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With that, he turns and strides away, looking as devilishly handsome as he is untouchable. I take a deep breath and ignore the little pinch of hurt in my chest because,of course, he'll be the unattainable, no-bullshit-allowed kind of Boss. He's a mafioso, one I've crossed, and I need to get my head in the game and prove myself an asset or move to some other overnight with my mother and daughter to stay out of his sight.
Since the latter option is impossible, I brace myself and enter the security room. Small introductions are made between these team members and me since they're not all the same as last night, and then I get to work learning everything I can about the Golden Flame Casino's security measures.
For the last week, I've learned a lot about the operations of the Caputo's casino. I've learned about every security measure taken, from the blackjack tables to the hotel rooms to the attached club to the kitchen staff. It's been exhausting learning everything so quickly, and I'm still getting the hang of how they run things to hopefully help them find more people like…well, like me.
But one thing I've learned the most is that Domenic Caputo is a tough, ever-present boss.
The man runs like a fucking clock. He shows up at the same times every day, twice in the morning and five times after lunch, until late at night, checking how security is going. And when he's not chatting with other security personnel in the room with me, he's usually in the casino itself, on one of the security screens for me to ogle to my heart's content.
And how could I not ogle him? It's infuriating how handsome he is all the time.
He brushes shoulders and shakes hands with big wigs all day. Famous people come into his casino occasionally, and he handles all situations that arise with a prompt intelligence that's downright impressive.
He only leaves the casino rarely, and it seems to be for stuff related to hisfamily—stuff I probably don't want to know anything about. He's constantly up late working. Every morning, he's clean-shaven and dressed perfectly, looking like he was up hours before I rolled out of bed groaning and grumbling.
Does the man even sleep? I'd honestly think not if I hadn't once slept beside him.
Besides seeing how efficient and powerful the stoic mafia don is, it's been hard not to notice the pull I still feel toward him. We've hardly spoken a word since that first morning when he let me in, but every time he's in the room and wherever he goes, it's exactly like that first night I saw him. Like I can justsensewhere he is because his magnetism toward me is just that strong.
It's getting difficult to ignore, but I still pretend I haven't noticed it.
I'm too busy to give it a single thought, anyway. Work is taxing, and I've barely gotten any time this week with my sweet little baby, which has been like taking a hundred punches to the gut every day, emotionally speaking.
That must be why I'm so emotional when Friday rolls around. I see that I was paid early this week by direct deposit. I'm on my lunch break, munching on baby carrots in my car because I'm too nervous to chow down in the fancy casino break room when I see the money has appeared in my account.
I'd never asked how much I would make, but I'm positive it wasn't supposed to be this much. I nearly choke on a carrot and then have a minor freakout.
I'm used to large sums of money in cash or casino credits. I've hacked more than my fair share of thousands. No way was I supposed to make this in a week.
Shit. Is this some sort of test of my integrity? I get out to pace outside of my car, frustrated. I couldreallyuse this money to fend off the endless bills for another week or two.
But I should tell Domenic there was some mistake, even if I've avoided talking to my once-upon-a-time one-night-stand.
After agonizing over the decision for the rest of my lunch break, I creep back into the casino and stiffen when I see that Domenic Caputo is also standing in the hall on the way to the security room, talking quietly but firmly with Big Luck.
When I get a little closer, I see Big Luck has blood smeared on his jaw. It doesn't look like his. When he catches me looking, he squints at me.
"You're still here, huh?"
"Luck," Domenic warns.
They appear to have some kind of friendship built up beyond their obvious mobster loyalties, and the big brute sighs before disappearing down an adjoining hallway. I straighten and put on a bright smile as I stand alone with the father of my secret baby, willing myself to not chicken out.
"Hi. Sorry to bother you, sir, but—"
"No."
I swallow my words. "Um. No, what?"
"You don't call me sir." His gaze is unnervingly firm, almost chastizing. He might've looked frustrated if he wasn't so well put together.
"If I can't call you sir and I can't call you mister, what am I left with? Oh, captain, my captain?"
The corner of his mouth looks like it wants to move up, but it doesn't. "I told you. Domenic."
It feels too intimate to call him just by his first name, given how I once moaned and screamed it all night. Just remembering that and how he'd whispered my own name like a prayer makes my thighs clench and my ears feel warm.
I pretend I'm totally unfazed and forego using his name altogether. "Right. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know there was some payment mistake. I got…well, more than I should have, and I wanted to be upfront about it—"
