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“I think that ship has sailed, babe. And there’s no fuckin’ way you’re going back to your apartment alone or anywhere else until I get shit straightened out.”
“We’re not even sure the Monroes were behind it.”
“I’m sure, and if they’re capable of that, then it’s not safe for you to go back there.”
“Now, you’re scaring me. Granted, what they did was extreme and a littleFatal Attraction,but they got their revenge.”
Samson placed his mug on the counter and turned to her. “Whether you wanna admit it or not, these are bad people who will go to any lengths. They’ve got a list of dangerous people, including a very powerful cartel out of Asia, and I’m not gambling with your life to find out if I’m right.”
“Gambling with my life? Now you sound extreme.”
Samson leaned in and cupped her face with his palm. “I got a few things in place, and all this shit should be ironed out within the next week, but until then, at least humor me.”
“So, you basically want me to be your prisoner here?”
“I can think of worse things.” He nuzzled her neck. “You’ll have a new laptop today; then I’ll get a few bouncers over to your place to clean up and grab whatever you need.”
“You don’t think Evelyn and Willow could also be at risk because they work for me, do you?”
“I don’t think so, but just to be on the safe side, why don’t you have them come here or work from home?”
She heaved out a heavy sigh. “Fine, but I think you’re overreacting.”
Letting her think he was behaving over the top was better than having her scared or worse.
He’d seen bastards like the Monroes all his life, and the ones with the squeaky-clean reps were usually the most deadly because no one saw them coming. Plus, there was no way he’d put another woman in danger because he wasn’t paying attention.
Samson kissed her neck, then stared at her. “We’re finally getting our shot at a life together, and I’m not letting anything mess with it.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Samson valeted the Escalade at the Bellagio’s carport, then strode through the lavish hotel lobby. The fresh scent of exotic flowers filled the air as he entered the bar adjacent to the casino. Samson quickly picked out Frank at the end of the quiet bar. At four in the afternoon, it was too early for before-dinner drinks and too late to drown your sorrows from last night’s losses.
The Brooklyn wise guy had come a long way from the bad old days in Bensonhurst. To anyone passing by, he resembled a middle-aged man in town for a convention in his Ralph Lauren polo shirt and khaki pants, not the merciless thug Samson knew firsthand.
Samson slid onto the leather barstool. “This sure beats that drafty warehouse on Pier fifty-nine.”
A long time ago, Frank Barretti changed his last name to Barnett and ran his operation from a warehouse just off the Brooklyn docks called Barnett Coffee Importing—his way of fooling everyone into thinking he was legit.
“Always a smartass.” He waved over the bartender and ordered them both a bourbon, Frank’s drink of choice. “So, how’s Vegas treating you?”
“Can’t beat the weather, but I’m surprised to see you out here. Thought you didn’t like the heat.” Samson played along with this bullshit conversation. “So, what brings you to Sin City? Looking for new ways to lose your money?”
“I think you know my being here has nothing to do with gambling.” Frank fisted the glass, then sipped at the amber liquor.
“Right, it has to do with you thinking you still deserve a piece of Nick and me.”
“Not true.” Frank shook his head. “I’m happy for both of you.”
“So, you’re saying you didn’t try to fuck with Wicked’s opening by sending in Tommy Squire?”
“Tommy’s out here?” Frank shrugged his shoulders. “Huh, I guess everybody wants to enjoy this Vegas sun.”
Typical Frank, dancing around the subject—he probably knew the exact time Tommy’s flight landed at McCarran.
“Forget Tommy. I got bigger issues than that loser. What do you know about Alex Monroe?”
“Alex Monroe?” Frank pretended to be deep in thought. “I told you over the phone what I thought of him.”
