His Vicious Desire

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

G aetano

Most bosses would see not caring if you lived or die as a bad thing. In the Outfit, it’s appreciated. Appreciated because it’s a part of what makes me good at being a soldier in the Outfit.

It might not be entirely fair to say Sandro and Luca appreciate it when they don’t realize the depth of my ambivalence over living. I’m not suicidal—yet. I just don’t give a shit if I weren’t to wake up one morning.

My apathy toward life started three months after my twentieth birthday. On the one-year anniversary of marriage to a girl who made living every day a fucking nightmare. I had no idea when I married her just how much of a girl she was. Mary was seventeen to my nineteen. The whole idea of marriage to her didn’t appeal when it was brought to me.

Her adamant promise that I would love her the way she loved me had me second-guessing myself. My mother committed suicide the year I turned eleven. A healthy marriage or relationship wasn’t anywhere for me to see—television didn’t count because everyone knew television was fake. At least that’s what my mother told me when I asked her why she and my father were so different from the people married on television.

Like a dumbass, I assumed Mary’s want was love. It wasn’t. It was psychosis. She had never been told no, and me saying it made her determined to get me to change my mind. There was also the hidden fact that Mary was dying. Childhood leukemiawas supposedly the reason why she was never told no.

I was told not to worry. It would go away again. It was her mother who broke the news, so I didn’t say I hoped the hell not. By the time I found out about it, only six months in, I was fucking relieved—there would be an end to the hell. I hoped maybe a year, two tops. It took four and a half fucking years, but finally, I was released.

I barely noticed when my dislike of waking up every day happened. Considering who I was waking up to, it felt normal. Then it became apathy, a feeling deep in my gut that became a part of me. When she died, I assumed it would go away. It never did.

It became almost a comfort to have—the apathy was a part of me. I wouldn’t recognize myself without it. All these years with it, I’ve given up on losing it. Trust my bad fucking luck for it to disappear at the press of a soft body to mine.

A fucking lightning bolt hit me without warning. I had no idea where it came from. One moment, I was making my way to Sandro, and the next, a body made for sin and regret was plastered against me, pulling me out from the dark shadows of hell into the harsh, unblinking light of heaven with an angel pressed up against me.

I’m not proud of how it freaked me the fuck out. When she looked up at me with wide brown eyes, her lush mouth parted in surprise, I was stunned. All I wanted to do was throw her down on the ground and get lost in her soft, sweet body.

I wanted it so badly that I didn’t trust myself not to throw her over my shoulder to carry her away and let her go—only for her to almost go down in front of me. The idea of her falling and hurting herself had me catching her again. I didn’t want to let her go this time.

All I wanted to do was scoop her up in my arms and hide her away from the world while I discovered what it was about her that made every cell in my body burn for her. Maybe she felt it, too, because when I let her go, she stepped back as if afraid of me.

Then I had to focus because Sandro was there. And he was introducing me to his sister—the angel I had just let go of. I bit my fucking tongue to keep the bitter laugh in. Of course, it would be another girl. A girl only eighteen a few days ago, a girl who couldn’t be more untouchable in this world than the sun.

The little sister of my best friend was bad enough. Add in that my best friend had sworn to his mother on her deathbed that said little sister would never know my world, the world of themafia. It all totaled up to me paying for every sin I’ve ever committed in this lifetime and the ones before it.

I’m not even sure what the hell I said—my brain shorted out in overload. The brat taunted me, reminding me of our age differenceandof all the ways it was wrong to want her. Sandro thought it was amusing. He had no fucking idea.

I’ve spent all night watching her, greedy for more of her. I’d been across the room in seconds when it looked like she was going to throw up when the spotlight found her. Far from the princess I thought she was from listening to Sandro talk about her all these years—she’s anything but. She forced herself to smile more than anyone I’ve ever come across. I can tell the difference between her real smiles and her forced ones. I’m not sure how Sandro doesn’t see it. But he doesn’t. Not even a little.

He thought she was having the time of her life when she was miserable. Maybe for a little while when the singer was up on stage, she lost herself in the music for a few songs. There are so many frowns and pain lines on her face. She doesn’t look eighteen—I would have clocked her at ten years older from how deep the lines are. Lines she’s careful not to let Sandro see.

Everything he’s said of Bianca over the years is sought from the recesses of memory. They really only came after her mother died. How stressed Sandro was when his dad wanted to ship her off to boarding school only a week after his mom died. Sandro refused to send her away. He asked Luca’s old nanny to take care of her. He was relieved when Marissa was willing to come out of retirement to watch her.

Then his dad moved into the hotel and casino he ran on Fremont Street in old Vegas without ever mentioning moving the girl in with him. So Sandro had to move back into the house he grew up in because he didn’t want to force a seven-year-old girl out of her home into a bachelor pad in a condo on the strip.

His whole life changed. He had to be there for choirand piano recitals. There were more things that he tried and couldn’t attend, and there were times when he went but had to leave to handle business.

Then suddenly, one day, there were no more things for him to go to. It happened right after Marissa told him that now that Bianca was thirteen and could cook her own meals. She didn’t see the need to be a nanny anymore and quit. Sandro hired Bobby to be Bianca’s driver since there was no telling what Sandro might be doing when she needed him.

Sandro said she was tired of all the extracurriculars, and she wanted to focus on getting good grades. I knew then—all those years ago—she didn’t tire of the things she signed up for. She got tired of him not being there. I had no idea where the knowledge came from when I didn’t know her. Maybe it came from my own childhood and having to be there for my little brothers when my dad wasn’t there for any of us, despite him not dying until a decade ago.

I was reminded of that tonight when Sandro apologized after she took off into the bathroom. He didn’t understand why she was so pissed off he was leaving when she had all her friends here and a party on top of it. Except it’s clear that only the girl she spent the evening seated with is her friend. Not once has she looked to any other girl here with asmile of welcome.

Why she lied to me about drinking, I’m not sure. I hadn’t smelled liquor on her breath, and her pupils weren’t changed in the slightest. But fucking hell, there are two drunk girls headed to her table now.

“Bee!” Kitty—what an idiotic name. Nearly screams at her as she almost falls into the chair beside Bianca. Another girl is behind her. Megan, I’d been given pictures of her friends to allow them up into the suite later tonight.

“Thank you sooo much for the bag. I love your brother. He’s awesome. And so gorgeous. I wish he’d stayed. I could have thanked him the way he deserves.” Kitty sighs as she strokes her bag.

“What the hell are you doing drinking?” Bianca hisses at her.

Megan giggles as she flashes a flask. “Don’t be such a baby. Come on, this a fucking club. Have some.”

I grab the flask from her hand.

“Hey,” Megan grabs for the flask. “That’s my dad’s. Give it back, you dickhead.”

Bianca pushes up from the table. “Come on, Megan. It’s time for you to go home. I’ll have someone drive you.”

“No! I’ve been here ten fucking minutes. I’m not going anywhere. Tell your brother’s goon to give me back my flask!” Megan demands.

I’m ready to grab the girl by the hair as I signal to one of the men. I see it happen more clearly than anything I have tonight. The drink in front of Bianca, a Shirley Temple—a non-alcoholic drink—as pink as it can come, is spilled and in Megan’s lap. I don’t know shit about stains, aside from blood, but I’m almost positive she’s not getting all that pink out of the white dress she’s wearing or the matching white purse easily.

Megan jumps up with a screech. “Watch it, you bitch!”

My jaw goes tight with the need to control my fists in payment for the girl calling Bianca a bitch.

“Oops, sorry,” Bianca says without a hint of apology.

“You did that on purpose!”

“Wow, I can’t believe you think that. It was an accident.” Bianca motions to the last few girls remaining. “You guys can’t think I would ruin your dress and bag that I gifted you on my birthday like that, do you?”

The remaining girls rush to defend her. One of them pipes up with, “I mean, you are wasted, Megan. It was a total accident. I can’t believe you’d be so rude to the birthday girl. Come on.” She nudges her friend. “I think the party is over. Sorry, it ended this way, Bianca. Thank you so much for inviting us. It was an awesome party. Until now.” Her eyes run over Megan with distaste. “There’s no buying good manners.” She hugs Bianca. “Thanks again.”

Her leaving starts everyone else following her out of the club with little waves at Bianca.

Megan lets out a wail and stumbles toward the door. I follow close behind her. Grasping her arm maybe a little tighter than I need to—and maybe she’ll find bruises tomorrow. I steer her toward John. He jumps when I get close to him.

“Take her ass home.” I give him the flask. “Hand this back to the father with the regrets that she’s no longer allowed within a hundred feet of Bianca. By order of the Outfit.”

His eyes go wide. I get it. We don’t go around advertising our place in this city. The public might joke about the mob in Las Vegas, but they don’t see it or hear of us because we don’t want them to. For us to say it out loud is almost as forbidden as committing a murder in broad daylight—it isn’t done. We don’t make waves. We don’t bring down heat.

However, it’s either that or kill her. As badly as I want to kill her for what she said to Bianca, she’s a dumb kid. It might be what she deserves, but if I kill her, shit could come back to haunt our place here in the city. This is as much to protect her and the Outfit as it is to keep me from doing something stupid.

Kitty is fighting to stay standing only a few feet behind me. I grasp her by the arm and make my way to Bobby, the usual chauffeur for Bianca. “I need you to take Kitty home. I’ll see to Bianca and Joanna.”

He frowns at the change in plan, yet is trained well and doesn’t argue, simply taking Kitty and getting her ass into the car.

I have an open communication line in my ear telling me the club is empty, and Bianca and her best friend are waiting out front. My car is parked a few down from Bobby's. It takes a few minutes to pull around to where Bianca and Joanna are.

Bianca is laughing. Fucking hell. She’s stunning. I hate when the laughter dies as I get out. Rounding thecar, I open the rear door. Joanna slides in with a murmured thanks . Bianca simply stares at the open car door as if it were the door to hell.

She has no idea how right she is. It’s wrong for me to pull this girl on the edge of woman down into the depths with me to satisfy my curiosity of what it is about her that draws me to her. Except it feels too late. It was too late the moment I touched her.

I send an eyebrow up. “Something wrong, princess?”

Her eyes roll. “I’m not a princess, jackass. Where’s Bobby at? Why can’t someone else drive me?”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I’m more fucked up than I thought because I love the way she fights me. Her fight is pure bluster, she feels this too, and it scares the fuck out of her. Smart.

It should scare her. I’m not sure if I can keep my hands off her even though she’s forbidden to touch. If she’s the last thing I touch before I die—I’m good with dying. I would welcome death if I knew I would never get to touch her again.

“True. A princess, you definitely are not. Demon fits you better for all the bad dreams you give your brother for the worry you cause him.”

Her eyes widen in hurt.

I don’t like the hurt, but it’s better to keep her at arm’s length where I can’t touch her. “But I can’t say that around your brother, so angel it is. You and I will both know the truth. Get your ass in the car, angel, or I’ll put you in it. Or is that what you want? Do you want me to put my hands on you?”

It takes everything in me to keep the words soft, silky, and filled with a promise. If she forces me to touch her—we’re both fucked.

She nearly stumbles to get into the car. I catch her. Her intake of air is almost a gasp. Closing my eyes to shut out the way her body reacts, her nipples are hard and tight, and fucking hell, I catch the scent of her wet pussy. I’m grateful for the sounds of our men leaving the building and getting into their cars to leave, pulling me out of the state of need she has me in. Gently, I put her in the car and close the door.

When I get in the car, her friend is already talking.

“Oh my god, that was such a great party. I can’t fucking believe Megan. That bitch. You know she only came for the bag. Kitty told her, and she came running. Suddenly, that family thing that couldn’t be missed and why she had to miss your party disappeared. They’re such leeches. I will never understand how it’s the people who have the most money who want stuff for free.”

Bianca shrugs. “There’s no way she’s getting the stain out of the bag. Hopefully, once she’s gone to Berkeley, I’ll never see her again.”

“Oh my god, that reminds me. Kitty told me last night. She didn’t get into ANY of the schools she applied to—except UNLV. Her dad is pissed. He had no idea her grades were so bad. Not even their money is going to be able to get her into one of the schools she wanted to go to. He's threatening to cut her off if she fails a single class between now and the end of the year.” Joanna giggles.

“Are you serious? Didn’t she apply to Michigan State for law?” Bianca is clearly surprised. It drags her eyes from the mirror where she’s watching me.

“Yep, so you have to wonder how bad her grades had to be for her not to get into a state school. He paid for a new freaking clinic for Columbia Med school for her brother to get in.” Joanna sighs. “Damn, you’re going to be stuck with her for another four years.”

“Please, no. I’m starting the spring semester in another two weeks. She’ll still be finishing her last semester. A lot of things can happen between now and when she starts in the fall. Maybe she’ll get her grades up. I’m still pissed at you for going to Stanford.”

I remember how proud Sandro was of her for not only graduating early but also starting at UNLV right away. She wanted her degree as soon as possible.

Joanna lays her head on Bianca’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll miss you. But I can’t turn it down. A full ride that includes housing at one of the best schools there is—don’t hate me. My mom was in tears. She’s never forgiven herself for getting into my college fund to pay a shit ton of cash for us to escape Ivan.”

“I guess I can forgive you. I’m sorry, I forgot not everyone is as lucky as I am.”

At least she acknowledges it and apologizes. Sandro sold the house they grew up in and put the money in a trust for Bianca’s education. It wasn’t millions, but it was enough for her to go to almost any school she wanted, and if she needed more, Sandro was more than prepared to cover the difference. Especially since when his father died, he left nothing for her and everything to Sandro.

“You could have come with me to Stanford. Your grades were good enough to get in.” Joanna says what I had wondered.

Why was she going to UNLV when her test scores and her grades were so good? It would be safer for the both of us if she were several hundred miles away from me.

“Maybe, there’s no guarantee. I don’t want to leave Vegas. It’s my home.” I hear the thunk of the heels hitting the floorboard at the same time she sighs in relief. “I’m never wearing these things again. Don’t tell Sandro.”

A small giggle comes from Joanna. “I won’t. It’s so sweet of him, though. I can’t believe all he did for your birthday.”

There’s no response other than Bianca shrugging. Her sadness is clear in the lines on her face. She hadn’t wanted a party. She’d wanted Sandro. Anger boils in my blood that he couldn’t see what I, a stranger, could with one glance.

We’re at the casino and hotel on Fremont Street in old Vegas sooner than I would like. I’ve driven us around back since Fremont Street was closed to cars. This is where all hotel and casino staff enter.

I’m out and opening the door for Joanna. She gets out with a wary smile. Rounding the car to Bianca, I find her with the door already open and the heels in one hand as she eyes the ground beneath the door.

She isn’t really going to walk around outside without shoes, is she? It’s not awful back here, although staff might step out for a smoke break, and it’s kept clean. Still, she shouldn’t be walking around without shoes.

“What are you doing?” I dare her to try it. I’m aware the heels hurt her, but she can’t wear them for five more minutes?

“I can’t wear them. It’s fine.” The brat actually stands up, answering the dare with a frown on her beautiful face.

She winces, and her in pain is a hard fucking no—it twists my chest up in a way I’ve never felt before. I do it without thinking, scooping her up into my arms.

That crazy fucking electricity I felt is back, and I wonder if I touched a livewire instead of a beautiful woman. Stupid , this is the biggest mistake of my life. If I hadn’t known what it felt like to hold her, then I would have been able to tell myself that I was wrong about what happened in the club. I wasn’t wrong.

Her little whimper yanks me out of my head. It’s not well-lit back here, but I can see her eyes are wide with fear…and longing. The longing is the same as what’s thrumming through my body. A car door closes too damn close, reminding me of exactly where I am.

Christ, anyone could see us. No doubt this is getting caught on the cameras. Cameras I have to hope Sandro has no need to check. I catch the car door with my foot and turn toward the hotel’s employee entrance.

Joanna is waiting for me at the door. She needs a key card to scan into the building. I pretend I don’t see how wide her eyes are on me as they dart between me and Bianca.

“My badge is in my inner pocket. Give it to her.” I order Bianca.

She doesn’t argue with me and slips her hand beneath the jacket. Her fingers are brushing up against me. Through the fine silk of the shirt, my whole body goes hard at her touch. The first touch is an accident then the brat’s fingers linger. I want more. I want her hands everywhere on me.

Joanna sneezes and reminds us both that she’s less than four feet away. Bianca snatches the badge out of the inner pocket and hands it to Joanna, who jumps to take it. She presses it to the reader. It goes green, and the lock clicks. She opens the door wide without being told.

She tries to offer it back to me when we’re inside. I shake my head. “Keep it so you can keep badging us through to the elevator and the suite upstairs.”

Her nod is jerky as she keeps it tight in her grip.

“You can set me down. Your back is probably breaking carrying me.” Bianca’s eyes are down as she mutters the words.

I shake my head. “Bullshit. I bench two of you on a weekly basis. You’re a stunner. Don’t hunt for compliments you don’t need.”

“Excuse me? I’m not trying to get a compliment from you. It’s a fact I’m fat?—”

“Once again, I call bullshit. Women with your body make double than smaller women at the brothel.”

Like an idiot, I meet her big chocolate eyes. “Really?”

All I can do is nod, words won’t make it into my throat.

The walk down the hallway to get to the elevator isn’t long enough. Bianca’s arms go around my neck when I turn us to get into the elevator. My cock is so hard it hurts when she doesn’t take her arms away, even once we’re in the elevator. In a bid to remember what I’m supposed to be doing, I ask the question I’ve been wondering. Was there really liquor at the party?

“Who had the vodka, Joanna?”

Her eyes go wide as she looks to me, then to Bianca, who doesn’t raise her eyes from my chest. “Kitty, it was just a few mini-bottles we shared.”

“Hmm.” They’re both shitty liars.

I’m not sure if Joanna lied as a best friend to back up Bianca or what. And why did Bianca lie about it in the first place?

The elevator doors open, and Joanna speeds out ahead of us. Michael, Sandro, and Bianca’s father, joined two penthouse suites on this floor when his wife died. There are three bedrooms and four bathrooms, three full and attached to the bedrooms, with a guest bathroom for visitors.

It also has a workout room with a steam sauna, a library, a home office, and two living rooms, one formal and one casual. Although there’s a kitchen and a formal dining room next to it, no cooking is done in the place.

Joanna scans the badge to the reader and all but tosses the key card at Bianca before escaping into the suite. The door closes behind her.

I should let her go. Holding her is wrong. All of this is wrong. My best friend’s little sister—emphasis on little. She’s barely eighteen, and I’m seventeen years and a dozen lifetimes too old for her.

Yet the thought has me holding her tighter. Her eyes meet mine in surprise. Clenching my jaw tight, I force myself to let her go. Carefully, I lower her onto her feet. As they did in the club, they don’t hold her up, and she sways against me. I catch her on her hips. Her gasp is loud to my ears. Parted lush lips are a tease, a taunt I can’t answer.

I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be holding her against me. Before I cover her lips with mine, I let her go, take the badge she’s holding, and walk away. Stupid. So fucking stupid. What the hell was I thinking?