21

Nico
I’m like a Jedi knight. I swear I feel the ripple in the force field when my brother enters the state. I am no longer king of my hill.
The big dog is in town.
Junior is the first born, ten years older than I am, and scary as fuck. As a kid, there were times I was sure he would kill me. He’d hold my head under the water in the pool until I started to pass out, or sit on me and box my ears until I’d do anything and everything he asked me to. Our father didn’t tell him to lay off, probably because he raised Junior and my other brothers the same way. Violence is part of our world. It was part of our family life, too.
I never took my shit out on my younger brother, though. I looked out for Stefano, protected him from our big brothers, cousins and father. And in return, he became forever loyal to me. We were three years apart, but tight. His faith in me is probably the reason I had the courage to try to do something different instead of following in my father’s footsteps.
And I’ve been minimizing my success in the family’s eyes ever since. Because the last thing I want is the rest of them moving in on my territory.
So Junior’s arrival has me on edge.
I sent Tony in a limo to pick them up at the hangar and he texts me to say he’s on his way to the casino. I head down to the front to greet them personally, because family gets the royal treatment.
My employees greet me with deference. The valet parking attendants and bellhops stop their chatter and stand erect like fucking British soldiers protecting the queen.
When the limo pulls up, I open the back door myself, helping my ma out of the vehicle. I get four cheek kisses, back and forth, and a whole lot of greeting with broad hand gestures.
Even being around the soldiers I took from Chicago-Tony, Leo and my cousin Sal-I’m stunned by how Sicilian my mom is. Vegas has rubbed off on me, softened the old world air that still hangs on Junior and my mother.
I get a back-thumping hug from Junior. Tony tosses the keys to the valet and makes sure the bellhop gets their bags from the trunk. I escort them up to their luxury suites, listening to my mom’s chatter the entire way about the latest on every family member. I’m only half-listening until she says, “The Pachino girl is out of college now, Nico.”
Only long practice of hiding emotions from the narrowed gaze of my big brother keeps me from showing anything on my face. We’re in the elevator, which makes it all the more oppressive. “Oh yeah? Good for her.”
“You need to make contact with Giuseppe,” Junior says. “I already have.”
The muscles in my neck stiffen. Now is the time. I’ve been silent on this issue far too long. “Yeah, I will. I’m not marrying her.”
My mother goes still and Junior rotates fully to face me. “The fuck you’re not.”
“You’re not boss,” I snarl.
Junior’s expression turns cold and hard. I’ve seen him kill wearing that same deadened look.
I shove my hands in my pockets and lower my gaze, forcing myself to appear more congenial. “Listen, I’ll talk to Pops about it. I think we can come to some other arrangement that’s equally beneficial for the Tacones and the Pachinos.”
There. I said it. And that’s all I have in my defense. I don’t have any other ideas because this is an issue I’ve purposely refused to think about for most of my life.
The elevator arrives on their floor and I escort them out.
Junior snorts. “You’d better do it soon, then. I talked to Pachino last week. He’s waiting for completion.”
I find it hard to believe Pachino is that anxious when no one has said a word to me about it since the girl turned eighteen. If they were in a rush, they would’ve pushed the issue four years ago.
I run my fingers through my hair.
Cazzo.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better.” The flint in his voice is the kind that brings men to their knees.
I slide the keycard into the lock of my ma’s room and open the door. “After you,” I murmur and she starts up again on her breathless report about everything and everyone back home.
Sondra
“I changed my mind,” I tell Corey, my cell phone pinched between my ear and my shoulder as I pace around on the balcony of my Bellissimo suite. “I don’t want to go on this date.”
“Okay, so you don’t have to,” she says patiently. “You don’t have to stay there. You don’t have to work there. I’ll come pick you up right now.”
She stopped by after her shift earlier and I filled her in on the latest. Now I’ve called her at home to talk some more.
I peer over the edge of the balcony at the busy strip below. “A quick crazy fling with Nico Tacone is one thing, but dating him? It’s a bad idea.”
“Agreed,” Corey says. “So cancel the date.”
“I don’t even have his phone number. I have to wait until he shows up.”
“What are you really worried about? Just say it, even if you think it sounds stupid.”
Corey knows me so well.
“I have nothing to wear,” I blurt. That’s not really what this is about, but it seems to symbolize my dilemma. I’m not prepared to handle Nico Tacone and everything it might mean to go on a date with him.
I’m not even remotely prepared to be the girlfriend of a mafia boss. And I sure as hell shouldn’t be screwing one.
This is a man who carries a gun in a holster under his arm. A man involved with crime and the underworld. A killer.
A knock sounds on the door.
Shit!
I’m still in my bra and underwear, fifteen outfits donned and discarded around the room.
“He’s here,” I whisper urgently into the phone.
“Tell him you don’t feel good.”
“But I’m a terrible liar.”
“Just tell him-”
The keycard slides in the lock and the door swings open. Right. Because he has a key and he owns me now. And I’ve let this happen. Been giddy about it, actually.
Tacone takes in my lack of dress and shuts the door quickly behind him. His eyes glitter, dark and serious. He’s in the same suit as this morning, finely tailored to fit over his large, powerful frame.
“You’re not ready.” He sounds disappointed, like I’m an errant employee who didn’t follow instructions.
“I-I-I don’t have anything to wear.” I opt for the truth, sweeping my hand around the destroyed room where my discarded clothes hang from every surface.
His mouth twitches. He strolls slowly around the room, like he owns the place. Which makes sense because he does. He picks up a jean skirt and tosses it to me. “This and”-He finds a sleeveless blouse on the bed-“This.”
“Listen,” I say, my heart suddenly pounding hard. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
His eyes narrow. “Too late.” He lifts his chin. “Put on the clothes, I have a surprise for you.”
When I still hesitate, he comes and takes the blouse and pulls it over my head. “Come on. You’ll like it, I promise.”
I’m almost relieved to have the decision taken out of my hands. He’s not giving me a choice, is he?
Except deep down, I’m pretty sure he’d let me off the hook if I were sincere. He knows when I’m bullshitting.
I pull on the jean skirt and my platform sandals, which make Nico give my legs an approving up and down look. He gives my ass a smack when I walk past him to the door. The burn and tingle has me blushing.
“What’s the surprise?” I ask.
He smiles. “Dinner first. Then the surprise.” He escorts me to the rooftop restaurant, the casino’s fine dining establishment. I tug on my skirt as we enter, feeling underdressed.
“Stop it.” He leans down and murmurs in my ear. “You look beautiful.”
The staff scrambles to find us the best table in the house, one that overlooks the entire strip and yet is tucked away in a corner for privacy. He orders some Yamazaki whiskey I’ve never heard of and I ask for the house red. He shakes his head. “Bring her the 2003 Bannockburn Pinot.”
“Of course, Mr. Tacone.”
When I raise a brow, he winks. “It’s good.”
“You know your wines.”
He shrugs his wide shoulders. “I make it my business to know everything that’s served, spoken or happens in this casino.”
A tingle of awareness pricks the base of my spine. The refrain that always returns plays in my head. This is a dangerous man. Never forget it.
I look at him, then survey the room. I don’t even know what kind of conversation to make. Asking about his business probably isn’t cool, considering the way he shook me down the day we met.
The next time my gaze flicks to his, it locks. He’s staring at me with that burning intensity that makes my stomach somersault. “Tell me everything, Sondra Simonson. I want to know what makes you tick.”
I’m not falling for flattery today. “You first,” I dare. “I know nothing about you except you have a lot to hide and a thing for cleaning girls.”
His lips twitch. “Not girls. Just you. And you’re not a fucking cleaning girl.”
“What am I then?”
I’m expecting some definition of our relationship, but he scowls.
“You’re an art history professor who somehow fell down the trap door into my little corner of hell.”
If he’s trying to scare me again, it doesn’t work. I’ve moved past his threats. I’m still here. I want to know the real Tacone now. “Tell me something real. Not about business. About you.”
His eyebrows fly up. “Okay…I’ve got a brother visiting from Chicago who busts my balls. I’m counting the minutes until he leaves.” He rubs a hand across his face. “That’s just between you and me, of course.”
“Older?”
“Yeah, of course. Thinks he’s the family’s boss.”
“Because your dad’s in jail.” When Tacone looks at me sharply, I shrug. “I know how to Google Tacone Crime Family.”
His face relaxes into a fleeting smile. “Yeah, exactly.”
“Must be hard, all those alpha males in one family.”
A laugh bursts out of him, deep and rich. The maître d’ and waitstaff look over, surprised, like they didn’t know he was capable of laughing. I become the object of curious stares.
“Yeah, I guess. I do like to be in charge. I’m the fourth son, so I knew I’d never inherit the kingdom. I think that’s why I pushed so hard to get free of them. Or as free as I could. Out of state, my own operation. It was a goddamn necessity.”
“So how many siblings altogether?”
“Five.”
“Names? Order?”
His lips twitch. “You really want to know this shit?” When I nod, he smiles again. “Okay, pay attention.” He holds up his hand to count on his fingers. “Junior is the oldest. Then Paolo, then Gio. I’m next. Stefano is last. Alessia is the baby.”
“Your mom was holding out for a girl.”
He laughs again. “Exactly. Hard to believe the rest of us didn’t break her, isn’t it?”
I like the way his face goes soft when he talks about his mom. It strikes me as a good sign. A man who loves his mom will treat a woman right. At least that’s what conventional wisdom says.
“She’s here visiting, too. My brother’s finding her a winter residence. I’d introduce you, but I like you too much to subject you to my family.”
I would laugh, but his tone is a shade too dark.
Our drinks arrive and we order our food.