by Rose, Renee
She pauses at the door and turns around, the wariness fully in place again.
“I won’t let anyone touch you.” I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Her eyes narrow, lips twist into a smirk. “You were never a Scout.” There’s a derisive note of knowing in her voice that makes something slide in my belly. The urge to fuck that scorn right off her face combines with the need to punch something.
She’s right. I’m no Boy Scout. Never have been. My big brothers were delivering beat-downs on Nico and I before we lost our first baby teeth. We learned the art of violence at the same time we learned our alphabet. Nico perfected the fine art of strategy—how to manipulate and win against the odds—by the time he hit puberty. He showed me the ropes, protected me. My life’s been easier than his and I’m not bitter, but I’m also not going to apologize, especially not to this mouthy piece of ass. These are the cards I was dealt, the family I was born into.
But I don’t allow any of this to show. Instead, I toss another wink and my lady-killer smile. “You found me out.”
I reach past her to open the door again. “Do as you’re told—wear the dress. I’ll see that you’re rewarded.” To put a finer point on it, I pull a five-hundred-dollar chip from my pocket and flip it into the air. She catches it, then holds my gaze as she slowly tucks it into her cleavage.
It’s all I can do not to slam the door and push her against it, give her a thorough strip-search to see what else she’s hiding between or around those perky breasts.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Her voice comes out a little breathy, telling me she’s not immune to the heat of my gaze.
I clear my throat. “Tomorrow.” I want to slap her ass as she sashays through the door, but I manage to find some self-restraint in time.
Tomorrow, though, she may not be so lucky.
I can’t fucking wait to see her in a dress. I already know the sight of her is going to make my night.
* * *
Corey
I dial my cousin Sondra on my way out but she doesn’t answer. She’s with Nico in Chicago after a blowout fight that we all thought had ended things forever. But Tacone has a hard time taking no for an answer. I have to say—Nico Tacone may be a scary motherfucker, but he is totally in deep with Sondra.
When she left him four days ago, he flipped out. He cornered me, tried to make me tell him where she’d gone, put a guy outside my house, presumably to watch for her. Sondra thought he’d been cheating on her. But I talked to everyone close to him after Sondra left, and they all had the same story. He had a family-arranged marriage contract that he was trying to get out of and Sondra is the only woman Nico’s ever been serious about.
So when I got her text yesterday with a picture of a diamond ring on her left hand, I knew they’d worked it out.
I really don’t know what to think about Sondra marrying a known mobster. She’s always had terrible taste in men—not that my last choice was any better.
But Nico Tacone is the real deal. He’s dangerous and powerful. He made my ex disappear. Not that I’m not crying over it. Dean tried to rape my cousin.
But still. Ordinary guys don’t have that kind of power.
I’m not judgy about the crime thing. As the daughter of a crooked fed, I have a very jaded sense of crime and law.
But that’s why I didn’t want to get involved in anything that puts me close to the seedy underbelly of the organization. And the high-stakes private games will definitely do that.
I haven’t seen my dad in over ten years. When he left my mom for some skanky chick in Detroit, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Does Stefano know my dad’s with the FBI? Somehow I doubt it, and if he finds out, things could get hairy fast.
I really don’t know how much illegal activity goes on around here, but I’m guessing it’s more peripheral. Why would they need to break laws when their casino rakes in millions a year? Still, I don’t want to see any of it. I don’t ever want to be in a position where they have to rely on or question my loyalty.
Dammit.
Should I have told Stefano?
And why in the hell am I thinking of him as Stefano and not Mr. Tacone? He reprimanded me for calling his brother by his first name.
Oh, maybe it’s all the eye-fucking he did. Or the way he kissed my fingers after catching my wrist. A shiver runs through me remembering how quickly he caught and held my wrist without any trace of exertion or anger. Rather, he seemed bemused. As if he enjoyed the opportunity to show me his superior strength and hold me captive.
It’s not because I want to be on a first name basis with him.
I definitely don’t.
Why would I even think that? Especially after all my concerns for Sondra?
But something about that man has me squeezing my knees together every time he winks. Which is far too often.
I drive home to my small apartment. For the first time since Sondra moved into the casino and Tacone made Dean disappear, it feels too small. Even lonely.
But I’m not looking for company. I don’t need to jump into another relationship.
Of course no one’s chasing me for one, either. Stefano appears to be the polar opposite of my cousin’s possessive and single-minded lover, Nico. He’s definitely a player.
Which means sex—just once to get him out of my system—might be on the table.
Chapter 2
Stefano
I walk through the Bellissimo like I’m king of the castle, fucking proud of the place and what Nico’s built here.
I was with Nico when he talked our father into investing 1.2 million dollars to open a casino in Vegas. It wasn’t enough. Hell, the gambling license alone cost over thirty grand. But Nico was smart. He knew better than to involve any investors who weren’t family. Only Tacones were allowed to kick in and hold shares of the Bellissimo. And they did. He scraped together enough to get it open and built it from there.
Nico had the architects design the massive structure so it could be added onto in sections and he went classy right from the start: Italian tile, marble statues, beautiful rooms.
The first version of the Bellissimo was small, a boutique casino. Nothing cheesy about it—ever. And so it attracted high-end customers right from the start. Especially when word got out about the private games.
Nico had a business plan and a vision, and he convinced our family to invest. Still, I don’t think anyone expected it would turn out like this. Now, it’s a behemoth of a building—five different wings, twenty-eight stories high. Eight restaurants serve all kinds of food and it’s still the classiest joint in Vegas. And the money? It fucking overflows.
Speaking of my stronzo brother, I’ve been in the Bellissimo for thirty-six hours and haven’t seen the bastard. First he was out of hand looking for his woman. Now he’s gone home to fix things. We’ve talked on the phone and already texted a dozen times, but he’s too irritable to give me any good direction.
I dial his phone and he answers with the same impatience. “What is it?”
“Nice to hear from you, too. Did you get things straightened out?”
“I’m working on it.”
Of course he’s not going to tell me anything. He’s not exactly a let’s talk about our feelings kind of guy.
“You talk to Dad?”
“On my way now. Sondra’s with me.”
Sondra. The woman I want to meet. “Ah yes. I had to find out her name from a lovely red haired croupier last night.”
“You met Corey.”
“Yes. I enticed her to cheat and she tried to slap my face.”
Nico snorts. “Sounds about right.”
“What about Corey?” I hear the pleasant timbre of a female voice.
“Are you in the car? Put me on speaker.”
“No—fuck off.”
“Sondra,” I raise my voice so she might hear me. “I met your cousin last night,” I tell her. “I’m in love.”
Her laugh is light and sweet. Nico must
have put her on speaker because I hear her voice clearly. “I’m definitely hearing the Italian in you.”
“No, it’s true,” I insist, but she’s right—even before my six-month stint in Sicily with my great uncle, I’d adopted the over-the-top aggressive courting style of my parents’ country of origin.
“He already got himself slapped,” Nico fills in.
“Uh oh.”
“Almost slapped,” I correct. “She tried. I didn’t allow it. We came to an understanding.”
“She’s under my protection,” Nico grumbles, but he knows I don’t hurt women.
“Nothing to worry about. I told you—I’m already in love.” As in, I can’t wait to get those long legs wrapped around my waist so I can pound into her hard and dirty.
Would she like it that way?
Somehow I think she would. But she’s not the type to go down without a fight, and I don’t have the time or attention to spare. I’m already up to my ears in work. I can see why Nico needed help running things.
“Listen, Stefano.” Nico takes the phone off speaker. He’s got a serious tone to his voice.
“Yeah?”
“If things go sideways, I need you to take care of…”
I understand what he’s saying—all too well. I think chances are slim he’ll die, but you never know. Our father’s in prison and Junior, our oldest brother, is a dick.
“I will protect what you love,” I say quietly, making the vow of it ring in my voice. I know that’s what he’s asking; he wants to know Sondra will be safe.
“Thank you.” Nico’s voice is gruff.
“Good luck, Nico. Let me know how it goes.”
“Yeah.” He hangs up and I shake my head.
My brother’s had a stupid marriage contract hanging over his head since we were kids. It was a way for our father to bind our family to another. Total stupidity, but signed in blood. Nico’s just been pretending it will never happen all these years, but now he’s in love. And she left him when she found out he had a fiancée.
Poor bastard. But if anyone can figure shit out when he needs to, it’s Nico.
Look at what he did with this place.
It’s bizarre to think of my brother in a committed relationship. I sure as hell hope he finds happiness.
Me? I don’t do committed. Ever.
I’m a ladies man. I love sex, but the rest of it? A relationship?
No thanks.
* * *
Corey
I’m uneasy about working the private game tonight. I don’t know if it’s my spidey sense alerting me to potential trouble or if I’m being paranoid. It’s the same uneasy feeling I had about Sondra dating Nico.
There’s danger at the Bellissimo and until this point, I always managed to stay out of it.
Still, I’m going to be well-paid. And although this might not help me when push comes to shove, my cousin has the owner’s ear. Of course, he didn’t think twice about making Dean disappear.
I wear a clingy red dress—the one Sondra borrowed last week when she got herself into trouble flirting with another man to make Nico jealous.
It molds to my body, showing off my cleavage with a plunging neckline and my long legs with a provocative slit up the side.
I’m not dressing for Stefano. I’m not.
Okay, yeah, he might have been on my mind as I showered and dressed. I might have paid a little more attention to my makeup and hair tonight than usual.
But that’s not because I hope anything will happen. Getting involved with Stefano Tacone is the last thing I’m interested in—the very last! But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a little male attention, especially from a man who makes my body light up when he’s nearby.
I park in the employee parking area and strut into the casino, my purse clutched under my arm. I put it away in an employee locker.
“What are you wearing?” Tad, one of the other croupiers asks. He’s okay. Pretty into himself, but nice enough. He gives me an up and down look without much interest. I’m not sure the guy is interested in anyone other than the person he sees in the mirror.
“Don’t ask,” I say as I pin my nametag on the dress and slam my locker shut.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He catches my arm. “What’s going on? Did you get transferred to another department?”
“You could say that. I’m dealing for a private game tonight.”
Tad’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Wow. Be careful.”
I nod. Okay, I wasn’t being paranoid. Even regular employees think this is a bad idea. “Thanks, I will.”
I head to Stefano’s office, holding my head high, sinking into my croupier persona. It’s an interesting one—more dominatrix than stewardess, but I still have to be approachable and friendly, especially when gamblers are warming up.
Stefano’s door stands ajar and I hear him reaming out one of the floor managers. His style is different from Nico’s. His body language is casual, not nearly so deadly, but the result is the same. The manager shakes in his wingtips. Which doesn’t bother me a bit, because the guy is a douche.
Stefano flicks a glance at me and holds up a finger, so I take a step back to give them privacy.
A few moments later, the manager comes out, sweat dripping from his temples.
I step in and Stefano flashes his panty-melting smile, unfolding himself from where he was perched on the edge of his desk, presumably to tower over the manager in a power play.
“Entra, bambina. You look great.” He does the fingertip kissing gesture like I’m something delicious he’s going to eat. “Perfezionare.” He walks right up to me and reaches for my nametag, unpinning it from my dress. His fingertips brush the bare skin of my décolletage, sending a tidal wave of heat pouring between my legs.
It’s far too intimate a gesture between boss and employee. I’m overly aware of his proximity—the Henry Cavill good looks, the scent of soap and light cologne, the deft movements of his fingers so close to my breasts. The man is always so damn self-assured, which shouldn’t unnerve me. I’m the same way—usually.
“No, nametag, hmm?” I step back, struggling to regain my footing.
“Nah. It detracts from the, ah, view.” He lets his eyes shamelessly wander over my cleavage before tossing my nametag on his desk with the same casual grace he does everything.
I frame my breasts with my hands. “Are the girls what got me this new job?” I ask drily.
He gives me a crooked smile. “They didn’t hurt.” Another lingering look that makes me roll my eyes. He smirks. “The game won’t start for a couple hours. Walk around the floor and be my eyes. Find me at 9:30 p.m. and I’ll take you upstairs.”
“Be your eyes?”
He nods like I should know exactly what he means. “Check security, look for anything suspicious or off, report anything you find.”
I try to hide my surprise at this new duty. I’m a croupier, not a security guard, but I don’t argue. At least it’s a task that my tits didn’t have to qualify for. Hell, it could actually be entertaining. I have a good sense for people. I can smell a rat a mile away. You might say I got it from my dad, but I try not to claim any traits of his, good or bad. And besides, he was the biggest rat of all—maybe that’s how I know.
I amble through the casino, stopping to watch the bets and tables. I enjoy looking through the lens of Stefano’s eyes. What would he want me to report?
He appears at my elbow an hour later. “Tell me.”
I jump at the voice so close to my ear, then curse inwardly for startling. “Tell you what I saw?” I turn to face him, unnerved by how close he’s standing to me.
“Mmm hmm. Your full report.” He has this way of looking at me—with appreciation and warmth, but also the promise of something I know I should avoid.
I lick my lips. “Well, I’m not sure what you want to hear about. I didn’t see anything big.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw a cocktail waitress keep a chip when a cu
stomer dropped it. I saw a dealer slip a five dollar chip in his pocket that wasn’t a tip, I saw a couple college kids attempting to count cards and failing.”
“Which dealer?” All the friendliness has left Stefano’s face, like stealing from the casino—even just five dollars—is an offense punishable by death.
A shiver runs down my spine when I realize how accurate that assessment might be. And I’m supposed to throw the guy under the bus.
I blink, hesitating for a moment.
Stefano’s eyes don’t leave my face, the intensity of his gaze ratcheting up.
“Andrew,” I murmur, because I’m not sure how to get out of this without giving a name. I probably shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.
“I’ll tell you what I saw.” Ease has returned to his face.
“What?” I manage to say.
“I saw you rebuff six different men and attract the attention of nearly three dozen more. I saw a woman who knows how to handle herself with confidence and who pays attention.” He reaches out and puts a finger under my chin. I jerk away. He smirks again. “I like making you blush.”
“You don’t make me blush,” I snap. It’s an idiotic comeback since my blushes are impossible to hide. I sense one spreading across my chest and up my neck right now.
He at least has the decency to drop it. He takes my elbow. “Time to get you upstairs, bella. Let’s go.”
If anyone else took my elbow in such a bossy, controlling way, I would punch him. But it’s Stefano—a sex god in a thousand dollar suit—and his deft direction actually feels right. He’s like one of those ballroom dancers who can conduct a partner anywhere and everywhere simply with subtle changes in pressure of his hand at her back. I don’t pull away because I enjoy the sensation of being guided by him.
And that is just ten kinds of wrong, right there.
He takes me in the elevator to a private, key-card access only floor and lets me into a guest suite. It’s been set up for gambling. The bedroom door is closed and a horseshoe shaped table sits in the middle of the room with slim high top leather padded chairs around it. No chair for me. I take my spot behind the table and check the rolly cart holding my chips and five decks of cards still in their wrappers.
