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Casino mogul and owner of the Wild West Casino, Everett Johansson, has found himself fifty million deep with the Sorrentino name. His debt is so high, the interest has interest, the figure growing by the day. That’s the unwise thing about falling into debt with the mob—once you owe us a dollar, you’ll really owe us ten.
Since Johansson won’t ever pay off his debt, we’ve become his silent business partners. The Wild West Casino went on hiatus. We knocked it down and remodeled it from its cheesy Western theme to the Vittoria Resort and Casino, an ode to Italian-American opulence. Once the Vittoria opens, it’ll dethrone La Festa, and become the most profitable casino in Sin City.
The perfect cover for our crime operation. Through Vittoria, we’ll be able to launder money, run gambling schemes, and traffic drugs and weapons. We’re about to become the most powerful crime family not just in Sin City but the country.
AndI’mgoing to be the one who leads us to the top. The future king of the Sorrentino syndicate.
The FBI won’t suspect a thing. With the Mafia’s perceived decline in the twenty-first century, they’ve redirected their attention elsewhere. Foreign and domestic terrorism. Drug cartels. Cybercrime and civil rights. It’s an open door for us to discreetly rebuild a part of our empire lost decades ago.
The city and casino lights glitter among the night’s darkness as we drive toward the Strip.
Falynn’s tucked into the far left corner of the back seat like a frightened puppy dog you brought home on a whim. She won’t look at me. Her eyes are set straight ahead at the back of Robby’s seat. She’s shivering again. I’m assuming out of fear.
It occurs to me how this must look to her. Not only did she come across me and my men disposing of her dead boss, but I’ve now taken her for the night. I’m sure all kinds of wild thoughts are running through her mind. Probably that we’re going to rape or kill her. Maybe both.
I’m not a man who does comfort. I don’t know what to do with an upset woman. When one cries around me, I become more hardened. Even annoyed. If I don’t do emotion with myself, how am I to deal with emotion from hysterical women?
That’s not to say I do not care when one is upset. Just that I have my own method of handling the situation. In this case, as I stare at Falynn shivering in the corner, I turn my head forward.
“Robby, turn up the heat. Falynn is cold.”
“N-no…that’s…that’s okay…” she manages.
“Yes, Boss.” Robby does as asked, dialing up the heat.
Never mind that it’s September, which means it’s fucking eighty-five degrees at two in the morning in Vegas.
If it gets Falynn to stop the chihuahua shaking, I’ll bear it.
In no time, we reach the Vittoria. The extravagant resort and casino is an architectural masterpiece—a sleek five-hundred-feet structure carved of black marble and trimmed with gold. It’s the new statement piece of the city. The newest, finest gem.
Robby pulls up to the valet driveway on the resort side. The valet on shift rushes over to open the door and help us from the car. He’s unable to hide the shock on his face from seeing Falynn, barefoot in nothing but a large men’s suit jacket. If he ogles a second longer, I’ll have to order Louis to snap his twiggy little neck.
We enter the luxury hotel through the back entrance and take the private elevator to the top floor. Every corner of the hotel drips with opulence—marble and gold anywhere you look. It’s on record as the most expensive resort and casino in the country.
The elevator doors roll open on the penthouse floor. Each penthouse spans two thousand square feet, filled with expensive furnishings.
Louis escorts me and Falynn into my penthouse and performs a sweep for anything unusual. I take security very seriously. The Lovatos are already pissed we’re in Vegas; they’re going to be even more pissed when they find out we’ve killed Jerry and cut their business transactions short.
But I don’t want to think about work anymore tonight. It’s time to blow off steam.
I shrug off my suit jacket and unfasten my watch. I’m ready to taste the honey Falynn’s named after…
She stands in the middle of the living area, again like a lost puppy. For a woman as chatty in Jerry’s office, as seductive in the VIP room, she’s frigid and timid now. It’s as if the spark that lit her only hours ago has been extinguished.
A carnal need courses through me to reignite that spark. Help bring Falynn Carter—Honey—back to life.
I grab the bottle of champagne the resort staff have brought up, along with the two flutes. I don’t ask as I pour a glass for myself and then her. She doesn’t take the glass when I offer it to her. Her eyes are on her bare feet.
I stare at them too. Her toes are manicured and painted a light pink, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that they are Flintstone toes. Something about this amuses me, and I bark out a low laugh. The sound startles her, because she jumps back.
“Here,” I say, pushing the champagne into her grasp. “Drink. Relax. I’ve already said I won’t hurt you.”
My back is turned to her as I walk up to the wide window spanning wall to wall, offering a panoramic view of the city. It’s nothing but a dark grid of sparkling lights in the nighttime. Thousands of different people all over, thousands of different stories happening all at once.
I’m trying to be patient, let her calm down from her frenzied state. But I’m also a man who’s had a bad night, who is seeking a piece of the pussy I’ve paid for. I’m not going to be able to sleep until I get to fuck.
Falynn watches me. Her reflection in the window’s glass shows me she’s staring as intently at me as I’ve stared at her all night long. Finally, she seems to work up the courage to ask a question.
