Jack of Spades (Vegas Underground 2)

She scowls at me, which I take as a good sign. She still has spirit. I have no interest in breaking her.

When I come back, she’s pulled herself together. “Stefano,” she says, holding her bound wrists out to me. “Let me go. I’m not going to talk, I promise. My cousin, who’s like a sister to me, is marrying your brother. I’m practically part of the family now.”

My eyebrows shoot up, because Nico—the stronzo—hasn’t told me he’s marrying the girl yet. I hope that means the shit with the Family is done. “That true? They getting married?”

She bobs her head. “She texted me a picture of the ring.”

I don’t know why, but that makes me insanely happy for the guy. Nico is one seriously intense motherfucker. He’s never attempted to make himself happy, maybe because the marriage contract with Guisseppe Pachino’s daughter’s been hanging over his head all these years.

I crowd into her space again. It’s hard to take her seriously when she looks like she stepped off the pages of a classy men’s magazine. The thigh-highs and heels are pretty much blowing my mind. “What does that make us, then?” I unhook her bra in the back and slide the straps down, even though I know they’ll catch on her zip-tied wrists.

“There is no us,” she snaps, but doesn’t resist my touch. “Stefano, let me go. Please.”

I put a finger under her chin. “I can’t,” I tell her. Won’t. “Not yet.”

Her breath quickens, which makes her pink-tipped breasts bob with each inhale. “Why not? What are you going to do with me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Please.” Her voice rises. “You can call Nico—Mr. Tacone…” she trails off, though, uncertainty flickering over her face. Which doesn’t surprise me. I can count the number of people who are certain of what Nico will do or say on one hand.

“I will certainly talk to Nico,” I say smoothly. “In the meantime, you’re staying here.” I tug the bra tangled around her wrists.

“Are you going to cut that off, too?” she snaps.

“Yes, I think I will.” I pick up the scissors. It’s not to be a dick, but because the idea of buying her new bras gets me harder than a rock. I’m going to enjoy having Corey Simonson at my mercy.

Very much.

She huffs as I snip the bra straps and free the fabric from her wrists.

“Come, bella.” I take her tangled fingers and lead her toward the bedroom.

She balks, digging her heels in and pulling against me.

“Relax. I’m putting you to bed to sleep. It’s late and I need to get my ass back out on the floor.”

She shakes her head. “Stefano, please. This is fucked up. Just let me go. I don’t understand why I’m your prisoner.”

“I need to be sure of you, bella. So for now, you stay.” I nudge her toward the bathroom. “There’s the restroom. Use it if you need to, because you won’t have a chance while I’m gone.”

Panic flares in her eyes, but she tosses her long red hair on her way to the toilet. While she’s gone, I yank the casino phone out from the wall and stow it in the closet. Using more zip-ties from my pocket, I make a chain with them, affixing the top one to the solid metal of the bed frame. When she returns, I pat the bed, hiding the zip-ties. She eyes me warily but approaches and tucks herself under the covers, presumably to hide her state of undress.

I catch her wrists and attach the zip-tie chain to hers.

“Hey! What the fuck?” she tugs at them.

“Stop.” I make my voice sharp. “Take it easy, bella or this zip-tie will cut into your wrists.”

She glares up at me. “Oh, and you care because why?”

Because I don’t want to feel bad about the way I’m treating her. And I definitely should. She doesn’t deserve to be tied up to my bed. She’s done nothing wrong. But I’m thinking with my dick now, and there’s no way I’m letting her go. Not when I have her in such a delicious position.

I lift her bound fingers to my lips and kiss them softly. “I don’t want to see red marks here.” I trace my finger beneath the zip-tie, testing for tightness. “If I come back and you’ve worked your skin raw, I’m going to punish you again. Capiche?”

Her eyes fly wide, genuine fear flooding them.

“No,” I say, guessing at her panicked thoughts. “I’m not a psychopath. Although I’d love to play sex games with you chained to my bed all fucking week. Be good”—I tap her nose—“or it can be arranged.” I head for the door.

“Stefano!” she screams my name through clenched teeth. It’s a good sign. I like her mad. I don’t want her terrified.

I turn and arch a brow. “Need anything? No?” I don’t give her a chance to answer. “I’ll get you a toothbrush while I’m downstairs. I’ll be back by dawn. Try to get some sleep.”