by Renee Rose
“I don’t need a ride. I’m going to take the bus—really.”
He doesn’t remove his hand, but uses it to direct me through the crowd, which parts for his big frame and bigger presence. “I’m not gonna whack you, if that’s what you think.”
I shake my head. I can’t believe we’re even having a conversation where whacking someone is involved.
“Good to know.” It’s all I seem capable of saying.
He takes me to another elevator—a private one he uses his keycard to get into. We arrive at the lowest floor, which appears to be the private parking area. He leads me to a limousine and opens the back door for me.
“We’re going in this?” Maybe he really isn’t going to kill me. I look around at the other cars there. Limos, Bentleys, Porsches, Ferraris. Row after row of luxury cars packed the floor. Wow.
Tony smiles like he thinks I’m cute. “Yeah. Get in.”
“You’re as bossy as your boss,” I mutter and he grins.
I do as I’m told. I’m still not a hundred percent sure if this is a death sentence or not, but I can breathe more steadily now.
He doesn’t ask for my address but he drives straight to Corey’s place and pulls up along the sidewalk in front of the townhouse. A chill runs up my spine.
Tacone had certainly checked up on me. Is this another way he throws his weight around? Showing me he knows where I live and how to find me?
Or is this really a courtesy drop off?
I push the door open the second the car stops.
“Hold up.” Tony’s deep voice doesn’t have the same effect as Tacone’s. I don’t freeze. Instead, I run for the door. “I said, hold up,” he shouts, and I hear the slam of his door. “Mr. Tacone wanted me to give you something.”
Hopefully not a bullet between the eyes. I fumble for my keys.
No, I’m being stupid. He drove me home. The guy isn’t going to kill me. I turn around and watch him jog up the walk. He pulls the envelope Tacone handed him out of his jacket pocket and gives it to me. My name scrawls across the front in a thin, neat print. For some reason, I’m surprised at how beautiful Tacone’s handwriting is.
I draw a shaky breath. “Is that it?”
Tony’s eyes crinkle. “Yeah, that’s it.”
I swallow. “‘Kay. Thanks.”
He smirks and turns away without another word.
My hands shake as I work the key into the lock.
It’s over. A bad day, nothing more. I never have to go back there again. Yes, they know where I live, but they took me home safe and sound. Nothing more will come of this. I had my little taste of the mafia, just like I wanted. Tomorrow I’ll start applying for a normal job. One that doesn’t involve shady underground characters with huge, hot hands and piercing dark eyes. One without guns, or the jingle of coins in slot machines.
One without Tacone.
Sondra
Dean, Corey’s boyfriend, sits on the couch watching TV. “Hey, Sondra.” He looks a little too happy to see me.
My stomach clenches, awareness of my pantyless state increasing. The guy has a habit of leering at me, and I’m afraid he’ll somehow figure out there’s nothing under my very short dress.
“Hey,” I mutter.
He gives me an up and down sweep of his eyes, lingering way too long on my breasts. “What’s up?”
There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him about my crazy day. Corey, yes, but not him. Unfortunately, I don’t have my own room—I crashed on their couch—so there was nowhere for me to hide. Earning enough to put the deposit on my own place is my first priority, even over getting a car that runs.
I go to my suitcase in the corner and grab a change of clothes before locking myself in the bathroom. Only then do I realize I still clutch the envelope from Mr. Tacone. I stick my thumb under the flap and tear it open. Six crisp hundred-dollar bills slide out with a note of paper.
I draw in my breath. For someone who has pretty much been broke, eating nothing but ramen noodles through college and grad school, it’s a lot of money. I had scholarships and assistantships in college, but that still put me below the poverty level. Adjunct teaching hasn’t exactly paid the bills, either.
The note’s written in the same neat penmanship on the envelope.
Sondra—
Sorry for scaring you. Money doesn’t fix everything, but sometimes it helps. I hope you’ll return to work tomorrow.
—Nico
My heart skitters. Nico. He signed his first name? And apologized. Not in person, but still, it’s an apology.
I hope you’ll return to work tomorrow.
The image of his face leaning just inches from mine as he gripped the towel that bound me against him flashes through in my mind. My knees go weak. He wants me to return?
He guessed correctly that I planned to quit and never set foot in the place again. I fan myself with the six hundred-dollar bills. Some people would take a high moral ground. Say they wouldn’t let him buy their silence or compliance or whatever. But not me. He’s right. Money does go a helluva long way to fixing things.
Still, the asshole held a gun to my head. And stripped me naked. And I peed. It was the most humiliating moment of my entire life.
But my sense of violation fades as I remember the way he also shoved me in the shower, toweled me off and murmured, you’re okay.
I stare at the money. Six hundred dollars closer to moving off my cousin’s couch and into my own place. Six hundred dollars closer to getting another car. I can buy groceries and pay my cousin back for what she’s already spotted me.
Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to show up at work tomorrow. Yes, it had been utterly humiliating, but I’ll probably never see the guy again. It would save me the trouble of finding a new interim job while I figure my life out.
I exhale slowly, trying to erase the vision of Tacone brushing my hair back from my face, his penetrating stare. I won’t have to see him again. And that’s a good thing. Definitely a good thing.
Nico
Sondra Simonson. It’s her real name. I asked security to pull everything they can find on her and bring me the file. Along with the video feed of our interaction.
Turns out Samuel, the head of housekeeping, already fired Marissa, Sondra’s boss, for leaving her up in my suite, but I call him myself to say it’s all right.
And to request Sondra replace the regular penthouse suite housekeeper.
Because if she doesn’t quit, I definitely want her up in my room again.
Naked.
Preferably naked and willing this time, but I’d be a goddamn liar if I said I didn’t like her a little scared. There was something so appealing about the way she both trembled and got turned on when I stripped her.
Or had I imagined it?
I’ll find out soon enough. Where is that damn video feed? I’m like a junkie waiting for his next hit. I can’t wait to watch the video of her. I’m going to be fucking my hand all night to the sight of her pouty lips and wide blue eyes decorating my screen.
A knock sounds on the door. “It’s Tony.” The deep voice of my right-hand man echoes through the door.
“Yeah?”
“I dropped her off.” He steps in and gives me a careful look. I know he didn’t come in here just to tell me that. He came in to find out what the hell happened. Why I sent the maid home wet and scared.
He’s worried about me. My mental state is starting to crumble with the inability to sleep. He’s too smart to come out and ask me what happened. He knows I’d tell him to mind his own fucking business. But he’s made a career out of standing around me silently, serving as my bodyguard, making himself available when I do feel like confiding.
He’s not family. He’s not even Italian. He’s just a big, loyal guy from Cicero who decided I was the guy he was going to follow into the bowels of hell. I guess you could say he’s the closest thing I have to a friend.
If a Tacone ever really has a friend.
“She’s new. I th
ought she looked off, so I strip searched her.”
A muscle in Tony’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t say anything. Tony is absolutely a defender of women. His ma was abused by his dad pretty bad and he’s still eager to even that score with any guy who manhandles a woman. Probably even, if it came down to it, me.
But I don’t usually make a habit out of mistreating women.
This one was a special case.
I purse my lips and shrug. “I also may have pointed a gun at her head while I was questioning her.” I tell him in case there’s some mess we need to clean up from the fallout. Hopefully Sondra won’t kick up a fuss. I don’t think she will.
And for some reason that bugs the hell out of me.
I have terrible taste in men.
Smart, well-educated, smoking hot little number like her shouldn’t be walking around with that fatal flaw that puts her in danger. Especially not in Vegas.
Except it’s probably that terrible taste that turned her supple and pliant in my arms, too. Those incredible nipples pebbled up, that pussy turned wet for me. And I hadn’t even been coming on to her. I was rough-handling her like a deranged lunatic.
Fuck.
Tony shoves his hands in his pockets. “Jesus, Nico. The lack of sleep has you paranoid.”
“I know.” I run my hand through my hair.
“You need to take something. Have you tried the drugs?”
I have a whole shelfful of pharmaceuticals that are supposed to help me sleep, but either they don’t work or I don’t like the way they make me feel afterward. Not that I like the delirium I’m under now. “Nah. I think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”
“That’s what you said last night.”
I look out the wall of windows that make up my penthouse suite. “So you got her home? Was she okay?”
“She was skittish. You pay her off?”
The words pay her off set my teeth on edge, even though that’s exactly what I did. Still, it sounds so sordid when associated with her. It’s the same reason I don’t want to see her dealing on my floor. She shouldn’t be sullied by all the shit that goes down at this hotel casino.
She shouldn’t be sullied by me.
Too bad I want to dirty her in every possible way.
If I were a better man, I would make certain our paths never cross again. But I’m not. I’m not a good man. I put her right back in the lion’s den.
I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to see if she’s as smart she looks and she vows to never set foot in this place again.
Sondra
I take a shower and exit the bathroom, unsurprised to find Dean lurking just outside it, ostensibly in the kitchen. I haven’t figured out how to tell Corey I think her boyfriend’s a lecherous, no-good cheating asshole. I don’t have any proof—just the way he looks at me, and seems way more interested in talking to me or hanging out when we’re alone.
Considering I’m a magnet for cheating boyfriends, I know the vibe.
I usually make it a habit not to be around when Dean is at the townhouse without Corey, but Tacone’s guy drove me home too quickly. I try to make the best of it. “Hey, Dean. You feel like driving me to the grocery store? I got paid today.” For getting strip searched.
This time when the memory of Mr. Tacone’s—Nico’s—large hot hands roaming over my body flashed back, the fear is gone. A brief fantasy flickers in my mind—him peeling my panties down my legs for a different reason...
You know how much a guy like me would spend for a night with a girl like you?
Five thousand dollars!
Stop thinking about him!
I need to forget Nico Tacone is exactly the kind of man who makes my toes curl. Dark. Dangerous. Unpredictable. The ultimate bad boy.
Yes, I’m in danger of falling to the dark side again. Big time.
I need to stay strong.
Corey’s boyfriend sighs and rolls his eyes—apparently it’s a huge inconvenience to give me a ride to the store. He’s been generally insinuating how much I owe them since the day I showed up. “Yeah, okay, I’ll take you.” He’s probably just disappointed we aren’t going to be alone together at the townhouse.
I don’t care about Lame-o’s reaction to having me crash at their place. Corey and I are practically sisters. We grew up in small-town Michigan, cousins living across the street from each other. Her dad’s in law enforcement and he was an abusive asshole before he walked out on her mom, so she spent most of her time at my place.
But a guy has never come between us before, and Dean seems like the type of guy to create any number of dramas. I need to get out of here before things get even more awkward. Yet another reason to go to work tomorrow.
Chapter 3
Sondra
“What in the hell happened yesterday?” My boss, Marissa, demands the minute I show up in the housekeeping area.
I try to keep my face blank. I don’t know how much she knows, but I sure as hell don’t want the whole staff hearing I got stripped down to my panties in Mr. Tacone’s bathroom. Or that he paid me six hundred cash for it. Or that two dozen peach roses arrived for me at Corey’s townhouse last night.
I’ve never been given two dozen roses in my life. I gave half of them to Corey, who dragged me into her bedroom to tell her what happened in private. Corey found the story insane and declared Tacone has a thing for me.
I lift my eyes to my supervisor’s. “What happened with your son?” I attempt to redirect the conversation.
She isn’t having it. She waves her hand with impatience. “Concussion. He fell backward onto concrete in the schoolyard. What happened with you?”
My face heats. I open my mouth but I’m not really sure how to answer. “What did you hear?”
Irritation flashes across her face. “Well, first Samuel called to say I was fired for allowing you up there. Then he called back to say no, actually, he heard from Nico Tacone himself and everything was fine. So fine, in fact, Tacone requested you be the regular penthouse cleaning person. Which pays double what you’re making now.” She folds her arms across her chest. “So what happened?”
Wait...what? My heart takes off running ahead of me. He wants me to be his regular cleaning person? That would mean seeing him again—face to face. The man who humiliated me and ogled my naked body. Who’s seen me crying. And wet. No. I can’t.
But double the pay…that would definitely get me out of Corey’s place faster. Out of Vegas, if that’s what I decide.
Marissa stands there, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. I opt for a partial truth. “While I was cleaning Nico Tacone’s room, he returned and freaked out because he didn’t know me. I mean freaked out. He held a gun to my head.”
Marissa slaps a hand over her mouth and her eyes get wide.
“I seriously thought I was going to die.”
Sympathy washes over her features. “Oh my God, Sondra, I’m so sorry. I never should have left you there alone.”
I shrug. “It ended up okay. Once he checked out my story, I think he felt bad about scaring the shit out of me.” Or pee, as the case may be. “He sent me home in a limo with his driver.”
Marissa lets out a surprised gust of laughter. “No. Way.”
I nod. “True story.”
“Well, it probably doesn’t hurt that you’re young and beautiful. I’m sure if it were me, I’d have been fired on the spot.”
“You’re young and beautiful.”
She smiles. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
I try not to let her words feed the stupid thrill already buzzing beneath all my more sane thoughts. Is Nico taken by me? I shouldn’t hope so. Surely my better sense will kick in soon. Except I didn’t slept last night. I had my fingers between my legs, fantasizing about what it would’ve been like if Nico Tacone turned me to face the counter in his bathroom and plunged his authoritative cock inside me until I screamed.
Suddenly Marissa’s brows slam back down. “Do you feel safe?” she demands. “Because I’
m not going to send a vulnerable young woman in there to get molested. Was that the vibe you got from him?”
Was it? No. Not really. Other than the almost kissing me part. And sending me roses. But molested is a strong word. I didn’t feel that vulnerable. Yes, he terrified me, but he also fascinated. He actually took care of me in a weird way—shoving me in that shower to clean up and drying me off. And taking off my soaked panties.
But do I feel safe?
No.
Is that half the appeal? Corey would say yes. Because I possess some aberrant thrill-seeking gene when it comes to men.
“Yeah, he’s okay. I don’t get a creepy vibe from him,” I mutter, stacking my cart with supplies.
“Are you sure? Because if you’re still too shaken up, I’m not afraid to tell them. They’ve got a human resource nightmare waiting to happen with you.”
Somehow I doubt the Tacone family gives a shit about human resource problems. They probably have their own special way of dealing with problems that don’t involve lawsuits or payouts. Unless you count the payout Nico gave me yesterday of six hundred crisp ones.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, here’s your new keycard. You’re in charge of the three suites on the top floor and nothing else, according to Mr. Tacone.”
“That won’t take all day, though. What do I do when I’m done?”
“You get to go home.”
Oh—so I’m really not getting a raise. Well, I’ll be working fewer hours for the same amount of money, so it’s an improvement. But it doesn’t get me out of Corey’s house any sooner. Still, I’m not complaining. It will give me time to apply for teaching positions.
I take my cart and the new keycard she gives me into the elevator. On the top floor, I clean the other two suites first. They both have two bedrooms. I wonder who they belong to—Nico’s brothers? Cousins? I wish I knew more about the operation here. When I first applied at the Bellissimo and Corey told me it was mafia run, I Googled it, but nothing came up. Zero. Not that I’m surprised. If Nico Tacone assumes a new maid is bugging his place, then he’s either paranoid, or he has some serious secrets to keep hidden. The second thought sends a shiver running up my spine.
