King of Diamonds (Vegas Underground 1)

Which probably means I should ask him some hard questions. How bloody are his hands? How legal is his business? Because from what I can tell, he’s running a fully profitable casino. I’m not sure where the illegal part comes in.

But I’m sure it’s there. And I don’t know if I really want to know the answers.

I head to the Saks off 5th outlet and start pulling outfits. It’s extravagant and ridiculous, and I never spend money on clothes for myself, but the fact that he gave me an assignment and wants to pick from the results makes it a fun game. I fill a cart with clothing and drag things into the dressing room, ten pieces at a time.

Two hours later, I’m laden with five giant bags of clothes, shoes and a jacket, and I head back to the casino. The valet attendant greets me like I’m the Princess of Wales and the bellhop insists on carrying my shopping bags up to my room.

Nico enters a few minutes later without knocking.

“How’d you know I was back?”

His lips twitch. “I asked the valet to let me know.”

I cock a hip. “I’m never sure whether to be flattered or creeped out by how controlling you are.”

Nico shoves his hands in his pockets. It’s a signal of harmlessness—he’s not advancing on me for once. “I know I talk a lot of shit, baby. I like to pretend I own you. But I would never stop you from doing anything you wanted to do, even if it meant walk out of here and never come back.” The words seem to cost him, because the muscles in his throat tighten and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

I close the distance between us, press my body up against his. His strong arms band around me. “That’s all I need to know,” I murmur.

“Sondra,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine. “You’re one in a million. The way you always take me for what I am.”

I swallow. Now is the time for the difficult conversation. “Nico…tell me the worst. Who are you? What are you involved in? What have you done?”

His arms tighten around me and his face goes pale. “Do I need to search you for a wire?” The joke is forced and neither of us smile.

“Truly, Sondra, I can’t tell you. I wouldn’t tell you anything that would put you in an awkward or dangerous position—with my family or the feds. And don’t think I don’t know you have an uncle in the FBI.”

I flush and shove his chest. “You still think I’m a spy?”

“Of course I don’t. No, no, no. Listen.” He cradles my face. “What prompted this? Why are you asking?” I look away, but he turns my face back. “Are you trying to figure out if you can stay?”

I nod.

He blows out a long, slow exhale. “I’ll tell you this. I left Chicago because I didn’t want blood on my hands. I didn’t want to spend my life looking over my shoulder for the next gunman or Fed trying to bring me down. I believed big corporations do the same kind of shit my family did on the street, on a large scale and it’s legal. And I wanted that. Large scale, legal business. I already knew about gambling, so I came to Vegas.

“But I was bankrolled by the family, which means I can’t ever be truly free. I launder their money. I still employ the old-school tactics of intimidation and fear when necessary. Not murder,” he shakes his head. “No drugs. No sex trade. Nothing else illegal. And if I could cut ties and go one hundred percent legit today, I’d do it. I just haven’t figured out how.” He strokes my face with his thumb. “So now you know. That’s everything. Well, almost everything. I have one death on my hands from when I got made. It’s a requirement. It made me sick and it solidified my resolve to get out and never go back.” There’s a wobble in his voice and I throw myself against him, pressing my cheek against his chest.

I want to tell him I’m sorry for his family, his past, but how do I say that without negating who he is now? So I just hold him, show him I’m still here. Still on his side. Whatever side that is.

Nico

It was short notice, but Sal managed to book a decent private chapel—not the cheesy Elvis kind on the strip. I pull into the chapel parking lot and turn off the Porsche I took out for the drive today. We get out and I escort Sondra toward the door. She’s wearing a pair of tight white capri jeans with pink-gold heels and a turquoise blouse. She looks classy and beautiful.

Sal’s marrying a stripper he hired a year ago. He’s been banging her ever since and decided last week, when she told him she was pregnant, to make it official. He swore me to secrecy over her former profession, which I have no problem with. I actually like the girl. She’s a Jersey chick, street smart but generous. She’ll fit in with the family, make a good mother to his kids.