Chapter 2 – Siena
SIENA
“ I ’ll be right back,” my dad says, already halfway across the room before I can stop him.
The one thing, the only thing, I asked him not to do tonight was leave me alone. And here he is, disappearing into the crowd like he doesn’t even hear me.
I didn’t want to come. God, I begged him not to drag me here.
But he begged harder, spinning lies about quality time, about how he missed me, about how he wanted one night together.
I rolled my eyes even then, knowing better.
My father doesn’t want me. He wants a buffer.
A pretty distraction. Someone to hide behind.
Because that’s what Robbie Costa does best. He uses people.
I know who he is. Who he’s always been. My dad is a gambler, through and through.
He’s blown every dollar that’s ever crossed his hands, including mine.
The money I worked for, the money I needed, all gone in the blink of an eye.
I’ve yelled, I’ve begged, I’ve fought him until I was hoarse.
But it never mattered. If he wanted it, he’d take it. End of story.
I don’t ask where it goes anymore. Don’t ask who he owes. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know. Deep down, I’ve always suspected he’s gotten himself into debts no one can crawl out of. Debts that don’t end with broken promises, but with broken bones.
The sharp sound of laughter cuts through my thoughts, jolting me. A group of women in glittering masks stumble past me, champagne spilling over the rims of their flutes. I move away from the slot machines, their blinking lights stabbing at my temples.
DeLuca Casino. Of all the places to be stuck on Halloween, this is my hell. The air hums with greed and desperation, perfume mixed with smoke, laughter forced over the sound of money being lost. I shouldn’t be here. Not tonight. Not ever.
And yet, here I am because my father doesn’t give a damn about anyone but him.
I grew up with Giovanni DeLuca. We weren’t friends.
We barely spoke, but we circled the same halls in high school.
Even then, he carried the weight of his name like armor.
He had broad shoulders, a sharp jaw, eyes that cut like glass.
He was untouchable. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with fists and everything to do with the blood in his veins.
Everyone knew who his father was. Everyone knew what the DeLucas were mixed up in. You didn’t ask questions; you just stayed the hell out of their way.
That’s exactly what I’ve done my whole life. I’ve avoided them like the plague. Rumors swirl fast in New York City, and I’ve heard enough to know they’re true. The mob is alive and well, and the DeLuca family is at the wheel.
And now, thanks to my father, I’m standing in the middle of their empire. A playboy bunny in a den of wolves.
I tug at the hem of my corset, wishing for once I’d chosen a different costume.
Something less obvious. I was supposed to wear this out with Fia tonight.
Dressed in costumes while we went club hopping, dancing, drinking, living.
Instead, I’m stuck here in fishnets and ears, in a world that doesn’t want me and never will.
As if I’m not uncomfortable enough, I feel eyes on me.
Heat prickles the back of my neck, crawling down my spine. My pulse kicks up, and I force myself not to look. Not to search. But I know I’m being watched.
By who, though? My father’s enemies? His creditors?
Who the hell knows?
I just know that it doesn’t feel right.
The weight of that stare is unbearable. It’s heat sliding over my skin, awareness burrowing under my costume and into my bones.
I finally give in and glance toward the balcony above the main floor.
And there he is.
Giovanni DeLuca.
Even in a room packed with masks and glitter, he stands out like fire in the dark. Tall, broad-shouldered, his crimson suit hugging him like it was sewn straight onto his body. Black mask hiding part of his face, devil horns perched perfectly on his head, and still, I’d know him anywhere.
He’s older now. Sharper. More dangerous than the boy I once passed in school hallways.
And God help me, he’s sexier too.
His eyes lock on mine instantly. That stare pins me, strips me bare, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. My pulse skips, quick and frantic.
I should look away. Pretend I don’t see him. Pretend I don’t notice the way his gaze slides over me, slow and possessive, lingering far too long on my legs, my chest, my lips.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Even as he walks down into the casino, I keep watching.
The crowd parts like it knows better than to stand in his way. He moves with purpose, every step deliberate, like the devil himself walking straight toward me. People notice. They always notice Giovanni DeLuca, but no one dares to stop him.
By the time he reaches me, I’m holding my breath.
“Little bunny,” he says, his voice low, rough, edged with something dark that sends a shiver racing down my spine. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you here.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry. Up close, he’s even better than I remembered. That jaw, dusted with stubble. Those lips, curved in a dangerous smirk. The scent of whiskey clings to him, expensive cologne mingling with it. It’s intoxicating.
“Trust me,” I manage, lifting my chin to keep my voice from shaking. “I didn’t think I’d ever see myself here either.”
His smile deepens, slow and sinful. “Then fate’s got a twisted sense of humor.”
I should walk away. I should find my dad, drag him out of here, and never look back. But my heels stay planted. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, and the only thing I can think about is how close he’s standing, how easily he could touch me.
And worse, how badly I want him to.
“Is this little bunny costume for me, Siena?” he asks, his gaze flicking down my body and back up again. Slow. Purposeful. Like he wants me squirming under the heat of his stare.
I cross my arms over my chest, though it doesn’t do much to cover me. “It wasn’t for you. And it sure as hell isn’t for this place.”
His smirk deepens, like my sass only amuses him. “Then you wore it to do something else? Maybe with that friend of yours. What’s her name?”
“Fia,” I snap before I can stop myself.
“Right,” he says smoothly, rolling the name over his tongue like it doesn’t matter at all. “Shame you’re wasting it here instead of out there, but I’m not complaining.”
My cheeks heat, and I hate myself for it. I hate that he notices too, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction. I shift my weight, forcing myself to break his stare. “Why are you even talking to me, Giovanni? Don’t you have bigger things to do? Like, I don’t know, run a casino?”
“I am running it.” He leans closer, his breath brushing my ear, sending shivers racing down my arms. “I see everything that happens under this roof. And tonight, what I see is a beautiful girl standing alone, looking like she doesn’t belong.”
I stiffen. He’s not wrong. But I refuse to let him know how right he is. “I’m fine.”
“Fine,” he repeats, skeptical. “You don’t look fine. You look pissed. And bored. And maybe a little lost.”
“I’m not lost,” I lie, but my voice comes out softer than I mean it to.
He tilts his head, studying me, and that grin fades into something darker. More serious. “Where’s Robbie?”
The name slices through me, and my walls shoot back up. “My dad is here somewhere. He said he’d be right back.”
Giovanni’s jaw ticks. Just for a second. Then it’s gone, smoothed over by that calm mask he wears so well. “And he left you here alone.”
I look away. “I can handle myself.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
The words hang between us, heavier than they should be. My throat tightens, my defenses wobbling, and I hate that he sees it.
“You don’t know me, Giovanni,” I whisper, trying to put space between us, but he steps forward, closing it instantly.
“Oh, I know you,” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. “I know you’re too good for this place. Too good for him. And I know the way every man here is looking at you right now.” His eyes burn into mine. “And I don’t like it.”
My heart slams in my chest. I should push him away, tell him to back off, but instead I just stand there, trapped between his words and the truth pulsing through them.
“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not,” I manage, but it sounds weak, even to me.
“Maybe not,” he admits, his lips curving in that slow, dangerous smile. “But I don’t like it when other men want what I want. And I’m not the kind of man who ignores what he wants, Siena.”
He says my name like a promise, like a warning, and the sound of it on his tongue makes my knees feel unsteady.
I swallow hard, clinging to what little defiance I have left. “Then you’d better learn to ignore me.”
Giovanni chuckles, low and sinful, shaking his head. “Not a chance, little bunny.”