Page 9 of Devil of Vegas

CHAPTER 4

VINCENT

“You can take the night off, Junior,” I say as I walk through the penthouse and release Marco from his post tonight. “I’m going to be staying here tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” he nods before leaving.

I rarely stay overnight unless casino work extends past midnight. I prefer the peace of my home. But I can’t seem to drag myself away from this beguiling, albeitobstinate, ballerina. She is quickly becoming an unexpected obsession that isn’t leaving my head.

And that tattoo, the little bird flying free behind her ear—it triggered a memory that I’ve kept buried deep down in my past for a long while now, one that brings me no pleasure to remember.

The penthouse is quiet now. The staff has all gone home for the night, and the only inside guard is usually Junior. His departure leaves only the guards outside. Ialwayskeep things carefully guarded. There is, however, no better guard than I am, so Isla is more than safe with me staying here tonight. The question iswhether I’m safe from myself and my own descending memories that are now filling my head.

I walk over to the minibar and pour myself a whisky neat before taking the glass with me to the window. Standing here above the city sprawled out at my feet makes me feel like aGodand reminds me of all that I’ve done to amass the power that I now have here. It makes me feelinvincible.All of this—my entire empire of casinos and underground deals, my men, my image as being a ruthless mafia kingpin that none dare to cross—I built it all myself on bone and brilliance. And onlyIcontrol it.

Controlis safety. Maintaining total, uncontested control prevents further losses.

I swig the entire contents of my glass, letting the whisky coat my throat with a warm and pleasant burning sensation that helps to take the edge off my troubled thoughts. Isla’s tattoo reminded me of my father, and of the one thing that I despise most in the world—betrayal.

I press my eyes closed for a moment as I let the image of my father’s tattoo form in my head. He had two sparrows on his chest, not entirely unlike the one behind Isla’s ear, except my father’s piece was larger, darker, and intricately inked over his muscles. He told me once that the two birds, which seemed to twist around each other as if they were dancing, were a symbol that reminded him of freedom, loyalty, and love. Freedom because of the flight birds can take at any moment, loyalty because sparrows bond for life, and loyalty because sparrows live in large colonies that claim a nest site, which they return to and protect throughout their days.

He was a good man, my father. To him, those three things were worth dying for—which he did.

I can see it as clearly as if it were yesterday, myself as a boy, a childhood coated in blood and betrayal. Not even the whisky can keep the vivid flashback at bay. I was only seventeen, practically still achild. But in all the ways that mattered, I was ready to be a man and a leader, especially after that night. I just could not have predicted it to happen how it did. I admired my father’s vast power, but power’s weakness is letting others in. My father didn’t see it coming. His closest friend and ally, Angelo Barone, blinded him with what he perceived as loyalty. As a kid, I thought of my father’s friend as an uncle. After that night, he became my greatest rival and enemy. Men whispered; a quiet rumor suggested my father’s friend was suspicious. But my father, God rest his soul, cherished his allies almost as much as he hated his enemies. He never imagined his closest friend would betray him until it happened. My father’s one fatal flaw was that he trusted people. The night of that bloody coup did more than just cost me my parents and orphan my sister and me; it also taught me a cruel, stark lesson that I would never forget—to trustno one.

I open my eyes and run my hand along the scar just below my collarbone. A badge of honor from my first kill. I earned it when I shot the man Angelo Barone sent to kill my father. Executing that man who had been hiding in plain sight, pretending to be a trusted confidant while secretly infiltrating my father’s organization, was the first time I’d ever killed anyone with my own hands. He tried to cut me down with a knife he pulled out of his coat pocket, and I got close enough to let him get a slice in on me because I wanted to shoot him at point-blank range. Watching that asshole’s life leave and his skull split in two gave me a satisfying feeling, I must admit. But it didn’t bring back my parents, nor did it bring back my soul. Instead, that singular moment launched me into unimagined violence. Violence that Ibecame increasingly and almost impeccably good at over time, but that wasn’t without consequence.

I sigh and head back to the bottle of whisky sitting on the counter. This time, I pour myself a double. I take great pride in the empire that I’ve built, especially since I took over the family business when I was only twenty-four. Perhaps that veryprideis my deadly sin. But unlike my father, I run things a bit differently. I havezerotolerance for betrayal. At the very first whiff of disloyalty, I snuff out the source without mercy. As with the man backstage at the ballet. What happened to my father willneverhappen to me, even if I have to be more of a monster than he ever was. “Monster” is a vast understatement regarding my nature. They were right to call meThe Devilafter I burned down one of Angelo Barone’s brothels, with everyone inside the place trapped alive as the flames consumed the burning building. Even now, as I take a slow sip of my top-shelf whisky and pace my empty penthouse, I have no regrets over that. Even now, I can still hear the screams coming from inside. But anything I can do to take from that man what he took from me brings me nothing but pleasure. No matter how ruthless it is.

One thing haunts me, even awake, more than past violence. It’s the one thing that keeps me emotionally locked down and causes me to root out and eradicate weakness, especially if it’s weakness that lies within myself. The one loss I can never move past, for which I feel responsible, and which showed me that love is simply a burden—“Mia,” I whisper to myself as I fight back the sadness that I refuse to feel. “My little sister.”

I try to shake the thoughts from my head, unable to keep them away. It’s as if she’s trying to torment me even from beyond the grave in order to save my soul and keep me from being the devil I’ve become. But I won’t bend, not even to these memoriesthat plague me tonight. My sister’s death wasmyfault. I’m responsible for that atrocity, losing a beautiful, gentle young life that wound up being nothing more than collateral damage in a hit gone wrong. I will never forgive myself for that, a rookie mistake that I let happen when I first took over things. And since I couldn’t protect her then, I controleverythingnow.

Standing here, I find it too easy to remember her face and the sound of her voice calling my name before she was shot. I could have saved her, but I hesitated. I didn’t want her to see me as a monster, not after how much she idolized me growing up at my side. Foolishly, I believed I could bargain for her life without letting her down. I aimed to rescue my younger sister, to embody the hero she believed me to be, and shield her from the darkness and pain within our family. I wanted toprotecther, and I failed. I was too late. It was the first andlastattempt at diplomacy that I ever engaged in.

As soon as her body fell to the ground, something inside of mebroke, and I swore never to allow weakness orfeelingsto control me again. That made it easy to slaughter everyone responsible for my sister’s death, and easier to be merciless toward everyone that I’ve killed since. Feeling things were an obstacle to killing, one that I got rid of the moment I watched my innocent sister die. Or at least IthoughtI had gotten rid of it. Now, standing outside the ballerina’s bedroom, I’m dealing with an additional problem and grappling with a predicament I had hoped to never face again. Isla Hart makes mefeel. Even in the short time that I’ve had her here. She’s clawed open a fresh wound and ignited a wildfire from the ash of what was an intentional annihilation of my past. And that is a weakness that I simply can’t allow to consume me again.

I finish my second drink and set my glass down on the counter before walking to the room that Isla is in. I know I should leave and call Junior back to his post. I have more important work to do than babysit this ballerina, and in a way, it’s almost self-masochistic to put myself through this. Rather than walking away, I open the door slowly and stand there, feeling like an intruder in my building. Inside the room, the city lights cast shadows that dance across Isla’s face. She looks so peaceful while she sleeps, like anangelwith her halo of hair spread out against her pillow. Everyone knows an angel is the last thing a devil needs. Innocence packaged up inside a beautiful being like Isla would be nothing short of my downfall. I can’t allow myself the luxury of distraction, especially not when that distraction is an innocent woman who witnessed me kill a man. Watching her on stage brought a welcome moment of peace and relief at the ballet. I found it detached and entertaining. This istooclose. I should have killed her as soon as she saw me there, or had my men kill her when she ran. Now I have this little bird captive in my penthouse with no fucking idea what to do with her.

Luc was right when he said that I can’t keep her here forever, but I can’t just set her free, either. Caged birds sing when they’re released, and I can’t trust that Isla wouldn’t do the same. I remind myself thatcontrolover the situation is the most important thing. At some point soon, Celeste Durant will start asking questions about the disappearance of her dancer. The elderly woman’s past intersects with my family’s, a secret Isla would find shocking, creating complications. Knowing how fiercely protective the Ballet Mistress is of her dance troupe, I can only imagine the lengths that Celeste would go to in order to acquire the safe return of her star ballerina. She’s made secret deals with the mafia before, and for a dance teacher, she knows a lot more than she lets on. I’ll need to deal with that at somepoint. But for right now, I need to deal with the problem right in front of me.

I stand in the doorway and watch Isla sleep. For such a fragile creature, there is something about her that unsettles me deeply—something that threatens to bring me to my knees if I’m not careful. Another reminder that this woman is simply another thing I will need to maintain tight control over to prevent that from happening.

How she challenges me is brave, unwise perhaps, but still brave. Most women in her position would have cowered before me, begging and pleading for mercy or bargaining with whatever they could in order to win my favor and protect themselves from harm. But not Isla, which means she either has a powerful survival instinct or a deluded death wish. I’m betting on it being the former of the two.

I’ll have to deal with this mess head-on in the morning. I’ll send Luc and my underboss to press their ears to the ground and get a read on how much trouble Isla’s disappearance has caused thus far, and I’ll have Zara, my security specialist, come watch over things here at the penthouse. Perhaps having another woman around could help Isla be less stubborn and more cooperative. I’ll address other pressing issues, then decide my prima ballerina prisoner’s fate. And Iwon’tlet her get inside my head, or even worse, myheart. Nothing can crack that anymore. Hell, I don’t even think there’s anything there inside the hollow of my chest.

But as I stand there for a few more minutes, watching the rise and fall of her breathing and the fluttering of Isla’s eyelids as she dreams behind them, I feel an unfamiliar, uncomfortable beating inside my ribcage. I narrow my eyes as I stare at her, wielding some kind of power over me without even trying to, andI press my palm to my chest to squelch the pulsating beat that thunders behind my ribs like a caged animal trying to get out.

“What are you doing to me?” I whisper quietly before I quickly turn and leave.

CHAPTER 5

VINCENT

“Wow, you kind of look like shit,” Zara says sarcastically when she arrives at the penthouse with coffee in hand the next morning.

Only she could get away with saying something like that to me without fearing my wrath. It’s hard for me to get angry at my sassy, cynical tech and security specialist since the sibling-like bond that we have reminds me a bit of my sister. I keep Zara close, not only because she’s highly intelligent and a valuable hacker, but also because she’s devoutly and unquestionably loyal. I saved her from prison a few times when she was a delinquent foster kid, hacking into things she shouldn’t have been. In return, Zara now works for me.

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