Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
S AINT
I meet Christian in the back office at Casino Venice the following week.
“The IRS are all over the casino,” Christian grits out. “They’re looking for any irregularity to get us on. I need your help to make sure everything’s in order and any loose ends get tied up.”
I nod. “If the IRS finds anything at the casino, then they’ll have grounds for getting warrants to investigate other Imperiosi businesses. And that would be a fucking disaster.”
The casino is the only such establishment in downtown New York, and it’s a hugely important part of our business. Casinos aren’t permitted here under state regulations, but Christian’s a fucking genius and got a Native American tribe to put in a claim for a downtown area as part of their tribal lands. Now, he runs the casino here in partnership with them, and it’s a win-win situation all around. But if the IRS picks up on any irregularities, that could blow the whole operation out of the water.
We start making a plan of what we need to do.
* * *
I head into the main area of the casino which is busy as usual. My mind flits back to the night of Ronnie’s engagement and to what happened to Emerald.
I shake my head. Why am I thinking about this, and why do I even care?
I don’t have an answer to that question. And that just makes me more pissed off. But no one deserves to be humiliated like she was. That’s all there is to my concern. I don’t care about her. Men like me aren’t capable of that emotion.
I sigh heavily. I hate being in this city. And I desperately need some caffeine to distract me. Thank the Lord that they serve coffee at the casino. Heading over to the bar area, it’s hard not to notice Emerald. Because not only does she shine like a beacon with her beaming smile and her sparkly, gold dress—no doubt another steal from some poor unsuspecting boutique owner—but she’s also got some slimy creep flirting with her. As the man turns to the side, I recognize him as one of Christian’s captains, Domenico. Emerald is smiling at something he’s just said to her.
For some reason, an uncomfortable feeling washes over me, knocking me off balance for a moment. What the fuck is he doing talking to her? I drop into a chair in front of the bar.
Emerald’s eyes widen slightly when she sees me. I guess she probably wasn’t expecting to see me again. “I’ll be back in a sec,” she says to Domenico. “What can I get you to drink?” She flashes a professional smile at me.
And for some reason I don’t quite understand, I want to keep her away from Domenico for more than a few seconds. “I’ll have a grande caramel macchiato in a venti cup, half whole milk, one quarter almond milk, one quarter non-fat extra hot, quad shots, one and a half decaf and two and a half regular, caramel wall in the cup, with whip, no caramel drizzle on top, two packets of Splenda, one sugar in the raw, two dashes of vanilla syrup, and three short sprinkles of cinnamon. Please. ” I shoot a satisfied smile at her. My order should keep her busy for a good ten minutes.
But as the corners of her mouth turn down slightly, I find myself suddenly regretting my order. And I don’t understand why. Until I realize it’s because…I’d rather see her smiling. When I saw her smile before, it made her look glowing and special, and it did something to me…
At that moment, Ronnie comes in, clearly in a bad mood as he glares down at his suit. “Can I get my usual coffee?” Ronnie calls out to Emerald, interrupting her as she’s making my order.
“You don’t look like a man in the first throes of love,” I comment as I watch him sniff at the fabric of his jacket.
“Ria keeps whining that I smell like fish,” he complains as he takes another sniff at his arm.
Emerald puts a cup of filter coffee down in front of him but ignores him otherwise, and he makes his way toward the back office, pressing his nose against his shoulder as if he’s still trying to detect where exactly the smell is coming from.
Emerald then goes back to making my coffee.
“Saint,” Domenico greets me.
I give him a curt nod and then look at the messages on my phone. I have no desire to engage in conversation with him.
And as predicted, after a few minutes, Domenico tires of waiting for Emerald to finish my order. “See you around, Emerald,” he calls with a wave. Guys like that get bored as soon as they’re not getting any attention.
She gives him a nod before she carries on with my order.
I don’t know why, but Emerald feels like a mystery to me, and her opaqueness is utterly infuriating. She’s like a conundrum. I want to know every thought that runs through her mind, every reason for each of her actions, and every single little thing that makes her heart beat faster.
As I wait, my gaze falls on the vase of red roses on the bar top. My fingers itch to rip away the petals. Red roses, velvety petals, sharp thorns …
She puts my drink down in front of me, shaking me from my thoughts. “Here’s your drink. And keep your paws off the roses this time please.”
I watch her walk over to her colleague. “I’m going on my break,” she says, and with that, she grabs her bag from under the bar and heads outside.
After a few minutes, I decide I need a smoke and head out to the smoking area.
Emerald barely spares me a glance as I stand next to her.
I hope she’s not still upset about Ronnie. “You know, you shouldn’t waste your time mourning over that dumbass.”
“I’m not,” she clips.
“Look, I’m just saying that he’s not worth it and?—”
But before I can say anything else, she grabs a book from the bag over her shoulder and slams it into my chest. I take it from her, look at the cover, and read the title out aloud. “How To Ditch That Loser And Live A Life That Leaves Him Behind.”
And I can’t help a smile—a real smile. And I’m even slightly impressed.
“I’m not mourning him, so you don’t need to worry about me.”
I smoke in silence for a couple of minutes while she checks her phone.
“So,” I say slowly, “I was thinking, maybe I could take you out for a drink sometime?”
A few seconds pass as she exhales slowly. “I don’t think so.”
I’m about to smirk when I freeze. “ Wait ! What did you just say ?”
“I said no.”
“But nobody ever says no to me,” I bluster.
She smiles at me. “I've got three golden rules in life. Rule one, never date a cop.”
“Yeah, but you know now that I’m not a cop,” I clip.
“Doesn’t matter because rule two still applies.”
“Rule two?”
“Yeah. Rule two, never date a made man.”
“You dated Ronnie,” I grit out.
“Two is a relatively new rule that I made post-Ronnie,” she says with a shrug.
“Oh, come on. I see ‘assassin’ as being more my job title than ‘made man.’ Surely, rule two doesn’t apply to me?—”
“And rule three,” she interrupts. “Never date a liar.”
I open my mouth to object but snap it shut again when I realize I haven’t got an answer for that one. Because deep down, I know she’s right. Lying by omission is lying. I’ve been lying for so long that it’s become second nature to me. I tell myself I do it because as a hitman, I need to keep my movements and actions concealed. But I know there’s more to it than that. And I know that my lying is also a way to keep people from getting too close to the real me.
She walks past me, but I grasp her arm to stop her from leaving. I don’t want her to go just yet. “What are you doing with Domenico?” I ask in a low voice.
“Nothing. He was just being pleasant.”
Pleasant, my ass.
I’m about to hand her book back to her when I decide to flick through it. “This guide looks pretty comprehensive,” I comment as I skim through the contents page. “I have to say I’m impressed that you’ve worked through all these stages. Chapter one, shock; chapter two, upset; chapter three, denial; chapter four, grief; chapter five, mourning?—”
“Nah, I just skipped straight to chapter eleven.”
My brow furrows as my gaze drops down to chapter eleven which is headed ‘Revenge and Retaliation.’
“Um, Emerald, it says under chapter eleven that this is a list of things you should avoid .”
She shrugs. “The book wouldn’t have mentioned revenge and retaliation if it really didn’t want you to go down that route.” Then a twinkle lights up her green eyes, making them even more luminous than normal.
“What?” I say, for some reason needing to know what she’s thinking.
She flicks her inky hair over her shoulder. “I got some cans of tuna, and I sewed bits of fish in the hems of all Ronnie’s pants before I gave back the spare key to his apartment.”
And I can’t help myself from laughing out loud. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? I rarely give a genuine smile or laugh, yet I’ve done both within the last five minutes and all because of this one girl.
“I’m also thinking about going around and burning down his house tomorrow while he’s at work,” she adds.
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “Okay, Emerald, while I’m loving how you’re standing up for yourself, I’m one hundred and ten percent sure that the self-help guide didn’t intend you to become an arsonist.”
“Only kidding,” she giggles.
The sound of her laugh does something to me, and I’m about to say something when I notice her stiffen as she leans back against the wall.
And suddenly, things become awkward between us.
What the hell’s caused this sudden change?
She blinks at me. “I wish you would stop staring at me.”
I flick the ash from my cigarette. “Looking at someone hardly counts as staring. You seem like a pretty confident girl, so why are you suddenly so uncomfortable around me?”
“Who’s says I’m uncomfortable?”
I scoff softly and shake my head. “Do you always answer a question with a question? Or do you have something to hide?”
She shifts from one leg to another, and I can’t help my eyes running over her long legs and up to the hem of her short outfit.
“Does it have anything to do with the stolen dress you’re wearing?”
A slight flush warms her cheeks, but she keeps her expression neutral. “What makes you think my dress is stolen? I do work, so I can afford to buy things.”
I give a slight smirk. “If you say so.”
She goes to walk past me to head back inside, and I catch her wrist to pull her toward me, using her surprise to angle her around so that her back’s pushed against the stucco wall of the casino.
I spin my body toward her and slam my free hand against the wall, trapping her between my muscular arms.
She presses as far back against the wall as she can.
But there’s nowhere for her to run to.
And I like her caged between my arms too much to let her go…
Her eyes track my hand as I lift it lazily to her face.
Placing my finger under her chin, I tilt her head up to me. And I let my gaze drop to her lips for a few long moments.
Her breath hitches.
My free hand caresses down her bare arm before skimming down to the dip of her waist.
My head bends down to her throat. “I like your gold dress,” I breathe into the shell of her ear as I stroke her hip.
She let out a rushed breath, her pupils dilating in their pools of green. “It’s not gold. It’s called Bronze Breeze ,” she exhales.
I push my hand through her hair, not caring that I’m mussing it up. My eyes rake slowly over her heavy breasts heaving under the metallic fabric, moving down to where her dress stops to reveal her bare, shapely thighs.
And lowering my mouth to hers, I slam my lips against hers.
Her hands push against my chest for a few seconds, but as I coax her mouth, she yields to me, meeting my tongue with eager strokes of her own.
My kisses are demanding and aggressive. I knead her heavy breasts, molding them in my hold and enjoying the feel of her nipples hardening under the thin fabric as she arches her back, throwing her head against the wall and pushing her tits into my large hands.
I can’t wait to latch my mouth onto her nipples and pull at the hard tips with my lips to make them lengthen.
My tongue caresses along the shell of her ear down to her neck, and she moans as my mouth connects with the base of her throat and nuzzles her.
She shivers as I run my hands down her back and over her ass. And as she squirms against me, I feel her skirt riding up her thighs.
I’m so fucking hard for her. My hands seize the hem of her dress and push under it, making it bunch up around her waist.
Grabbing her ass cheeks, I grind her body into my cock, letting her feel my need for her and making her moan as it rubs against her clit.
My fingers trace the pattern of her lacy thong, itching to rip it off before I sink to my knees in between her thighs.
But first I have to do what I planned to do all along…
I snake my fingers over her exposed ass cheeks and over the small of her back.
“Bingo,” I growl into her ear as my fingers close around what I’m looking for.
Her eyes fly open. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t think people have a security tag on a dress they paid for,” I rumble.
“A what?” she says, trying to act dumb.
“The plastic tag on your dress that you’re trying to hide. How did you get it out of the store without setting the alarm off?”
“I have my ways,” she mutters before realizing what she’s just said.
“So, you’re admitting to being a thief?”
“What’s it to you, Valentino?” She tugs down her dress and dips under my arm to make her escape.
But I move my arm to bar her way. I’m not finished with her yet…