Dead Man's Hand (Vegas Underground 7)

The smile that stretches across her face makes my heart double-pump. “Yes, I was. Hungry?”

“Starving, angel.”

“Good.” She slides out of bed, like serving me is her favorite thing. “I’ll make us some dinner.”

I want to sigh like a girl.

Now I’m certain of the reason my life was spared. It was to make sure Marissa’s life was spared, too. Because we were destined for each other. To give and receive and make each other happy. And be happy together, because I know the Dr. Phil shit about it not being all on the other person making you happy.

I trail after my beautiful chef, watching the twitch of her bare ass as she walks, tying the apron on around her waist.

Even if I died tomorrow, I’d die happy. Fulfilled. So different from how I felt about my life last year when that bullet went through my flesh.

All I needed was a reason to live.

And now I found her.

Epilogue

Paolo

“The food was exquisite,” Ma gushes as the waitstaff clear our plates. It’s the soft opening of Giovanni’s, Marissa and Gio’s new downtown restaurant. Gio bought a commercial property right on the lake near their apartment, with wall-to-wall windows looking out over the water. People will come here for the views alone, never mind Marissa’s food. Although based on the family gathering she hosted last week and what I tasted tonight, she’s going to knock that part out of the park, too.

And the piano? I don’t know why it makes me laugh my ass off. Maybe just because I remember Gio dreaming of his piano bar when he was like six years old.

And now he’s doing it.

Why the fuck not?

The guy came back from the dead. That would make me want to pursue all my lost opportunities, too.

The whole family’s here—at least all of the Chicago branch plus Nico, who managed to sneak away from his obligations running the Bellissimo, and Marissa’s family too.

I shook Luigi’s hand when he came in. I’m not gonna hold a grudge. We had a couple conversations that involved me throwing my weight around a bit. Now everything’s resolved.

He gave me the tapes. Gio bought out Milano’s and forced their retirement. He and Marissa re-opened it as a wildly popular lunch-spot, rejuvenating the entire block.

Marissa’s queen of the place tonight, wearing a slinky teal dress and playing hostess. Her kitchen staff, including a girlfriend from the restaurant where she used to work, prepared her creations tonight.

Gio’s been at her back, showing his claim, protecting his prize.

Again, why the fuck not? He deserves her.

Now that dessert is being served, Gio finds his way to the piano, same as ever. He sits down and plays a song that’s familiar. A Train song, I think—that cheesy Marry Me. When the next song he plays is Bruno Mars’ Marry You, I start smiling. He’s not singing the lyrics, so I don’t know if anyone’s caught on yet.

More importantly, I don’t think Marissa’s caught on yet.

I wait for the next song. This time Gio turns on the mic and sings—something he doesn’t often do, even though he has a great voice. It’s Dean Martin’s Marry Me.

Ma gasps and that makes everyone sit up and listen.

“Hey, Marissa,” I call out. “I think your man has something to ask you.”

Marissa surges to her feet, then promptly sits back down again, then stands, covering her mouth and blushing.

“Go on, get up there,” her aunt urges, nudging her to the piano.

Gio finishes the song in total Gio style—lady-killer that he used to be. When he’s done, he grabs Marissa around the waist and pulls her down onto his lap in front of everybody. The older people titter nervously while the rest of us cheer.

“Marissa, I love you. I think you know by now I’m never letting you go.” More nervous laughter from the family. “Let’s make it official, angel. Will you wear my ring?” He produces a ring box from his jacket pocket and pops it open. There’s a pear-shaped diamond in there the size of a fucking dime.

Marissa tears up while she laughs. “Yes, Gio. I’m not letting you go, either.” She takes the ring and slides it on her finger.

My phone buzzes, and seeing it’s a call from Stefano, I stand and walk out to the coatroom to take it. “Gio just proposed to his girl,” I tell our youngest brother.

“Yeah? Tell him congratulations for me. Bachelor party at the Bellissimo of course.”

“Naturally, naturally. What’s up?”

“Listen, we have a problem and I wondered if you could take care of it.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I just found out some hacker’s been micro-skimming every transaction from the casino accounts for the past six years. About a hundred fifty grand total. We traced the money to an off-shore account. Only money in it is from The Bellissimo. Only money out? Tuition payments to Northwestern University.”