Page 32 of Devil of Vegas

I look around the room that I’m locked up in and see nothing but blank walls and a long table butted up against the corner. There are guns on the table,lotsof them. The men who stuck me in here with a pile of artillery either think that I’m too weak to get loose from their restraints or too scared to fire one of their guns at them. Either way, they are probably right. Givenhalf the chance, I wouldtryto kill them. But I’m adancer,not an assassin, trained in pirouettes, not guns, so chances are good that I would miss if I tried to fire a shot.

As I sit there alone in the empty room, I try to swallow my fear. Whoever did this must have orchestrated the whole thing in order to incapacitate Vincent using that planned car accident. Otherwise, there’s no way that he would have let anyone take me. I know that much for afact. And whoever is behind my kidnapping better hope that Vincent never gets out of that car alive because if he does—they’re dead.

Footsteps and voices appear outside the door, and I once again use my eavesdropping skills to listen to them. It sounds like several men talking, but I don’t recognize any of the voices. Finally, after a few long moments of anxiously wondering whether one of them will come inside—the door opens.

A man walks in and stands in front of me with a satisfied smile at my current condition.

“Hello, Isla,” he introduces himself. “My name isAngelo Barone.”

But the introduction is unnecessary. I might not have known his name before, but I recognize his face.

“I’ve seen you in the ballet's audience,” I say as I try not to sound as scared as I feel. “Do you enjoy the ballet?”

“No, not at all,” he laughs. “In fact, I find it excruciatinglyboring, no offense.”

“None taken. But then why attend the performances?”

“I like to keep a closepersonaleye on some of my most worthy adversaries, and it just so happens that one of them has a fondness for the ballet.”

Vincent. That’s why I’m here—Angelo Barone has somehow figured out that Vincent cares for me, and he’s seeking to exploit that as leverage. I refuse to let him. Not only because I vowed never to let powerful men exploit me again, but because I know now how much I care about Vincent, and I refuse to let this asshole use me to harm the man that I’ve fallen in love with. I sit with that thought for a minute as Angelo continues to look me over. It’s the first time that I’ve let myself admit that I’ve fallen in love with a mafia don, even if it’s just a silent admission inside my head. If I get out of this alive, I’m going to tell Vincent that Ilove him.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?” Angelo sneers.

“I think I have a pretty good idea already.”

What is it about bad guys and their affinity for always wanting to monologue? Does it make them feel more powerful and feared? Angelo continues, despite my reluctance to listen to him.

“You witnessed Vincent Moretti kill one of my men,” he says. “Backstage at the theatre after your solo performance. Do you remember that?”

Obviously,I do. It’s not like one can just forget seeing a murder carried out in front of their eyes. It’s a rhetorical question that he doesn’t wait for me to answer, anyway.

“And after that, Vincent made you disappear. I have to admit that it was hard to track you down. Vincent keeps his building locked up pretty tight, but I have a cop on my side that couldpay you a visit and confirm what I already suspected to be true,” he continues smugly. “You see, rumors get around quickly in Vegas, and I have eyes and earseverywhere. That’s how I know that the all-powerful Vincent Moretti is sweet on you.” He breaks into laughter as if he’s just told a joke and amused himself. “It’s such a ridiculous stroke of luck, really—that my previously untouchable rival would let himselffall in loveand open himself up to such a weakness.”

“You’re afoolif you think Vincent is weak,” I snap at him.

Instantly, Angelo’s smug look turns into a bitter glare. He reaches out and strikes me across the face with a slap that echoes throughout the room.

My cheek stings, and the ache in my head worsens.

“Careful,my dear,” he hisses. “You might be the only one who can break theDevil,but be under no delusion about having any power here with me. Because I can breakyou, one piece at a time, if I want to. I control more people in this city than you know.”

“Is that how you got that dumb cop to do your bidding? By offering him a bunch of money and a promise of power?” I say as I try to stall Angelo from doing anything else to hurt me. I hope that somehow Vincent got out of the car and is on his way to find and rescue me. I just need to stay alive until he gets here.

“Detective Monroe?” Angelo lets out a chuckle. “No, his own obsession with destroying Vincent makes him a useful idiot. You see, yourboyfriendcaused that cop a bunch of trouble years ago, and Hal has had an axe to grind ever since. He plays both sides when it suits him, and I use his badge and his sheer blind stupidity to give me access to what I want, likeyou.”

“One day, he will turn on you, I bet.”

“Doubtful,” Angelo says as he leans casually against the table piled with ammo. “It would be hard for him to do that from thegrave. Unlike Vincent, I don’t like to leave any loose ends lying around.”

There’s a small knock on the door and Angelo goes to open it. A woman walks inside, which surprises me. She’s lovely, demure, with not a single hair out of place in the sleek, dark ponytail at the back of her head. Angelo goes to give her a performative kiss on the cheek, and she grimaces while he isn’t looking, clearly repulsed by him.

“Allow me to introduce my wife, Natalia,” he beams as if he’s showing off a prized pig. “She’s going to babysit you for a moment while I attend to another matter. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be right back to finish ourconversation.”

The implication of his tone reveals that our “conversation” is about to get a lot less friendly when he returns. He wants something from me, something that he can use to bury Vincent, and I won’t give it to him, no matter what he does to me.

As soon as the door closes, his wife’s expression changes, and she comes to kneel in front of the chair that I’m tied to.

“Are you alright?” she asks in a whisper. “I heard you were in a car accident before they captured you and brought you here. Are you injured?”

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