Faking it with the Mafia Protector (Vegas Vows + Vendettas #4)

Chapter 1 Matteo

MATTEO

I quit smoking two years ago. But today, I need something to do with my hands that isn’t killing a man.

I light a cigarette and lean against the brick wall across from the coffee shop.

The nicotine hits my bloodstream with a familiar burn.

The man sitting by the window hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.

Viktor Ilyin.

He’s watching the door while I watch him, and for a man living a life of crime, he’s surprisingly unaware that someone’s got eyes on him.

I’m not hiding, exactly. Part of me hopes he’ll notice. Hopes he’ll come outside and give me a reason to put my hands on him.

I shouldn’t. I’m under strict orders to only observe and report. But three years of wanting to kill a man does something to your discipline.

My shoulder twinges with a phantom pain.

The scar tissue there still pulls sometimes, a permanent reminder of the night Viktor put two bullets in me and left me bleeding in the street.

I was younger then. Dumber. Let him get too close during a territorial dispute, back before the war between the Andrettis and Bratva turned Vegas into a goddamn battlefield.

He walked away breathing.

I’ve been trying to fix that ever since.

My contact who works this corner tipped me off that Viktor’s been coming here at the same time for three days straight. Same seat. Same routine. It’s sloppy for a man in his position, developing patterns like this.

Makes me wonder what he’s waiting for.

The cigarette burns down between my fingers as I study his profile through the glass. Average height. Stocky build. Brown hair buzzed short, beard trimmed neat. Nothing special about him. If I didn’t know what he was, I wouldn’t look twice.

But I do know.

I know he helped manufacture Lightning, the designer poison that’s been killing college kids across the city.

Ecstasy cut with meth, designed to fry the brain from the inside out.

I watched one of Don Lorenzo’s soldiers seize out on the floor of a club, body overheating until his heart stopped. He was a good kid. Loyal.

Viktor made the shit that killed him.

Just one more reason to hate the fucker.

He straightens suddenly in his chair, eyes narrowing as the shop door swings open.

A woman walks in.

I stop breathing.

Blonde hair tumbles past her shoulders in waves that look like she just rolled out of someone’s bed. Silver stud in her nose. A full sleeve of colorful ink running down her right arm, roses and thorns and something I can’t quite make out from here.

But it’s her body that makes my blood run hot.

Dangerous curves. Tits that sway with each step, barely contained by a black V-neck that clings to her like a second skin. An ass made for grabbing, wrapped in denim so tight it should be illegal. Her waist dips in, hips flare out, and my cock twitches before I can shut the reaction down.

She moves to the counter, completely unaware that Viktor’s tracking her like prey. His posture has changed. Rigid. Intent. Whatever connection exists between them, it’s got him wound tight.

She collects a drink from the barista and heads for the door.

Viktor stands. Leaves his cup on the table and follows her outside.

I toss the cigarette and crush it under my boot, already moving.

He catches her before she’s halfway down the block. Grabs her arm and spins her around, and even from this distance, I see the color drain from her face.

He leans close, mouth moving fast and angry. She flinches, eyes darting left and right like a trapped animal looking for escape routes.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but my hands curl into fists without permission. I’m supposed to watch and report. Nothing more. But something about the fear in her posture makes me want to cross that street and break every bone in Viktor’s hand.

A city bus rumbles past, blocking my view for five seconds that feel like fifty.

When it clears, they’re gone.

Shit.

I scan the street, catch movement in the narrow alley between the coffee shop and nail salon. They ducked out of sight, which means Viktor doesn’t want witnesses for whatever he’s planning.

I’m moving before I can think it through, crossing against traffic while horns blare behind me. Forget surveillance protocol. I’m not sure I care about my orders anymore. Some lines you don’t cross, and hurting women is mine.

But before I can reach the alley, she bursts out of the shadows like she’s running from the devil himself.

Wide brown eyes. Breath coming fast and shallow. She slams into me before she can stop.

Ice-cold coffee explodes across my chest.

The shock of it freezes me in place for one heartbeat, two, but it’s not the cold that stops my brain. It’s the press of her body against mine. Soft curves molding to hard muscle. Rapid heartbeat I can feel through my soaked clothing. The scent of vanilla and something sweeter underneath.

She tilts her head back, and our eyes lock.

Christ.

Up close, she’s fucking devastating. Heart-shaped face. Full lips. Big brown eyes gone wide with fear. My dick stirs again, harder this time, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from doing something stupid.

She scrambles backward.

“I’m so sorry.” The words tumble out fast and breathless.

Her hands hover just above my chest like she wants to help but doesn’t dare touch me again.

“I wasn’t paying attention. Totally my fault.

That’s not real leather, is it? Will the coffee ruin it?

Shit. I can run back inside and get napkins, or.

.. ” A laugh escapes her, shaky but real.

“I should come with a warning label. ‘Caution: disaster in human form. Do not approach with dry cleaning.’”

My jaw loosens a fraction before I catch myself.

She’s rambling. Nervous energy pours out of her in a flood of words. Her gaze drops to my waist, and I see the exact moment she clocks the gun under my jacket.

Whatever color was left in her face disappears.

She takes another step back. Then another.

I should say something. Reassure her. But my brain is still catching up, still trying to reconcile the attraction burning through my veins with the fact that Viktor just had his hands on her.

“It’s fine.”

My words come out short. Her eyes dart from the weapon back to my face, and I can practically see her calculating whether I’m about to become her second problem of the day.

Viktor just cornered her in an alley. Whatever he said, whatever he did, she’s still shaking from it. Of course, she’s probably scared of every man who looks at her wrong.

“I’ve really got to get going.” She’s already backing away, words still spilling fast and anxious. “I was just grabbing coffee before my shift, but...” She glances down at the spreading stain on my jacket. “Again, I’m really sorry. I hope your day gets better.”

She turns and practically bolts down the sidewalk.

I hope your day gets better.

She’s running scared from two different men and she’s worried about my fucking day.

I watch her go. The sway of her hips. The tension in her shoulders. The way she glances back once she reaches the corner, checking to see if I’m following.

I’m still standing in the same spot, coffee soaking through my shirt, anger and something else I don’t want to name coiling in my gut.

Viktor’s gone. My first solid lead in weeks, and I fucking lost him.

But maybe not completely.

I peel off my ruined jacket and start walking. She’s on foot, which means her destination is close. I’ll hang back. See where she ends up. Figure out what connection she has to the Russian piece of shit who’s been haunting my nightmares for three years.

Whatever hold Viktor’s got on her, I’m going to find it.

And I’m going to use it to put a bullet in his skull.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she just became my new favorite weapon.