Jack of Spades (Vegas Underground 2)

It’s no surprise I returned to my place totally changed. It’s like when you go on vacation and when you come back, you see things through fresh eyes, at least for your first day back. I’ve been living in the Bellissimo with Stefano Tacone for the past forty-eight hours. The second-hand furniture in my apartment now appears dingy and sad. The stained carpet moans to be replaced and nothing in the place even represents me.

Have I even been living a life here?

What was it?

I don’t know who the fuck I am.

No, that’s not true. I’m just exhausted. I was a prisoner for the past forty-eight hours. Except I know that’s not really true.

I may have stripes on my ass that says it is, but it’s not.

Or maybe it is, but I was a most honored prisoner. I mean truthfully? Stefano Tacone—for all his power and fearsome capabilities, for all the mighty control he flexed—treated me better than Dean ever did. And Dean never raised a hand to me.

I had the best orgasms of my life. I ate good food and drank expensive wine. I came home with thousands of dollars worth of clothing, carried to my car by a most attentive bellhop. I’m still wearing twelve hundred dollar diamond earrings.

But I’d be a fool if I attached any meaning to any of it.

Stefano is a player. Fucking women and showering them with parting gifts is probably par for the course for him.

The doorbell of my townhouse rings and I frown. I’m not expecting anyone. I open the door a crack and look out. A large man in a suit immediately pushes it open and my stomach bunches up to the size of a nut.

It tightens so much it hurts, because the man pushing into my apartment is the last man I want to see on a normal day. But I especially don’t want to see him today.

It’s my goddamn dad.

Shit.

“Hey, Corey.” His slow drawl belies the aggressive way he entered. “Is that any way to greet your dear old dad?”

I can’t dignify that with an answer. I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”

He walks around my place, his critical gaze probably cataloguing everything he sees to use against me in some way. “I’ve been transferred to Las Vegas.”

Fuck.

“I’m working a possible murder case. Turns out my own daughter might know something about it.”

My heart’s in tachycardia but I curl my lip in a sneer. “How do you figure?”

“I heard you’re the dealer for the private games now.”

Now my heart stops. How in the fuck does he know this? How? Has he been casing out the Bellissimo this whole time? The Tacones?

Jesus, he’s going to get me killed! Me and Sondra both.

“A man named Eric Donahue disappeared after attending a private game Saturday night. Were you dealing that game?”

I can’t believe Stefano didn’t go over alibis with me. Tell me what to say if I’m ever questioned. I’m a freaking accessory to murder, and there’s no way my dad won’t see through a lie. He’s a seasoned federal agent. And he’s my father.

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not discussing anything with you. You’re not welcome in my home, and I need you to leave. Now.”

My father doesn’t move from where his ass is perched against the arm of the couch. He studies me with gray eyes.

Yeah, I just confirmed everything for him. Whatever he wanted to know, he knows it now.

I’m so fucked.

“I’m sure you don’t want to be uncooperative with a federal investigation.”

“I’m sure I do if it’s led by you.”

“Okay, what is your problem, really? I didn’t call enough after I moved to Detroit? Didn’t pay for your college education?”

“I don’t have a problem. I just don’t want you in my life. It’s quite simple, really.”

He stands and walks toward me, spreading his arms like he wants to hug me. “Corey, what is this all about? I never understood why you stopped talking to me.”

“I grew up, Dad. That’s why. I grew up and realized you were a shitty dad, and I didn’t want to have a relationship with you. It’s not that hard to understand. Aren’t you supposed to be a member of Mensa or something?”

“So are you,” he murmurs. “Maybe we’re just too similar.”

“Or maybe it’s because you’re a bully and you cheated on Mom and all you ever did was shove your judgments down my throat.” I’m getting myself worked up and—fuck!—I hate when I lose my temper. Especially because it does make me just like him.

“Out,” I snap, pointing to the door.

He shakes his head like he pities me. “Getting involved with the Tacones is a big mistake.”

My nostrils flare. Of course, every word of this upcoming speech is predictable, but I still can’t stand hearing it.

“I heard about Sondra’s engagement. Big. Mistake.”