Page 8 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

My phone buzzes with another text from our casino manager about tonight's high roller event. I type out detailed instructions, making sure everything stays within legal bounds, at least onpaper. That's the key to longevity in this business. The loud ones who flash their power end up in handcuffs or dead. The smart ones blend in, looking like any other successful businessman. Gone are the days of Tommy guns taking out our rivals. Sure, occasionally, someone disappears, but there’s nothing that ever links it to the family. Subtle. That’s the key to success.

I straighten my tie and stand to pour myself a scotch from the crystal decanter by the window, taking a quick look out the window at Sin City’s skyline. For six years, I've run things in Las Vegas for the Nardone Family, building an empire that generates millions in both legitimate and illegitimate revenue. Not bad for a kid who started out collecting protection money in Brooklyn.

I return to my desk, sitting and glancing at my tablet again and smiling. Let them think we're dying out. Our power has only grown stronger in the shadows.

The door swings open without a knock, and Whitley Meadows saunters in wearing a red coat that covers a body that I know every inch of. Over a year ago, this entrance would have set my pulse racing and my dick to stand at full tilt. Now I barely glance up from my work.

"I was in the neighborhood." She perches on the edge of my desk, crossing long legs that once commanded my full attention. The coat slips open, revealing that those legs are wearing garters. “The Children's Hospital fundraiser is next week. Governor will be there, senators, all the right people. We should go."

My jaw clenches. "Not interested."

"Since when? You always said these events were good for business connections."

She’s not lying. But I always go to such events solo. This is another attempt by her to attach herself to me.

"I'm busy, Whitley." I shuffle the papers in front of me, making a show of being absorbed in work.

"You're always busy lately." Her fingers trail across my desk calendar. "Remember when we used to make time?"

I do remember. Blow jobs while I sat in my chair on a conference call. Bending her over my desk to fuck her from behind. Sometimes, our games played out at her penthouse suite. I’d fucked her a few times on my dining room table, but most of the time, I kept her away from my home. I fuck women, not have relationships with them.

For a time, my physical relationship with her offered the thrills of no strings, no complications. But that’s changed since she’s started dropping hints about leaving a toothbrush at my place, meeting her parents, and casually asking if I ever thought about having kids. The answer is no. I don’t want kids or the wife that goes with them.

"Things change." I lean back, putting more distance between us. The truth is, it’s been a long while since we’ve fucked. Why she keeps coming by is a mystery to me. It’s not like there aren’t other eligible rich men in Las Vegas.

"They don't have to." Her voice drops to that husky whisper that used to rev up my libido. Now it just reminds me of all the reasons this needs to end.

Casual flings lost their appeal months ago. Around the time I returned from New York, where I’d been providing protection to Gia. Since then, each encounter with Whitley has left me feeling hollow. It doesn’t help that I’ve been haunted by memories I've spent years trying to bury. Memories of beautiful green eyes and innocent trust that I betrayed.

“I’m working.”

"You've changed, Max. You used to know how to have fun." Whitley shrugs off her coat, revealing she has nothing on except the garters. There was a time I liked to fuck those large, fake titsof hers. Or when she wrapped her filler-enhanced lips around my cock and sucked me dry. Now I just want her gone from my office.

I shake my head. “I’m busy now, Whit.”

"Come on, Max. Remember that weekend in Cabo?" She leans forward, like seeing her tits up close and personal will change my mind. "The yacht, the champagne… I made you come so many times."

“I have a business to run. I can’t stop and fuck any time you’re horny.”

She straightens, her lips pursing. I wonder if she’s ever had a man say no to her before. "What happened to you? Have you become impotent? I hear that can happen to men over forty. I can help?—”

“Fucking hell, Whitley, my dick works fine.” I know it does because even though I carry a boat-load of guilt for it, I jerk off to memories of Gia more often than I should.

“Then what’s wrong?”

I glare at her. She’s not an idiot, so why is she so dense about this? “I said I’m busy.”

She slides off the desk and drops to her knees. “You’re tense. Let me help you relax.” Her fingers reach for my belt. My dick shrivels into my body.

“Goddammit, I told you I'm busy.” My voice comes out sharp, harder than I've ever spoken to her. "Get up."

Her hands freeze on my thigh. "Max?"

"I said get up." I push my chair away from her, standing. "This isn't happening."

"But—”

"Leave." The word snaps out like a whip crack. "Now."

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