Vito
Hudson Casino and Resort
New York
“I’m tired of waiting for you to notice me.”
At the strange voice, I glanced up from my phone. A young woman was now perched on the bar stool next to mine. “I beg your pardon, signorina?”
She nudged a glass forward with her fingers. “I bought you a drink because I’m tired of waiting for you to notice me.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. As opening lines went, it was pretty good. “Forgive me. I was working.” I lifted my mobile as if to prove it. “But that is a terrible excuse for ignoring a beautiful woman.”
And she was beautiful. Shorter hair than I usually liked, but it was cut in a style that fell to her shoulders and flattered her face. She had big brownish-green eyes and long eyelashes. Full lips that needed no medical enhancements. And she wore a jumpsuit with a halter top that criss-crossed her tits.
“Done with your inspection?” she asked before sipping her cocktail.
“I figure it is only fair, as you were inspecting me earlier.”
“True. So what do you think? Can I buy you a drink?”
I finished the remnants of my whiskey and passed the empty glass back to the bar. Then I lifted the fresh glass, courtesy of my new friend. “ Grazie .” I took a sip. The flavor was different than mine. Better. Much better. “What is this?”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“That is a hand-crafted bourbon from New Orleans. It has notes of berries and chocolate, as well as pepper. My favorite part is they age it in a port cask.” She tilted her head toward my empty glass. “What you were drinking was mass-produced shit.”
Resting an elbow on the bar, I angled toward her slightly. “How does a girl like you know so much about bourbon?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised by what I know. Capisce? ”
“Clearly not my language, judging by your pronunciation.”
She laughed, not offended in the least. I enjoyed the way her eyes sparkled, the little lines that bracketed her mouth when she smiled. “I only know the important Italian words. Barolo, chianti, valpolicella, barbaresco, prosecco?—”
“Okay, okay.” I chuckled. “So you like our wines.”
“And I like your men.”
Direct. I admired it. I hadn’t been looking for a woman to take upstairs tonight. Usually I came to the casino to work, not play. I had an ownership stake here, along with Luca Benetti, and I visited monthly to check on my investment. So far, it had paid well.
But my poker game was just rescheduled for tomorrow night, so I’d sent my guards to bed and stopped in one of the bars for a quick drink.
A fortunate decision by me, it seemed.
I gave her a seductive grin. “This is a coincidence because I like American women.”
“That is a coincidence.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Maggie.”
“Vito.”
We shook, her grip firm. I could tell she worked with her hands. No long painted fingernails, and her skin was a bit rough. I didn’t mind it. I worked with my hands, too.
I sipped the bourbon again. Cazzo , that was nice. I wouldn’t mind taking a bottle back to Toronto. “And what are you drinking?” I asked, pointing to her cocktail glass.
“It’s a Greyhound. Grapefruit juice and vodka.” She put her mouth to her glass, drank, then licked her lips. “Now if the rim had salt, then it would be a Salty Dog.”
Again, I was impressed. “Are you a bartender?”
“No. Unless you count pouring drinks at a friend’s wedding.” We stared at each other for a beat. “Are you in town for work or fun?”
“Both.” I didn’t offer more.
The topic of my work was off-limits. In fact, when it came to hookups I found it better to say as little as possible. I couldn’t share that I ran a criminal syndicate in Toronto, a mafia don engaged in illegal activities all over North America. And normally I wore a wedding ring so my partners didn’t get any long-term ideas. That ring was up in my room at the moment, but this girl didn’t seem interested in anything more than a casual fuck.
Which suited me perfectly.
“Well, I’m here for fun,” she declared. “It has been a stressful fucking year and I decided to treat myself this weekend.”
I didn’t want to talk about her work, either. “And how have you been treating yourself?”
“First off, the spa, which was heavenly. I spent a fortune there this morning, but it was totally worth it. Then a new haircut.” She flipped the ends of her hair. “What do you think?”
“I like it.”
“Thanks. I do, too. I hung around the pool, did some shopping. Stuffed myself at the buffet. Oh, and Giovanni’s restaurant was—” she kissed her fingertips “—perfection.”
Giovanni was a talented chef who—along with his business partner, Valentina Benetti—had opened an Italian restaurant inside the casino resort. It was similar to their trattoria in Paesano, but more accessible for large crowds. “This sounds like a very nice day.”
“And night, hopefully.” Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she drank from her glass.
“To tonight, bella.” I lifted my glass in a toast.