by Kelsie Rae
“Something like that,” I mutter. “She’s got history with Burlone. Some of it was in the file you dug up for me before I hired her. Some of it was new information. Hell, I’m not even sure she’s told me everything yet. Regardless, she has her own reasons for wanting to go after Burlone, just like we do. The only problem is that we have the means to do it. Ace, though? She’s up shit creek without a paddle and has no idea.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Did you put eyes on Ace like I asked you to?”
“You mean the text at two in the morning, demanding she’s protected or you cut off my balls? That request?”
Laughing, I nod. “Yeah. That one.”
“Yeah. I got it done.” He walks toward the fridge in the corner of the room and grabs a couple bottles of water before tossing one my way. When I catch it, he continues, “So you found out part of her history and have decided she’s worth one of your soldier’s time to keep her safe. But you haven’t explained the chipper attitude.”
“You and that word.”
He rolls his eyes. “Just answer the fucking question, King.”
His stare is pointed, but I don’t really know what to say. Why am I chipper? Because I got to second base like a kid in middle school and almost came in my jeans from a twenty-minute make-out session? What the hell does he want me to say?
“You care about her,” he accuses.
Dropping my head back, I look up at the ceiling. “I don’t care about her. I just….”
“Care about her,” he repeats. “Then let me lay this all out, King. She put herself in a fucked-up situation by putting herself on Burlone’s radar. I need to know where your head will be if she gets caught in the crossfire.”
My hackles rise as I give him a glare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He returns it with one of his own. “I need to know if this mild interest in her is something that’s going to be happening for the foreseeable future, or if she’s just a fling when we both know you don’t have those very often. Let’s be honest…when you do get laid, you sure as hell don’t wind up grinning for hours afterward. We both know that men like us aren’t capable of real relationships, yet it looks to me like you might be toying with the idea. I’m asking if it came down to her or the family, which would you like me to protect?”
Shit. Count on D to call it like it is.
Steeling my gaze, I look him square in the eye. “Family first. Always.”
“Good. Because whether you like it or not, shit’s about to hit the fan in a few days. I know I’m your right-hand man, and that I’m the only reason this family stays together,”—he smirks— “but I can’t be everywhere at once, King. No matter how hard I try. And with the screwed-up situation Ace put herself in, I can’t guarantee her safety––along with Regina’s and our family––when we’re already spread thin as it is.”
“I know you like to think the fate of this family lies on your shoulders, but it doesn’t. We’re going to figure this shit out. We’re going to take down Burlone. Regina’s going to stop throwing a fit and acting like a sullen teenager. And I’m going to get laid.” Diece throws his head back laughing, and I give him a few seconds to give me shit before I ask, “Do we have everything lined up for the drop-off?”
With a towel thrown over his shoulder, a serious Diece responds, “Yeah. We should be good to go. Any chance you could convince Regina to stay home that night? It’d be nice to have Stefan there for backup and shit. We could use him.”
Nodding, I reach for a towel of my own and wipe the sweat as it drips down my face. “Yeah. I’ll talk to her. Any other issues with our men?”
“You mean since Vince wound up dead? Nope. Everyone is perfectly content with the current set up in the family, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”
“Even though we might go to war with the Allegrettis?” I push before flipping the switch on the lights and blanketing the exercise room in darkness.
“Those pussies?” He waves me off as we walk down the hall. “Nah. They’re practically chomping at the bit to finally put those overconfident assholes in their place.”
“Good. Because their chance is just around the corner.”
“And they wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ace
Anytime I walk into a familiar casino, I always get a weird sense of déjà vu. Sometimes it’s euphoric if I left with a fat stack of cash. Sometimes a little bitter if it was a bad night, and I lost. This time, however, that same sense of déjà vu is followed by a dull ache in my cheek from getting smacked around, and a wave of anticipation in my lower gut at the potential of seeing Kingston again.
Walking straight to the blackjack tables, I pull out five hundred bucks to start my night. I always keep my extra money tucked away in my backpack for when I need to cash in a bit more. It makes me look like a gambling addict instead of a strategic counter who’s planning on sticking around for the evening.
With puckered lips and a platinum blonde wig, I settle into my persona for the evening––a wannabe grunge rockstar who’s looking to score some cash for her drug addiction.
My eyes are rimmed with thick charcoal-colored eyeliner as I watch the cards being dealt.
A few hands later, I’m practically yelling at the poor beginner to my left, feeling guilty as hell for making her feel bad, but I can’t break character.
“Fuck this shit. You’re not supposed to hit on a sixteen, Lucinda. Ever heard of basic strategy?”
The poor girl’s cheeks are on fire as the dealer hands her another card, resulting in her total number being twenty-three.
She busted.
With a sigh, the girl gets up to leave, and I don’t stop her.
I might’ve been harsh, but I wasn’t lying. If she doesn’t know basic strategy, she’s practically handing the casinos her hard-earned cash, and they don’t deserve it.
“Basic strategy, huh?” the dealer quips, grabbing my attention.
Casually, I lean back in my chair, giving him a bit of attitude while still keeping the count in my head.
“Yeah. Basic strategy. You got a problem with that?” Basic strategy isn’t illegal. Hell, it’s almost common knowledge at the tables, so it’s not like I’m divulging any sensitive information.
“Nope.”
We stay this way, mainly in silence with the occasional shout of profanities from my mouth when I lose a big hand until the count starts to get hot and I clean up like a seasoned pro.
When the chair squeaks on my left, I look to see the asshole who hit me the last time I was here and lose the triumphant smile I’d been wearing seconds before.
What the hell?
I’ve never been caught, and now it’s twice by the same gorilla? I thought Kingston would’ve known to call off his dogs, but maybe the idiot doesn’t recognize me.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with me.”
Narrowing my gaze, I bite out, “I don’t think so.”
I’d rather get thrown out the front door than be taken to the basement again by this jerk. With a curse on the tip of my tongue, I scratch the top of my wig and consider pulling it off for a split second before restraining myself. Although, part of me wishes I could reveal my true identity because I’m pretty sure if the pit boss knew it was me, he’d be quaking in his boots.
However, when he subtly tilts his head behind him, my gaze follows only to connect with a satisfied looking Kingston standing near the back wall. The heat in his eyes is scorching as he folds his arms over his broad chest and smirks from his partially hidden view near an empty corridor.
Sneaky bastard.
“Are you going to cooperate?” the pit boss pleads.
“Yup.”
Swallowing, I stand from my chair and subtly tug on the ripped Rolling Stones crop top I’m wearing in hopes of covering the exposed skin on my stomach and back. I’d been fine with the outfit when I walked into the Char
lette, but now that I’m mere inches away from this guy, I wish I hadn’t dressed so vulnerably.
With a sullen expression, the pit boss raises his hand to guide me where I need to go. When his palm brushes against the bare skin along my lower back, I flinch away, and I’m surprised when he drops it back to his side.
“This way, ma’am.”
Shocked that he didn’t take advantage of making me feel uncomfortable, I glance over my shoulder to see his face an ashy gray color.
“Everything okay?”
I don’t know why I’m asking. The guy’s an ass.
“Of course.” His gaze shifts back to the corridor where I know I’ll find Kingston. Curiously, I follow his subtle glance to see the guy I can’t stop thinking about practically made from stone. His anger is almost palpable from all the way over here.
I nearly stumble from its intensity, but the pit boss urges me forward.
“Go on.”
With a grimace, I do as I’m told and scurry toward the same hallway I’d been guided to when I met Kingston for the first time. When I reach Kingston’s side, he presses the elevator button then leans forward and whispers something to the pit boss while completely ignoring that I exist. My ears strain to hear what’s said. Even though the slot machines are loud, and Kingston is talking quietly, I can still make out his comment.
“Touch her bare flesh again, and you lose a hand. Understand, Charles?”
“Yes, sir,” the pit boss, who’s apparently named Charles, mumbles. “It won’t happen again.”
With a cold, hard nod, Kingston turns to me and clearly dismisses Charles with the sight of his back before gently running the tips of his fingers along the hem of my shirt and across my belly button.
“This,”—my stomach quivers under his touch—“is a new look.”
“You said you like skin.”
“Did I say I liked it when you showed it around others?” he counters, referring to the pit boss from seconds ago.
Pursing my lips, I reply, “I’m going to ignore the caveman comment that deserves a knee to your balls.” He smirks as I continue. “Do you like Punk Rock Ace?”
Lazily, he scans me up and down before tugging on a blonde strand of hair. “Blonde suits you. It’s different, though. I can’t decide what I prefer.”
Of course, blonde suits me. It’s my natural hair color, but he doesn’t need to know that. I open my mouth to give him a snarky reply about his barbaric views on my ensemble when the elevator dings behind us, interrupting our innocent flirting.
He guides me inside with his hand pressed against my lower back. The heat of his palm scorches me as I follow his orders and step inside. We’ve only been together for a couple of minutes, but I can’t help but notice how he hasn’t been able to stop touching me since the moment I was escorted into the hallway where he was waiting for me. Whether it was my stomach, my hair, or my back, he’s kept me close. And I kind of like it. It makes me feel powerful. Strong. Like maybe one day, I just might be able to own this man the way he owns everyone else around him.
But that’s scary thinking for a girl like me. I don’t want things. I’ve never allowed myself to. Yet, as I glance behind me at the man who’s stolen all my thoughts, a few dreams start to take hold.
Shaking off the desire that floods through me at something I can’t have, I quip, “Then I guess it’s a good thing my hair color isn’t up to you, now is it?”
The elevator is lined with mirrors on all sides, and it gives me a perfect view of the man who’s way too far out of my league. His hair is mussed as if he’s run his fingers through it one too many times this evening, but his red tie is perfectly knotted around his neck, and his jaw looks freshly shaved. But I bet it would still be prickly against my fingertips if I dared to turn around and brush them against it. My hands itch to do exactly that, but by some miracle, I keep my arm at my side and my back pressed against his front.
“Careful,” he growls, leaning forward until I can feel his breath against the shell of my ear as he stands behind me. “If I decide I want something, I can be very persuasive.”
I watch him in the mirror-lined walls of the elevator. The power that emanates from him is almost enough to bring me to my knees, and my palms grow sweaty at the thought.
“Is that right?” I ask, holding his gaze through the reflection.
“Yeah.” With a slide of his hand against my waist, he spins me around then pins me between his groin and the cool wall behind me. “Would you like me to give you a demonstration?”
“For someone who rules with an iron fist, you’re quite accommodating to my wishes,” I murmur as his lips graze my ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth.
A soft moan escapes me while my eyes roll into the back of my head.
Shit, he’s talented. And he didn’t even do anything.
“Only with you,” he admits quietly. His fingers flex into my bare skin along my hips before releasing it. Stepping back, he continues talking like he didn’t just rock my world with the potential of another encounter like the night before. “So, did you get what you came for?”
My brows furrow. Uh, no?
“The money?” he clarifies with a tilted smirk.
“Oh.” That. “Umm, yeah. Although it feels a little weird to admit that to the casino owner.”
A deep laugh is pulled from him at my honesty, bringing a light blush to my cheeks. “If you didn’t tell the truth, I’d just call you out on it.”
My face scrunches up before agreeing with a roll of my eyes, “You’re probably right about that.”
“I’m always right,” he teases. “Were you able to work out your nerves? What had you feeling so anxious that you needed to call me in the first place?”
“No reason.”
“Lie. Tell me the truth. If I’m going to let you come in here and swindle money from my dealers, then you need to tell me why.”
“Let me swindle your dealers? My dear friend, I believe I’ve swindled them in the past without your permission. Just sayin’.”
“Truth.” He shakes his head. “But you asked to come to my casino earlier today, and I think it had more to do with seeing me than the loose rules I have for my blackjack tables.”
He’s right. Even though I hate to admit it to myself, let alone him, I can’t deny the truth. I wanted to see him. I just can’t decide how stupid I am for following through with it.
When the elevator doors slide open, he ushers me into the same hallway from where we first met before crowding me against one of the gray walls.
“Start talking, Ace.”
Why his Neanderthal ways are a turn on, I’ll never know, but it doesn’t stop me from digging my teeth into my lower lip and clenching my hands at my sides to stop them from pulling him closer to me and putting both of us out of our misery.
Rule #6 takes a second to scream that I’m an idiot before I lick my lips and reveal to him the truth. “It’s nothing crazy. I just have a friend who was acting weird. We’re close, but our relationship isn’t exactly conventional.”
He quirks his brow in interest, and I laugh. “Not like that. I just mean that even though we’d kill for each other, we’re pretty quiet about our personal lives. It’s hard to explain. She was acting weird today, but she disappeared before I could ask what was going on. It left me feeling helpless, and when I feel helpless—”
“You search for control in any way you can.”
“Yup. Which includes—”
“Blackjack,” he finishes for me. With the gentlest of touches, Kingston lifts my chin and places a soft, open-mouthed kiss against my lips. Sighing, I close my eyes and soak up his touch. The knowledge that I’m slowly becoming addicted to his mouth is troubling, but I push it aside.
“I’m glad I could give you the control you were craving,” he admits.
“You sure about that? I would’ve pegged you for a guy who doesn’t like to give up control to others.”
He takes a step closer until the toes of
his loafers brush against my beat-up Chucks. “You have no idea. In my profession, giving up control is giving up power, and I think we both know I don’t relinquish it without getting something in return.”
I laugh. “That, I can believe.”
“And what do you think I want?”
Biting my lip, I drop my gaze to our shoes and hedge, “I think I can guess.”
“I think you can too.” His breath fans across the top of my head as I dig up the courage to look back up at him.
“Come on, Kingston. Show me a little of that control you were just boasting about. Patience is a virtue, isn’t it? Or would this be more of a self-discipline kind of thing?” I ask while tapping my chin in thought.
“Why, Ace, I don’t know if I should be offended or proud that you’ve questioned my self-discipline.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you’ve willingly stepped into a private elevator with me while knowing I could have my way with you. I’m currently displaying the self-discipline of a saint by not pushing you up against this wall and taking what you so innocently revealed to me last night.”
Clearing my throat, I mutter, “I didn’t reveal anything.”
“Lie. I can practically smell the innocence on you, Ace, and it’s a lethal scent.”
With a smile, I ask, “Are you saying that if I won’t let you have me, you’ll die?”
“Possibly,” he mutters, bending down and hovering near my lips. “Now tell me, Wild Card, will Punk Rock Ace knee me in the balls if I kiss her again?”
“Possibly,” I tease, my gaze bouncing between his hypnotic eyes and tantalizing lips. “Are you willing to risk the future generations of the Romano lineage to find out?”
A wicked grin spreads across his face as he inches closer.
“Possibly.”
Closing the last millimeter of distance between us, he presses his lips against mine then tugs the wig off, dropping it near my feet as my brunette hair pools around my shoulders. Smiling, I return his kiss and wrap my arms around his neck then lace my fingers through the short hair on the back of his head.