Chapter Twenty-One
My pulse quickened when we left our private jet in Las Vegas. From the airport, I had a good look at the glittering skyline of the city. I had never been to Las Vegas before, and knowing who ruled here, I wasn’t really all that fond of staying.
Nestore touched my lower back as he led me down the staircase and toward the waiting black Hummer limousine. The inside of the massive car was lined in lilac velvet and pink leather. Glasses with champagne waited on a small table.
I shook my head with a huff, but grabbed a glass the moment I sat down. I needed to calm my nerves, and maybe this champagne would help. Nestore regarded me curiously as I sipped at my drink. “Won’t you have a taste? It calms my nerves.”
“The only taste that calms me is yours. I don’t drink when I’m around Remo or Nino.”
I nodded. I got it. It was probably better if he kept his wits about him. “Are you sure Remo didn’t lure you to Las Vegas to punish you?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “But let me calm my nerves just in case. Lie back.”
I emptied my champagne and then stretched out on the long leather bench of the car. The privacy glass between the back and the front was up so that the driver couldn’t see us, but I was still nervous when Nestore pulled my panties aside and began to eat me out.
I came with a suppressed scream in Nestore’s mouth just a moment before the car stopped.
Nestore wiped his mouth and put my panties back in place, then draped my long dress over my legs.
He straightened and leaned back, looking as if he hadn’t just given me intense pleasure with his mouth and tongue.
I quickly sat up and righted my hair, then downed the second champagne.
The door opened in front of a splendid hotel entrance.
Nestore got out first and held out his hand.
I took it and let him help me out of the high car.
All eyes zoomed in on Nestore. How could they not?
Even in Las Vegas, he stood out with his regal face, long black fur coat, and combat boots.
At least he was wearing a shirt. Otherwise, people would probably pass out.
“Everyone admires your beauty,” he murmured.
I shook my head with a laugh. “They’re staring at you, not me.”
“Then they focus on the wrong thing.” He scanned me from head to toe, lingering on my short, wide skirt, then moving down to the white suede boots.
We didn’t have much time to freshen up in our presidential suite at the top of the Palazzo, but at least I could clean myself from our activities in the car.
Nestore wanted me to wear an elegant white ruched chiffon dress that made me feel like I’d been transported here straight from the Roman Empire.
The golden sandals with three-inch heels only heightened that feeling.
Nestore waited in the living area of our suite, in black jeans and combat boots, with a black knife and gun holster on his chest. His fur coat was draped over the backrest of the sofa.
He fumbled with something in his hands. His eyes took in every inch of me, his expression filled with appreciation, giving me a warm feeling in my belly.
“You look like the Empress of California, dove.”
I froze at the endearment that he hadn’t used for me since I’d run. My smile felt shaky, and the hard twist of his mouth told me he hadn’t meant to let it slip.
He shoved to his feet and stalked over to me. Despite my heels, he still towered over me by a head. When he stopped in front of me, I caught sight of the thing in his hands. A gold leaf crown hairband inspired by the ornaments that empresses in ancient Rome used to wear.
He lifted it above my head. “This is missing. I had it made for you.” He put it down on my hair and arranged it until he gave a nod. “That’s it.”
I touched the material. “Is it gold?”
“Of course,” Nestore said, touching my chin. “Only gold and diamonds for you.”
I swallowed. “Do you want to punish me or worship me?”
“Both. Always both, Amelia.”
He dipped his head and kissed me. It was sweet, gentle, and over too soon. “We should go. I don’t want to make Remo wait.”
He held out his hand, scarred palm upward.
I put my hands in his, and together, we walked out.
The steak house was on the ground floor, and on our way down, everyone we passed gawked at us.
I couldn’t imagine that dressed-up people were such a novelty in Las Vegas, but maybe even in Sin City we stood out from others.
We passed the casino with its hum of excited voices on our way to the steakhouse.
The moment we stepped inside, the scent of seared beef and truffle butter carried into my nose and made my stomach rumble.
With the excitement of the day, I’d hardly eaten anything.
A hostess dressed in a royal-blue cocktail dress greeted us and motioned us to follow her.
The tables were draped in white linen, and golden rimmed wineglasses gleamed in the light of chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
We were led to the very back of the restaurant, past guests who tried not to stare too openly at us—and failed.
I kept my head high and focused on Nestore’s unimpressed expression.
Remo and Nino sat at one of the few tables that weren’t at a window.
They probably worried about someone shooting them.
Their reign was still young, and like Nestore, their list of enemies was long.
The hostess gave me a small smile but avoided Nestore’s eyes.
Remo and Nino stood. Neither tried to touch us, and only gave us brief nods, which I appreciated.
Nestore and I sat across from them. Relief washed over me that Nino sat across from me.
His gaze passed me by with utter disinterest while Remo regarded me like a ticking time bomb.
Our server appeared at our table and took our drink order.
I scanned the menu in front of me. It didn’t have any prices, which confused me. “Why are there no prices?”
“Women don’t get the menu with prices,” Nino said.
“Oh.” My eyes caught on a wagyu ribeye. It sounded absolutely delicious.
A bottle of red wine and one with San Pellegrino appeared on our table.
The moment the server poured me wine, I took a sip, glad for the alcohol to soothe my nerves.
If I were around Remo all the time, I’d probably have to figure out a new method to calm myself.
Remo raised his glass. “Someone’s thirsty.”
I flushed, but didn’t apologize. He was very aware of his nerve-wracking aura, and he enjoyed unsettling people, so he couldn’t blame me if I needed a little pick-me-up. I raised my glass, then took another sip. “It’s very good wine.”
“One would hope so, considering the bottle costs five hundred dollars,” Nino drawled.
My eyebrows shot up.
Remo chuckled. “We own the West.”
“Not too long ago, we had to do boxing matches in dingy Bratva bars to earn enough money for food and the clothes on our backs,” Nino said, turning the bottle around to read the label.
Remo nodded. “We’re still fighting, but more comfortably.”
“Our enemies are dying out,” Nestore said, putting the wine glass back down without taking a sip.
“Old enemies are dying out, and new ones are arising,” Remo said with a twisted smile. “The Outfit and Famiglia are paying close attention to what’s happening in the Camorra.”
“We’re too strong for either of them to take on,” Nestore said.
“Indeed, but maybe not if they unite again.”
“They’re at war because men thought obsessing over women was anything but idiocy,” Remo said, his cruel dark eyes slanting to me.
Nestore squeezed my leg under the table.
The server spared us a further discussion on the matter. “Have you decided what you’d like to order?”
Remo motioned to me.
“I’d like the wagyu ribeye with truffle fries and roasted brussels sprouts.”
The men ordered next, and I fumbled with my wineglass, then cast an inconspicuous look at the tattoo peeking out of Nino’s long sleeves. It was colorful, red and yellow. Maybe flames?
Another dash of color peeked out of his turtleneck. I supposed everyone has their own way of dealing with their past trauma.
I was relieved when the food arrived. My ribeye looked mouth-watering, and the scent of the truffle made my belly rumble appreciatively.
When I took the first bite, the conversation shifted toward tomorrow’s fights.
“Nino picked an interesting opponent for you. He used to work as a freelance enforcer for the Bratva. Now he’s indebted to us. They call him the Steamroller.”
I stopped chewing, my eyes widening.
Nestore ate his T-bone and nodded. Wasn’t he worried at all? What if Remo wanted Nestore to die? I couldn’t imagine that he was happy about the way Nestore had saved Luciano.
“Your wife looks concerned,” Remo said with a hint of amusement. “Don’t you believe in your husband’s abilities?”
“I do, but nobody is invincible.”
Nestore shifted beside me and squeezed my leg again. In warning? In support?
Remo leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his muscled chest. “Our soldiers seem to think the Madman from LA is superhuman, and we want to keep up that belief.”
Nestore swallowed his meat, then bared his teeth. “We will. I’ll kill my opponent tomorrow as I’ve killed everyone before him.”
“It’s not a death fight,” Nino said, but he sounded almost bored. His gray eyes were focused on a sheet with numbers on his phone, probably incoming bets.
“It is if I’m in the cage,” Nestore said.
I slanted a look at my reflection, insecurity turning my stomach over. The dress for today was backless, which meant my scars were exposed.
Nestore entered the bedroom. Today, he was shirtless, with only his fur coat covering his upper body. He showed his scars proudly. I had never mastered that feat.
“Are you sure this is okay?”
Nestore tilted his head, his brows pulling together. “You look anything but okay. You look spectacular, like someone most men only dream about.”
“I mean, my scars. I usually hide them.”