Page 22 of The Players

In a strange way, the two of them were similar. Just like her, Vince was trying to atone for a regret, or in the very least, right a wrong. But some things could never be undone, some wounds would never heal, and some scars would never disappear.

She followed Sy as he gave her a tour. There were four bedrooms. All of them had their own bathroom. The center of the apartment was its best feature though—an open stainless-steel kitchen that looked like it was never used.

“We don’t cook,” Sy confirmed her suspicion.

Part of her couldn’t wait to get her hands on all the equipment and start making up some batter. So, she was a stress baker? Big deal. They never needed to know.

Their tour ended in the rec room, which was right across the kitchen and two steps down, ending with a fireplace.

Still a bit nervous, she took her time taking in the room. From the corner of her eye, she could see him sizing her up. During her marriage, she had learned to always look out for where Franco was. Sometimes, it was right behind her. He found it amusing when she got all spooked by him. Other times, when he’d had a few drinks, she would have to duck away from his swatting hands. Compared to Sy, Franco had been a small man. She doubted if she’d recover as fast from a smack of his fists as she did from Franco’s.

As she studied the pictures above the mantle, she discovered something interesting.

“There are no pictures of you.” Vince had two; one in his teens with his whole family, including his parents. And one with all his brothers, including Hector, who was an honorary Detta.

“Pictures remind you of the past. I live in the here and now.”

His voice was tight. She translated that as Sy didn’t have any fond past memories.

She was just thinking of a response when the elevator made a sound and Vince entered a minute later. She tensed as she waited for him to rub it in that she had taken him up on his offer after all.

But all he said was, “Good, you’re here.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t exactly have another choice.”

Vince pulled his tie loose and crashed onto the couch. Unwillingly, she tensed and kept her back firmly against the fireplace. From this point in the room, she had a good view of both him and Sy. The two men were a contrast in so many ways. Sy was big, bulky, and blond, dressed in jeans and a Henley. Vince was his polar opposite, in his custom-made suit. Even their body language—one of them sitting, the other one standing—was different. She wasn’t sure how she was going to survive this. Franco had been a dog, but a bite from a dog she could survive. The two men in the room were wolves. Should they attack her, she wouldn’t even stand a chance.

Her hand curled around a silver candle holder as if by itself. Two pair of eyes followed her move. Sy smirked, Vince sighed.

“We’re not going to hurt you.”

“I will,” Sy drawled.

Vince cursed. “This isn’t the time to—”

“Like I said before, he’s the nice one," Sy continued as he walked up to her. “Might treat you with kid gloves. Thing is, you’re a woman so I'll treat you like one. My word is my bond and believe me when I say that I will hurt you and you will like it. Before the week is over, I’ll own every piece of your body.”

Her fingers around the piece of silver tightened. “That’s a bold statement,” she countered.

“Not the only part of me that’s bold.”

“Classy.”

“Nothing classy about hot ’n sticky, sweating bodies fucking into each other.”

She looked away, only to look right into Vince’s eyes. He didn’t seem annoyed or angry.

Of course not. The bastard made it clear from the start that he likes sharing his women.

She pushed away from Sy. “Where is my room?”

“It will be made ready for you while we’re away,” Vince said.

“Are we going somewhere?”

He nodded. “We’re going out. There’s a dress and shoes in the first room to your left. Go put them on. We leave in half an hour.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Vince wanted her to pretty up, so they could go out?

---