Sondra
“Good morning, Ms. Simonson,” the security guy nods at me as I step out of the elevator. I get this preferential treatment all over the casino now. Word is out that I’m Nico’s girl. I get waved to the front of the Starbuck’s line, my favorite drink already prepared for me.
When I step out on the curb, the valet attendant already has Nico’s Mercedes waiting for me. I take the keys and pretend driving a Mercedes is a totally normal thing for me.
It’s hard not to eat it all up. It’s hard not to let myself enjoy all that it means to be Nico Tacone’s girlfriend.
But it’s a total fantasy world. If I were going to stay here long-term, I’d need to get out and make friends, be in nature, build my own life.
For the moment, though, I’m letting myself enjoy it. Nico stuffed a wad of cash in my purse this morning and told me to go clothes shopping. His cousin Sal is getting married this afternoon and we’re invited. When I asked what to wear, he told me to buy a dozen outfits and let him pick.
Silly man. Silly, adorable, controlling man.
I’ve met Sal-he’s one of the guys with a suite on the same floor as Nico-but we haven’t talked. I know nothing about him. This will be the first time I get to engage with Nico’s family, which I know he didn’t want.
But if I’m really his girlfriend, and not some kept woman, I should bridge this gap. Figure out if I really could handle being permanently attached to a man born into a crime family.
Which probably means I should ask him some hard questions. How bloody are his hands? How legal is his business? Because from what I can tell, he’s running a fully profitable casino. I’m not sure where the illegal part comes in.
But I’m sure it’s there. And I don’t know if I really want to know the answers.
I head to the Saks off 5th outlet and start pulling outfits. It’s extravagant and ridiculous, and I never spend money on clothes for myself, but the fact that he gave me an assignment and wants to pick from the results makes it a fun game. I fill a cart with clothing and drag things into the dressing room, ten pieces at a time.
Two hours later, I’m laden with five giant bags of clothes, shoes and a jacket, and I head back to the casino. The valet attendant greets me like I’m the Princess of Wales and the bellhop insists on carrying my shopping bags up to my room.
Nico enters a few minutes later without knocking.
“How’d you know I was back?”
His lips twitch. “I asked the valet to let me know.”
I cock a hip. “I’m never sure whether to be flattered or creeped out by how controlling you are.”
Nico shoves his hands in his pockets. It’s a signal of harmlessness-he’s not advancing on me for once. “I know I talk a lot of shit, baby. I like to pretend I own you. But I would never stop you from doing anything you wanted to do, even if it meant walk out of here and never come back.” The words seem to cost him, because the muscles in his throat tighten and a muscle ticks in his jaw.
I close the distance between us, press my body up against his. His strong arms band around me. “That’s all I need to know,” I murmur.
“Sondra,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine. “You’re one in a million. The way you always take me for what I am.”
I swallow. Now is the time for the difficult conversation. “Nico…tell me the worst. Who are you? What are you involved in? What have you done?”
His arms tighten around me and his face goes pale. “Do I need to search you for a wire?” The joke is forced and neither of us smile.
“Truly, Sondra, I can’t tell you. I wouldn’t tell you anything that would put you in an awkward or dangerous position-with my family or the feds. And don’t think I don’t know you have an uncle in the FBI.”
I flush and shove his chest. “You still think I’m a spy?”
“Of course I don’t. No, no, no. Listen.” He cradles my face. “What prompted this? Why are you asking?” I look away, but he turns my face back. “Are you trying to figure out if you can stay?”
I nod.
He blows out a long, slow exhale. “I’ll tell you this. I left Chicago because I didn’t want blood on my hands. I didn’t want to spend my life looking over my shoulder for the next gunman or Fed trying to bring me down. I believed big corporations do the same kind of shit my family did on the street, on a large scale and it’s legal. And I wanted that. Large scale, legal business. I already knew about gambling, so I came to Vegas.
“But I was bankrolled by the family, which means I can’t ever be truly free. I launder their money. I still employ the old-school tactics of intimidation and fear when necessary. Not murder,” he shakes his head. “No drugs. No sex trade. Nothing else illegal. And if I could cut ties and go one hundred percent legit today, I’d do it. I just haven’t figured out how.” He strokes my face with his thumb. “So now you know. That’s everything. Well, almost everything. I have one death on my hands from when I got made. It’s a requirement. It made me sick and it solidified my resolve to get out and never go back.” There’s a wobble in his voice and I throw myself against him, pressing my cheek against his chest.
I want to tell him I’m sorry for his family, his past, but how do I say that without negating who he is now? So I just hold him, show him I’m still here. Still on his side. Whatever side that is.