Dead Man's Hand (Vegas Underground 7)

“Have a seat.” He indicates the padded leather chair across from his desk and settles opposite me.

I sit and cross my legs like a lady. Fight and fail to swallow. My tongue tangles in my mouth.

“What can I do for you, Marissa?” Everything about him this morning is cool and manicured. So different from the casual charming demeanor he had at the cafe.

I clear my throat. “The shooting had a big effect on business,” I say, which is a lie. It happened in the evening, when almost no one is around, and the Tacones paid for immediate clean up and repairs, so we were only closed one day.

The way Gio raises one brow tells me he knows I’m bullshitting. I also sense his disapproval. Like he knows where this is going and doesn’t like it.

I rush on. “We require another payment of at least thirty grand to make things right.”

Gio doesn’t say a word. Nothing shows on his face. Even his eyes—usually so beautifully warm are dead.

My heart pounds so loudly I swear he can hear it. Sweat trickles down my ribs.

“What for?” he says.

“I’m sorry?”

“What’s the money for?”

I’m so breathless I can barely speak. But I force the words across my lips. “To keep us quiet,” I say.

Gio’s mouth tightens.

“I told the cops it was the Russians. But I could call them—”

Gio holds up a finger to interrupt. “Don’t fucking say it.” His gaze is black as night. “Seriously. Nobody blackmails a Tacone and walks away.”

I choke on my breath.

Blackmail. Yes, I guess that is what I just attempted. And now I am so fucked.

Did he just tell me I’m dead? Will he shoot me right here? Or drive me out to the woods and make me dig my own grave?

I stand up from the chair and start toward the door. “You can’t… I’m… the feds know I’m here,” I blurt. “I’m wearing a wire.”

“Don’t touch that door.” His command rings out with steely authority. I freeze. Maybe he has a gun pointed at my head.

Gio reaches me at the door. He catches my wrists and pins them behind my back with one hand and flattens me against the thick, expensive wood. With the other, he burrows his fingers into my French twist and tugs my head back. “Wearing a wire.” His voice drips with disbelief.

I try to answer, but only an unintelligible sound escapes my lips.

“Well, I guess I’d better check.” His hand slides across my belly, inside my blouse.

The moment it does, the air electrifies between us. Changes.

He knows without a shadow of a doubt I’m bluffing. His touch sears my skin even though he barely ghosts across the surface. He holds me captive as he checks inside both bra cups, between my breasts, down my back. “Nothing here.” His voice sounds deeper than before. Not quite as controlled or angry.

He pulls the zipper down on my skirt and it falls to the floor at my feet. I’m wearing pale pink thigh highs that match my panties and bra.

He tsks. “Was this really your plan? Put on grown up clothes, show me a little cleavage and these pretty legs and then threaten me? Very bad move, Marissa.”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Tacone.”

“Our families go way back. We’re allies, babygirl. All you had to do was ask for the money and it would’ve been yours. Instead you point a gun at me.”

“I-I don’t have a gun.”

His chuckle is dark and rumbles through my limbs, making them even weaker. “Metaphor, angel.”

“Oh.” Oh. That’s all I can think to say? I’m going to have to think faster if I’m going to dig my way out of this disaster.

“Why would you threaten me, Marissa? You have to know how easy it would be for me to wipe you and your entire family out of existence. You’ve seen with your own eyes what we’re capable of.”

My body goes rigid. Ice cold. “You can’t kill me.” I’m choking on my own spit.

He laughs again, but switches his hand from my hair to my nape and presses me against the door, my cheek flattening with the steady pressure. “You sure about that?”

His other hand starts swiftly roaming over the back of my panties, inside the waistband, between my legs.

Cold turns into the hot flush of embarrassment. He gives my ass a light slap. “No wire. But we already knew that. You’re a horrible liar, Marissa.”

I choke on the tears in my throat. “But you had to strip search me anyway?”

His searching hand rests lightly at my hip. He strokes it down the side of my thigh and up to my waist. “That wasn’t a strip search. You still have clothes on. But I’d be happy to comply if that’s what you’re going for.”

“You’re sick,” I bite out.

He slaps my ass again, this time hard. “And you’re in a world of trouble.” He pulls me off the door, and I step out of the skirt at my feet before he spins me around and marches me to the leather chair and pushes me into it.