Dead Man's Hand (Vegas Underground 7)

“I don’t know if a piano would really go at Michelangelo's. I guess fine dining is in silence? I mean, in terms of music?”

I shrug. “So what? It can be silent during dinner and then after the kitchen closes at ten, it could turn into a lounge for the last few hours. I bet you’d pack the place.”

“You think?”

“It’s perfect, Gio. Really.” I don’t know why I’m so enthusiastic about changing Michelangelo's into the very Tacone hang-out I was so pissed imagining earlier. I guess I recognize what it is to have a dream. A vision of where you think you’d fit in life. And he has the finances and ability to make his dream come true, unlike most of us. In fact, he has the ability to make my dreams come true, too, not that I’m going to let him.

I already owe the man too much. He’s already saying he owns me.

I can’t let him own my dreams, too.

Then there’d be nothing of me left to keep.

Chapter 7

Gio

I step into Caffè Milano. I’m looking for Ivan, the bratva asshole I’m supposed to meet. I find him sitting at a table across from Marissa. At least I think it’s Marissa. Her back is to me. Ivan watches me as I approach, a smug smile on his face. I walk over and Marissa looks up. Duct tape is over her mouth, and I see her wrists and ankles are bound together. She tries to scream from behind the tape. Her wide and frightened eyes are glued to mine.

Glued to mine as Ivan laughs and shoots her right in the heart.

“No!” I shout and reach for my gun, but it’s not there. It’s not there and someone’s pulling my arm.

I try to jerk it off.

“Gio.”

I blink. Marissa’s wide blue gaze is still fixed on my face. “Gio.” She tugs on my arm.

“Marissa.” Thank fuck. There’s no tape over her mouth. She’s not bleeding. She’s in my bed.

Just a dream. Just a fucking dream.

She traces her fingertips over the muscles of my arm. “Another nightmare?”

“Cazzo.” I rub the stubble on my face. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Was I in it?”

I give a humorless laugh. “Every fucking time.”

“What happened? Never mind.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why I asked. I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

“You definitely don’t. Fucking Russians.” I throw the covers off and pad to the bathroom. When I come back, Marissa’s still in my bed.

I stop to take in the sight.

She’s so fucking pretty. Her caramel-colored hair fans out on the pillow, the blue of her eyes bright against the backdrop of my charcoal gray sheet she has pulled up to her armpits. She’s so young and fresh and full of life. So much to live for. And it could all be taken away in the blink of an eye.

I climb back onto the bed and yank the sheet down to her waist to see those perky little breasts in the light of the day.

She gasps and tries to reach for it, but I shake my head and she instantly stills, her pretty eyes attentive and alert.

Huh. She’s submissive with me now.

Not a submissive by nature, though.

I straddle her waist over the sheet and palm one of her breasts.

All her attention’s still trained on my face. I see the flutter of her pulse in her neck. “They’re small,” she murmurs, like an apology.

I release her tit and slap the side of it.

She yelps and covers both of them with her hands.

“They’re fucking perfect.” I grab her wrists and pin them down beside her head. “You criticize this body again, I’m gonna paint your ass red.”

She lets out a surprised laugh. “It’s my body.”

I arch a brow. “Is it baby? I don’t think so. I believe I own you now.” I cup both her breasts and squeeze, then brush my thumbs over the stiffened peaks.

My cock lengthens between us.

She licks her lips.

I slide the sheet down between us and run my finger over her slit to check for wetness.

Dripping.

Babygirl likes being owned.

And I sure as hell love owning her.

I move to the side to get rid of the topsheet and slip my hands behind her knees to push them up toward her shoulders.

“That’s right baby. Spread that pussy for me and show me how wet you get when I talk dirty.”

She whimpers. I can’t get enough of those eyes trained on my face! It makes me feel as tall as the fucking Willis Tower.

“That’s the pussy I own, isn’t it, baby?”

She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, her breath coming more quickly.

“What should I do to that pussy first? Lick it?”

She swallows and nods quickly.

I give her what must be a feral smile. I’m definitely feeling predatory. I lower my head and take one long lick with my tongue flat. Then I trace around her inner lips.