Dead Man's Hand (Vegas Underground 7)

I wouldn’t be surprised to hear every plant in the apartment just withered with me. I swear I could suck the sun right out of the sky right now with the black hole inside me.

“And in exchange you give me the tapes?”

“No. I keep the tapes, as I have all these years. To make sure you hold up your end of the bargain.”

I throw back the rest of my scotch. I’ve already shut down. We’re past the point of me telling Luigi I’m in love with his granddaughter. We’re at the point I might kill a man.

No one threatens a Tacone.

That’s a motto I was raised with.

But I have no choice here but to fold. Not because I’m afraid of those tapes—although they could be a fucking problem. My dad’s already in jail, but if there’s evidence on there that would endanger my brothers’ freedom, I can’t risk it.

But mostly because Marissa loves this old man.

And so, I would never harm a hair on his head.

Would never threaten or strong-arm him.

And he’s right. Marissa does deserve better. Everywhere I tried to help her, I only mucked things up. I bought that fucking restaurant to keep Arnie away from her, and it backfired on me. He showed up her family business and pointed a gun at her head.

Cristo. I should’ve just stuck with what I know. Violence. Threats.

The more I try to be good for Marissa, the more things go wrong.

“Fine,” I say dully.

“You’ll end things with Marissa?”

“Yeah.”

“And stay away from her? Get out of her life forever?”

“Get out, Luigi.” I stand and pick up his untouched drink. I throw it back and slam it down on the table. “We’re done here.” I take the bottle of scotch and walk out of the office, leaving him to find his own way out.

If I had a coffin, I’d crawl in like a fucking vampire right now and never come out.

Instead, I think I land on the bed—I’m not sure. I’m too busy finding my way to the bottom of the scotch bottle.

Chapter 15

Marissa

By the time I finish my shift at Michelangelo's, I’m ready to drop dead. My stomach’s been in knots since Arnie showed up this afternoon, and I’ve just been trying to sweep everything from my mind until I have time to unpack it all.

The trouble with that, is my body is a shaky mess. I want to heave, and I was really looking forward to falling into Gio’s arms at the end of the night.

But he didn’t come.

He’s not here.

And that fact alone is what makes the tears start to fall.

He’s not outside in the parking lot, insisting he drive me home. There’s no message from him on my phone.

I walk to the L station, sniffing, my brain spinning.

Now it’s important to me to remember everything. To look at the puzzle pieces and figure out why Gio’s not here.

I told him to leave. Was I horrible about it? Fuck, I can’t remember. I just was in so much shock from having the gun pointed at me and then seeing Mia crying like that. Seeing Arnie’s blood and the brutal enforcer Gio unleashed.

Gio… My mind skips a few minutes backward in time. The swiftness with which he disarmed Arnie. The power in those fists when he exacted justice.

Gio saved my life.

He was a freaking hero.

He snatched a gun from Arnie’s hand and beat him to a pulp. In most movies that would be a win. He’d get a medal, or at least sighs from every female in the audience.

And I didn’t even thank him.

Instead, I kicked him out like he was the bad guy.

How on Earth did Gio become the bad guy for saving my life? My family blamed him for Arnie being there in the first place, but that wasn’t his fault. I might have never started something with Gio and the same thing could have happened. Arnie is a dangerous sociopath.

Not Gio.

Dammit.

I pull out my phone. It’s too late to call, but I send a text to Gio. You saved my life and I didn’t even thank you. I feel horrible. It doesn’t feel right, it’s definitely trying too hard, but I force it with, Maybe some punishment is in order?

I hit send, then wish I’d left the last part off. If Gio didn’t come tonight, he must have taken offense. He’s always at Michelangelo's when I am. Always there to pour me a drink or sweep me into his vehicle. Or fuck me hard over a table.

I wait the whole train ride home, but I get no response.

Huh.

Maybe Gio’s asleep. Did he have problems with the police? I know they were going to go get his statement since I fucked up by telling him to leave.

The house is quiet when I get home and I slip into bed, exhausted, but I can’t sleep. I keep picking up my phone checking for a return message from Gio.