Dead Man's Hand (Vegas Underground 7)

Nico answers on the first ring. “Gio. What’s up?”

I don’t speak for a moment, because I don’t even know what I want. Whether or not it was a mistake to call.

“Gio?”

“I’m here, yeah. Wanted to run something by you.”

“Shoot.”

I pause again. “Say you found out a girl’s boss was getting handsy with her, but she’s a no-go on any violence. Like wouldn’t even tell you the guy’s name. What would you do?”

“You want revenge or you want to remove her from the situation?”

I inhale. Interesting separation. I had the two glommed together in my brain. “Cazzo. I guess I just want her comfortable. I could give up revenge if I knew he wasn’t anywhere near her.” Maybe.

“Easy then. Get him fired. Lean on the owner with cash or threats. If he’s the owner, you buy him out. Or get him shut down. Pay someone off to put him out of business. There’s a lot of options. Plus, it’s not full justice, but you can smile when you think of him unemployed.”

“Huh. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Who’s the girl?”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s the thanks I get?”

“Grazie, fratello. That’s it.”

“I got more ideas. For stealthier vengeance—the kind she wouldn’t tie to you. Accidents, that kind of thing. If you need that, too.”

I crack my swollen knuckles. Do I need that?

Marissa’s reaction keeps replaying in my mind. I don’t trust you, Gio.

I don’t fucking like that.

“Nah, I’ll try to do it legitimately. Works well for you.”

“It does. A little bit of ruthlessness in legit business brings you right to the top. Who’s the girl?”

“Sta ‘zitto.” Shut up.

“Do I know her?”

“Yeah. It’s not a thing. I don’t know. Just a girl I want to protect.”

“You’re a good man, Gio.”

Am I? I seriously doubt it. Not when I couldn’t even come up with one idea that didn’t involve violence.

“I’m not. Give Nico Junior a kiss from me.”

“Will do. Buona notte.”

I end the call, grateful for what Nico reminded me of. I have more than my fists or guns. I have money. And that’s just as powerful—maybe more—than my ability to intimidate.

Tomorrow I’ll figure out how to buy Michelangelo's, and I’ll fire every fucker Marissa wants me to. New life starts flickering in my cells. Something long dead in me—dead way before the shooting—awakens.

Gio Tacone, a restaurant owner. It’s damn close to the dreams I had for my adult life when I was a kid. Before my dad forever quashed them.

I used to picture myself owning a swanky 50s style lounge. The kind Sinatra would sing in, if he were still alive. I guess it would be a piano bar. Someplace I could reign, the Family man could convene, drink and do business, and my baby grand would gleam in the corner, ready for me to wander over, sit down and entertain. I guess I thought it would be the perfect melding of La Cosa Nostra and my love for piano. Like I could somehow put the two together in a positive way.

But of course, any career involving the piano—even a swanky Italian piano bar—was violently rejected by my father.

The more I picture it, the more it comes to life. Like what Nico’s built for himself only on a small, intimate scale. A swanky place of my own. Fine dining with a menu prepared by the new upstart talent Marissa Milano. A gleaming black baby grand back by the bar.

Hell, yeah.

This could definitely work.

Chapter 5

Marissa

We’ve barely started our shift—the restaurant’s not even open yet, when Michael, Michelangelo's owner/manager, sticks his head in the kitchen and says he needs us all out in the restaurant for a meeting. He seems nervous. A little sweaty, definitely on edge.

My stomach clenches. Is someone getting fired? But why would they need all of us for that? Crap. Is this where he tells us they’re going bankrupt? Or that someone’s been stealing? It isn’t good, whatever it is.

I follow the rest of the kitchen staff out, and that’s when my world flips onto its head.

Gio’s sitting there, looking devastatingly dapper in his sleek Italian suit and shiny shoes. He’s sitting there—not like a customer, but like he belongs. Like he owns the place.

My sense of dread ratchets up.

“I want to introduce you to the new owner of Michelangelo's.” Michael flits a nervous hand in Gio’s direction. “This is Mr. Tacone, your new boss. He’ll be calling the shots around here from now on. I will stay on as manager and consultant for a period of six months.”

The twisting in my stomach grows tighter.

Goddamn Gio.

What in the hell does he think he’s doing?

He bought the restaurant where I work? For what purpose? To more fully own me? To make sure I answer to him in all areas of my life?

I blink back hot furious tears.

The nerve.

Michelangelo's will become the new mafia hangout. Just like Milano’s has been for the last forty years. My grandfather finally got out from under the Tacones, and I did my best to preserve that freedom with the new bargain we struck, but Gio made sure I landed right back in the same position. Just like my grandfather, I’m now locked into running a business for the mafia. Probably for the rest of my life, if this works the same as my grandfather’s deal did. I won’t ever be able to leave. Won’t ever be able to move to a different restaurant or start my own.