Chapter Three
Raya
LUCA IS OUT COLD beside me, snoring lightly.
He should be watching me. They just handed me total access to their security system, every inch of this place, inside and out. I could do a lot with this. Edit feeds. Manipulate data. Create absolute chaos and confusion.
Weak spots are already jumping out at me.
Taking advantage of his nonexistent supervision, I test my reach, using this access to hack into their other systems—security feeds for their nightclubs, their bogus zoo property on the outskirts, Mirabella Villa, the Summerlin mansion, and a handful of other locations. It’s not everything, but a lot.
After poking around for a bit, I leave myself an untraceable footprint and throw the walls back up.
Just in time…
The door swings open, and Lorenzo strides in. With a disapproving grunt, he raps his knuckles against Luca’s forehead.
Luca jerks awake. “What—”
“If you quit moonlighting at the strip club when you’re supposed to be resting, you wouldn’t be so damn tired all the time.”
Luca drags a hand down his face. “Shit.”
Lorenzo’s gaze drops to the half-empty cashew packet in my lap. “I assume you’re done?”
I nod.
“Use your words.”
“I’m done.”
He adjusts his holster and sits beside me, taking the laptop from my lap.
Sandwiched between two large, muscled men, I feel small. Lorenzo is unnecessarily close. Close enough that I almost inch away.
Almost.
Because, damn, he smells good.
While he verifies my work, Luca pushes up from the couch—thankfully—stretching lazily before ambling to the glass wall overlooking the casino.
Satisfied, Lorenzo hands the laptop back. Then he drapes an arm across the back of the couch behind me, leaning in even closer. “Good job.”
He carries a rich, cinnamon-spiced scent. No doubt from his illegal cigar.
While I try not to breathe too loudly with him this close—and smelling this damn good—his voice drops, low and husky, as he proceeds to ask a slew of questions about access admins and activity logs. After which, he has me block all but two admins.
“Want me to add extra security?” I suggest.
“Do it.”
When it’s all done, he pushes up from the couch and strides to his desk, settling on the edge with his arms crossed. Attention intense on me. “Age?”
Twenty-five. “Twenty-three.”
“Name?”
“Raya Michel.”
“From?”
“Nowhere, really,” I answer. “I moved around my whole life. Home-schooled. But I spent the most time in France, so if I had to pick a place, I guess that would be it.”
“What are you running from? Why do you need our protection?”
“My parents. They’re...influential.” I pause, then shrug. “I’m running because they want to marry me off to some scary old geezer for ‘alliance’ purposes. But it’s more because they’re selfish, greedy assholes.”
“Who’re your parents?”
“Pierre and Helen Michel. You can look them up.”
“Siblings?”
“A twin brother. Nonidentical.”
He drags a hand down his lightly bearded jaw, studying me.
We have something in common. A twin. Except mine’s a psychotic demon.
“Lo…” Luca calls from the window. “He’s back.”
Lorenzo straightens and strolls over, standing beside him. “Doesn’t look good.”
My heart lurches.
Is it him?
I bet it’s him.
Quietly, I stand from the couch and sidle up behind the two broad-shouldered men. Just close enough to peek below.
I knew it.
Striding through the busy casino, Stefano Castello looks like he just walked out of a hell made of blood and bones. His expensive black suit is creased and sullied, his white shirt splattered red, a gun clutched in one hand.
People leap out of the way, parting like the Red Sea. Some gamblers glance up at the commotion, then go right back to minding their business. Just another Wednesday night at Black Gold. Only the obvious tourists gape in shock and horror.
Stefano glares thunderously at anyone too slow to clear his path, looking as if he wants to lasso the sun from the sky and snuff it out with his bare hands.
“Take the girl to the villa,” Lorenzo tells Luca. “He won’t be receptive in this state.”
As Luca turns to leave, Lorenzo adds, “And stay there. You’re off rotation for the night. Get in some fucking sleep.”
Luca huffs in protest, but doesn’t argue. He prods my shoulder then grabs my backpack from the couch as he goes. “Let’s go.”
By the time we step into the smoky room that overlooks the casino floor, Stefano is gone. The men inside seem on edge, their movements sharp with unease.
Luca grips my arm and urges me toward the door. “Hurry it up, smart girl. When the boss is like this, no one’s safe. If he walks in and sees an unfamiliar face, he might just shoot us both.”
~
NINE YEARS AGO, the Castellos bought out a bankrupt golf course community, gutted it, and rebuilt it into Mirabella Villa, their home and base of operations.
Now, the towering, gilded gates of Mirabella Villa remain closed in front of us while two security guards thoroughly search Luca’s car, inside and out.
“You’re not exactly a trusted soldier, huh?” I poke at Luca.
Taking no offense, he yawns. “Things are a little… tense right now. Protocol’s protocol. No exceptions.”
“Stringent.”
“You’ll notice.”
Once they find nothing suspicious, the gates glide open, granting us entry into the Castellos’ heavily fortified sanctuary. Two hundred acres of controlled, manicured power.
Luca drives up the long entry path, green stretching endlessly on either side, then swings left into a parking lot packed with Lincoln Navigators, Escalades, and Bentleys. He parks, and we climb out.
I follow him across a short bridge arching over a pond, leading to another lot. This one packed with rows of custom golf carts.
Luca slides into a Chevy cart and grunts, “Hop in.”
I barely settle in before he takes off, weaving through the villa until we reach The Pink House. A sprawling, twelve-bedroom white mansion. Where the women like me lives. Hence the charmingly sexist nickname.
Luca ushers me up the front steps and into the grandiose foyer, flanked by twin staircases. Marble floors gleam under soft lighting from the glistening chandelier.
“The house manager’s likely asleep. Tazi. And the others are at work,” he says, trudging up the stairs. “Let’s just get you a room for now. Tazi can give you the tour in the morning.”
I don’t need a tour. I’ve spied on this villa enough. But he doesn’t need to know that.
Luca moves down the left hall, throwing doors open without knocking, peeking inside before moving on to the next. They’re all occupied.
He pivots and crosses to the right hall, repeating the process until he finds one that’s empty.
It’s a decent-sized room, spacious, outfitted with two full-sized beds, two dressers, nightstands, vanities, and a large flat-screen.
“There are usually two girls to a room,” Luca says. “But we just got rid of half a dozen, so you’ll probably have this one to yourself for a while.”
“Got rid of them?”
“Yeah.” He flops back on the bed closer to the door, arms folded behind his head, boots crossed at the ankles. “They thought they were clever. Formed a little thieving ring. Stole a little here and there while on the job. Made outside contact, plotted a scheme to hit us big and run.”
“Well, that’s stupid.”
“You’d think. But it happens.” He yawns. “That’s why there are rules. You girls come here desperate, running from something, someone. Empty-handed. Wanting protection, safety. We give that protection and more. Shelter, food, savings. All you have to do is work, follow the rules, and stay loyal.
“But then, you become comfortable. Used to the safety, the free living. You forget why you came in. That’s when you start doing dumb shit like that.” He lances me with a sharp look. A warning. “We sent four of the six back to the hell they were running from.”
“And the other two?”
“Executed in front of the rest. To remind them what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you.”
He watches me closely, gauging my reaction.
I force a flinch, try for a disturbed expression. But it’s too delayed, too calculated. I doubt he buys it. I’m good at adapting and disguising, but not acting. And Luca is proving to be more perceptive than anticipated.
“You know what I think?” he drags.
“Oh, so you want to finish that thought you bailed on earlier? Now that it’s just us?”
His body shakes with a low laugh. “There you go, smart girl. There you go.” His eyes shutter closed. “Something’s off about you. What I think is…you’re a smart-ass headcase pretending to be meek. But you struggle to keep up the act, because wherever you’re from, you’re used to getting your way.”
I snort, dumping my bag on the bed near the balcony. “That’s a terrible read.”
Luca yawns again, unfazed. “Don’t care what your story is, smart girl, but you look like a fighter. Just don’t be dumb, get me? Don’t forget what brought you here.”
Oh, trust me, I won’t.