Captive Bride (The Dirty Kings of Vegas)

I don’t jump up and run to him. I do that every night and I mean tonight to be different. Wearing a thin, silky dress, I wait on the patio for him to find me.

I have a bottle of his favorite Scotch, an ice bucket, and crystal tumblers waiting.

He comes to me. When he takes me in his arms, I nearly lose focus. I have thought this through, though.

We kiss and I know it’s all going to be all right. I pull back a moment early and fix him a drink. Then I pour one for myself. That surprises him.

We clink glasses, and I look in his eyes.

“There’s something I have to tell you, John.”

He looks hard back at me.

With a breezy smile, I say, “But I’m starving.”

He says, “Wait…”

“I’ll bring out some nibbles, John. I’ll just be a moment.”

John loves savories. I bought some spicy little Spanish sausages and soaked and broiled them in a red wine sauce. To go with them, I got small potato and ham croquettes to heat up. A bakery I found delivers parbaked bread, ready to finish in the oven. I set it all out with some olives and cheese.

John follows me out to the kitchen while I’m arranging the tray. Damn, he is so handsome.

I scurry over and kiss him. “Could you take the tray out to the patio?”

“What is it you have to tell me, Kiera? You’re making me nervous.”

I hand him the tray. “It’s nothing to worry about, John.”

“Now I really am worried.”

I follow him back to the patio. He sets the tray down and I ask him if he likes the sausages. He’s impatient. But he can’t resist nibbling on a tiny croquette.

I pull my chair close to his and turn it so we can see each other's faces.

And I start.

“I was born into the life, John. It’s all I’ve ever known. I understand there’s a lot you won’t tell me, or can’t. But you don’t have to shut me out.”

“You think you understand, Kiera, but I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

“John, I’m going to tell you something. You have to swear to me that you’ll keep it in the strictest confidence.”

His eyes narrow. “Of course…”

“No, John.” I touch his hand. “The very strictest confidence. You can’t ever tell anyone. Not your dad, not your brothers or sisters, not anyone. Not ever.”

He presses his lips together and takes in a slow breath. “Tell me.”

“Promise me first.”

He takes a moment. I think he’s not sure how to deal with me now. He says, “Okay. Whatever it is, I promise I won’t tell a soul. I’ll take it to the grave.”

“I’m serious, John. I need to know that you mean it.” I keep eye contact with him. “I’m going to trust you with something huge.”

“All right,” he says, “I swear to you, Kiera. I swear on my sister’s life.”

“Thank you, John.” I lower my voice. “Papa’s consigliere got turned.”

“What?” He sits bolt upright.

I lift my fingers softly. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How did it happen?”

“The feds found some dirt.”

“On a consigliere?”

“No. Dooley was pure as the driven snow. Of course.”

“So…?”

“His wife, not so much. He cracked when they threatened his family.”

John’s eyes narrow. I get in ahead of him. “I know. I’m not making excuses for him. What he did…” My nose wrinkles.

I take a breath and go on. “There was damage, fallout. But it was contained. It’s all ancient history now. I’ll tell you the story sometime. That’s not why I’m telling you. The point is that I more or less acted as Papa’s consigliere for a couple of years after. He didn’t tell me any of the details of what was going on. But, right after it all happened with Dooley, he had to have someone he could trust.”

Now I have his attention. I would give anything to keep this feeling that he’s really focused on me.

“It wasn’t easy for him. Especially not at first. But he needed an ear. Someone he could just talk to. The damage Dooley did was only half of it. Papa had been used to talking through everything. All the things he was afraid of, all the things that he didn’t understand. All…”

He lifts his chin. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Kiera…”

“You don’t. I haven’t told you yet. Hear me out, John. I do understand your position. But here’s the thing: you need someone. As time goes on, it might not be me. It probably won’t. There’s a reason why consiglieres are often lawyers or accountants. Bosses understand the personal side of a situation, but not always the legal landscape or the economics.”

I tell him, “I know you have a good grasp of all of that. But you might need an ear. Someone you can sound your thoughts against. Just to hear how they land.” He draws a breath. I lift my hand. “Wait… This is the part I need you to hear…”