Jack of Spades (Vegas Underground 2)

“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.”