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.