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“We need to talk,” I announce without preamble.
Pa grunts, keeping his gaze on the nurse’s slender fingers. He’s not interested in a word I have to say. I’llmakehim interested.
“You,” I snarl, pointing to the nurse, “out.”
She scurries like a mouse chased by a broom. I round on Pa.
“What’d you do to her?”
“Nurse Katie? I didn’t do a thing except ask for my medication.”
“You know who I’m talking about! What’d you do to Falynn?”
Pa makes atsknoise with his tongue. “Why are you set on that girl? You’ve been a fool over her, Giovanni.”
“Did you take her, huh? Kidnap her last night? Is that what happened?”
“I promise you, I have nothing to do with the girl.”
“Then where is she? She disappears hours after your warning, and you don’t think that’s suspicious?”
The same smirk from last night lights up Pa’s wrinkly, evil face. “Think, Giovanni. Use that fucking brain. Ever consider maybe your paramour found out I told you?”
My glare sharpens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been had. The girl skipped town because she’s guilty. She left because she had to. Before she got got.”
“No need to worry, boss. This place is more secure than Guantanamo Bay,” Louis says. He’s still in his sling, though decidedly more mobile. He ends our tour of Vittoria’s casino floor where it began, right in front of the cash cages. “There’ll be no funny business come opening night.”
I survey the floor from where we stand, wearing a neutral expression. “You’ve done well. How’s the shoulder?”
“Better. Doc says I’ll be clobberingcazzofuckers in no time. And your hand?”
A second passes by before I understand the question. My gaze lowers to my bandaged hand, wrapped up in gauze after receiving five stitches. They’re a reminder of me flipping my shit only a couple days ago when I discovered Falynn was missing. I stuff both hands in the pockets of my trousers and give a noncommittal shrug.
“A few stitches are nothing. Have you spoken to C.J.? What’s he found out?”
“He’s supposed to be calling you later. Says he has some intel on Lovato’s whereabouts.”
“Good work. Both of you. Keep it up.”
I leave him where he is, strolling away at a languid pace. I walk the perimeter of the casino floor, watching the renovations like a man browsing a museum. So far, everything is falling into place with our grand reopening. Come soon enough, the Vittoria will be back in full swing even better than our first go.
Lovato isn’t going to sabotage me a second time. As it stands, he has a debt to pay. The price is his head. I’m done with playing games. The little tit-for-tat battles we’ve been engaged in over the past few weeks have grown boring. The night Lovato shot up the Vittoria, he escalated shit to a level there’s no coming back from.
This turf war over Sin City isn’t over ’til it’s his head perched on my mantle. Better than any trophy, it’ll cement my place as the new king of the Sorrentino family. It doesn’t matter if Pa is still alive and breathing. If Claro’s been released from Club Fed. I’m the rightful heir, and I’ve run out of patience. It’s time I ascend the fucking throne.
With Falynn gone, I’ve never thought clearer. The blackness in my heart has swept in deeper and darker than ever before. The monstrous rage is still there, but once again, the monster is back in its cage. It’s controlled now by the calmer, cooler, more calculated side of me. The side that knows how to get results ruling with an iron fist, but doing so smartly. Gone is the reckless, emotional mess I was when I was underherspell.
The first place I stopped when flying back into Vegas was Falynn’s old apartment. I brought Robby along with me, and we cased the joint. It wasn’t hard to force our way in. There was already an eviction notice tacked to the door. Robby’s lock-picking skills were far advanced for the flimsy locks.
Falynn hadn’t been exaggerating about her living conditions. If I were still in an emotional state, seeing the lawn chairs for furniture and the cracks in the walls would’ve stoked a hot flame of anger in me. Just knowing that piece of shit Lorenzo had her living here. But I closed myself off from that level of fury. Instead I glanced around the squalid apartment, kicking aside piles of clothes.
Robby searched kitchen drawers, turning them inside out. “Nothing of importance. Looks like she hasn’t even been back here for weeks. Probably since the night she met you.”
“No, it doesn’t look like it,” I agreed. A photo hanging on the fridge caught my gaze. I removed the pineapple magnet and held up the photo for a closer look. It was of Falynn and another woman smiling and toasting with cocktails at some casino bar. Falynn looked as gorgeous as ever, but the woman next to her held my attention more for one reason alone. “This woman—her friend Tasha. What’s the latest on her?”
“Don’t know. We haven’t kept tabs. Why?”
“Because, if Falynn is in touch with anyone, it’d be her.”
The loud warble of a slot machine draws me back to the present. I shake away the recent memory of Falynn’s apartment and look around the game floor. The sound comes from a maintenance man who’s testing the slot to ensure it’s in working condition. He greets me with a respectful “Afternoon, Mr. Sorrentino.”
I give him a nod, but the truth is, I’m still distracted. Before I can devote the rest of my attention to the casino’s reopening and my war with Lovato, there’s one last loose end that needs to be tied up.
Tonight. And it involves a trip to the Dollhouse.
