Wild Card (Vegas Underground 8)

“I can’t help you with your father’s death,” Paolo says behind me, like he’s been thinking about it for a while and has finally come to a decision.

For a moment, I feel nothing. Like time stands still. And then a giant ball of emotion surges up from my chest. Grief, I guess. Not for my father’s death, but for what I’d made him out to be after—some kind of good guy, not the selfish, absentee, bad example of a dad he really was. Or maybe just something that belonged to me, when I had nothing.

I try to hold it in. I close my throat and choke a little, but then it erupts. My back shakes with one sob. I hold my breath, squeeze my face up to keep the rest from escaping.

It’s impossible. It bursts out of me. Tears stream down my cheeks.

Paolo turns me around and rolls me up against his chest. Holds me close and rubs my back.

I’m embarrassed and mad at myself for losing control like this, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t tell me it’s okay or it’s not okay. He just holds me. He massages the back of my head.

And when I realize he’s not going to say anything, I let go completely. I wet his skin with my tears, I let them run and run until they run out.

And afterward, when I’m completely drained, I fall into the deepest sleep of my life.

Chapter 6

Paolo

I let Caitlin sleep in—breaking my promise to use and abuse her during the night and in the morning. Not that I didn’t wake up with the most painful wood ever. Not that it didn’t kill me to untangle and pull away from her lithe naked body.

My heart breaks for her.

And I didn’t even believe I had a heart.

But those tears she cried last night made me want to kill every motherfucker who’s ever hurt her. Only I can’t. I already decided I can’t avenge her father’s death, even though I’m willing to kill for her. But knowing the kind of guy her dad was, knowing the circles he ran in… well, I gotta assume he had it coming.

And I might be on the same side as whoever did it. I don’t think it was the Tacones. But it could’ve been. Or one of our allies. I would call my brothers to ask what they know, but you don’t talk about shit like that on the phone. It will have to wait until I can get Junior or Gio in person.

I shower and dress, then call Vlad to have him check on the account where she’s siphoning the money for us. It’s up to $114K.

Good. I’m still watching for her to screw me, but so far it looks like she’ll be going home relatively unscathed tonight.

I start the coffee maker and fry up a package of bacon and pull out some eggs.

I wait around for a while, but when she keeps on sleeping, I fry a couple eggs for myself and eat breakfast.

Good thing I did, because she’s still sleeping at lunch time. I go in and wake her up by snipping her zip ties.

I still want to promise to fix things. I am a fixer for the family. The guy they send in to be the heavy. To use threats, or my fists, or sometimes more permanent solutions to take care of problems. It’s why I’m the guy they sent to straighten out this situation with Caitlin.

But fixing things for women isn’t usually my gig. I mean, I’d do it. If some guy was beating on a girl, I’d step in in a heartbeat. I live and breathe violence and I would definitely use it to keep a girl safe. But I’m sure as hell not the knight in shining armor.

But this shit with Caitlin doesn’t sit right. I don’t mean my retribution. I haven’t hurt her in any way she didn’t want to be hurt. And I won’t. But she’s wounded. Bent in ways I don’t know can be straightened out. And that makes me want to pick through her past and punish every last fucker who hurt her.

She bounces out of bed like nothing happened, though. “Good morning, Mr. Tacone.” She emphasizes the Mr. Tacone part like she’s making fun of me.

I slap her ass as she limps past me on her way to the bathroom. “You can call me Paolo,” I concede.

She looks back, her eyes widening with exaggerated surprise. “Ooh, I graduated. How did I pass to the next level? Was it the bawling all over your chest?” She beams like bawling is something adorable.

And in her case, it suddenly is. Or rather, talking about it like it’s cute makes it so.

“Something like that,” I tell her.

She stops and curls her fingers between her legs, making my eyes and my dick pop. “Why am I not swollen and tender from all that pounding you promised?”