marco, or whatever the fuck his real name was, at least had the decency to pale out. Dark eyes went wide, but he sensed it was out of surprise more than fear. Recognition was there, too, of course.

  Instinct whispered the guy was a good actor.

  “Sorry you didn’t get to finish your call,” Gio drawled.

  “What the heck?” Marco sputtered. He was kitted out in another super expensive selection, but this time a black tux. Shocker, it was another Armani.

  Looked like the shithead was a loyal wardrobe kinda guy.

  “Who the fuck are you?” He slammed him again, to punctuate his demand, laying his forearm against the asshole’s throat and giving him a little gas.

  Again, surprise registered in his expression.

  Why?

  Because he’d been discovered, or because he really thought he was Marco Fratelli?

  Assumed he’d never get caught?

  “Wh-what? What’re you talking about?”

  “Marco Fratelli died when he was five years old from a genetic heart defect. Tragic, yeah, but you ain’t him, true.”

  “I am Marco Fratelli.” Armani didn’t miss a beat; even seemed sincere. He pushed at him, but Gio tightened his hold, leaned harder.

  The guy wasn’t a pussy, had some good muscle to his frame, but Gio was a few inches taller, and had more mass.

  “Bullshit.”

  Marco opened his mouth, but didn’t get a chance to speak.

  “Gio! What the hell are you doing?” Elise marched down the hall in five inch heels that sparkled in the dim light, perching her fists on both hips and glaring harder than he’d ever seen pointed in his direction.

  He straightened and released her loser soon-to-be ex-fiancé. Gio hauled the cockwaffle away from the wall and brushed off his shoulders. “Nothing. Me and Armani just needed to have a little chat.”

  His sister frowned. “Armani?”

  He smirked. “Just a little term of endearment I have for my soon-to-be brother-in-law, isn’t that right, Armani?”