Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
She tries to take back the lead in the conversation, “So why target me? I’m a good dealer. I keep my nose clean.”
My lips twitch. I love her spirit. She’s going to be perfect for upstairs. I’ll just have to make sure no one touches her because I’m already starting to feel a bit proprietary over the looker. “Your supervisors like you, yes. The ones who aren’t jealous.” I noticed the female supervisor gave her much lower marks than the males.
The corner of Corey’s lips tug up. I like the easy recognition she gives to my statement. She already has correctly interpreted my words and isn’t bothered by them. I’ve already made up my mind—she’s smart. Confident. Easy on the eyes. She’s perfect.
“We’re switching you to higher stakes games. Private ones.” I’m not asking; I’m telling. This is the way Tacones do business.
Now I caught her off-guard. Her crimson lips part, and for a moment, no sound comes out. “That sounds dangerous.” Her voice strangles slightly on the last word.
I raise a brow, both curious and impressed by her conclusion. “It’s not. I’ll be there for every game. I won’t let anything happen to you.” When she remains still, I say, “Or is it me you’re worried about?”
Slight blush tells me she’s definitely interested, but she shakes her head. “No. Yes. I guess I mean it sounds… illegal.”
There it is. I so appreciate people who can be direct.
I spread my hands. “This is Las Vegas. We have a gambling license. It’s the reason my brother moved here.”
“Right. Of course.” She nods, averting her eyes. I fucking love those little signs of submission on an otherwise alpha female. Like when she apologized for trying to slap me. She knows when to hold her own and when to roll over. It makes me want to flex my dominance in all kinds of filthy ways—put her on her knees and choke her with my cock. Tie her to my bed and keep her screaming all night long. Win her obedience with a whip and a carrot.
She doesn’t believe me, which again, shows she’s smart. Gambling may not be illegal, but there are all sorts of sordid, underground things that happen around the fringe. Like the sometimes forcible collection of unusual bets placed by desperate men.
This is the game my brother Nico learned from La Famiglia. He was a genius to bring it to Vegas, where much of it is legal. Yeah, it means he pays taxes, but believe me, not as much as he should.
“It won’t be all the time. Three or four nights a week. We’ll double your base pay and the tips should increase, too.”
“You’re not giving me a choice.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I wink. “You noticed that, did you? I need you in the upstairs games, Corey. End of story.”
Anger flickers in her expression but she quickly hides it. “Why me?”
I lift my shoulders in a casual shrug. “You’re professional. Cool and reserved. Trustworthy. Beautiful. In short, you’re exactly what I’m looking for.”
The wariness in her gaze becomes more apparent. Her dislike of my offer shows on her face, but she says, “Well. I guess I don’t have a say in the matter.”
I’m slightly surprised. I knew she wasn’t a bimbo who’d fall all over herself, flattered, but I don’t think I’m giving her a bad deal. And if her cousin’s already in bed with Nico—literally—I can’t think she has major hang-ups about our family.
But maybe she does.
“Oh there’s always a choice, Ms. Simonson. You can walk out that door.”
Eh, I may be the young charming one, but can be as much of a stronzo as any of my brothers. Maybe more.
Her dark painted lips compress. “I’m not doing that, Mr. Tacone.” Her blue eyes blaze when she meets the challenge in my gaze.
“Good.” I stand up and hold out my hand. “Welcome to the big time.”
She stands and I note her brief hesitation before taking my hand, but I give her a warm smile as we shake.
“Tomorrow night. Be here by eight.”
“Yes, sir. Here—your office?”
I nod, even though it’s a terrible idea. I should foist her onto Sal or Leo, tell her somewhere else to meet, but I can’t turn down the idea of having her here, in my space. My personal croupier. “Wear a dress—something sexy.”
She pauses at the door and turns around, the wariness fully in place again.
“I won’t let anyone touch you.” I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Her eyes narrow, lips twist into a smirk. “You were never a Scout.” There’s a derisive note of knowing in her voice that makes something slide in my belly. The urge to fuck that scorn right off her face combines with the need to punch something.
She’s right. I’m no Boy Scout. Never have been. My big brothers were delivering beat-downs on Nico and I before we lost our first baby teeth. We learned the art of violence at the same time we learned our alphabet. Nico perfected the fine art of strategy—how to manipulate and win against the odds—by the time he hit puberty. He showed me the ropes, protected me. My life’s been easier than his and I’m not bitter, but I’m also not going to apologize, especially not to this mouthy piece of ass. These are the cards I was dealt, the family I was born into.