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Perhaps that doesn't matter now because I accepted the position as head don two years ago, and now my father can't seem to get over his old position. He's made it painfully clear that he disagrees with most of my methods. He likes to point at the successes of him and the other Caputo predecessors who have been running the Golden Flame Casino for several generations, all wildly successful in their time.
It doesn't matter that the casino is thriving compared to others in today's economy. It doesn't matter how highly lauded the establishment is ranked, top of the best casinos in Vegas with reviews and recommendations and high-profile figures sweeping in every day of the week.
All my father sees is that, unlike in his day or his father's, I haven't made my mark. I'm not the best of theCaputoswho have run The Golden Flame, and it's something he won't let go of.
"There's so much you could be doing differently," he mutters, puffing smoke. "It's not the way of our family to keep our playing cards so close to the vest, you know. Caputos are proud. We don't tolerate indecision. And by your age? Better to be settled down in the eyes of the public. Have all the women around all you like, and have your fun, butappearingtied down is the important thing. People like the idea of a family man. That might improve the business, hmm?"
I give up on my own cigar, setting it in the ashtray and standing to button my suit coat. I know we're done talking business when he's opened this can of worms. If I stay any longer, I'll lose my patience, something I refuse to do around him anymore.
"Nic," he protests, standing and grunting from the pain of his bad knees. Too many times, other mafiosos came after them, along with plenty of scars hidden beneath his suit. He's had all the best surgeries, but the violence of our lifestyle always takes its toll in some way or another. "We have more to discuss."
"Tomorrow."
He scoffs and follows me to the door of his penthouse office. "You won't come back tomorrow. You only stop by a couple times a week. You know it's lonely, only having one son who's busy doing God-knows-what."
Busy running the casino that you were so fucking insistent that I take over.
I want to snap at him, but too much of my life has been spent trying to get my father to see reason the way I do. Some people don't perceive life the same way, let alone organized crime or how I should spend my time.
I face him with a slight smile. "I'll be back Thursday. Your doctor mentioned your high cholesterol again. Watch the red meat and dairy."
He scowls after me, but I've already stepped into the elevator, and when it starts to descend, I breathe out and rub my neck and temples. I've been trying to keep the business together the way I see fit, and while so many would look at my handling of it and see careful, calculated gains, my father sees it as failing.
If only his opinions and disappointment didn't affect me.
I've tried ignoring it. I tried telling myself that he was an older man now, softer, not the same powerful figure I looked up to as a boy and marveled at. But no matter his age now, I often still feel like that boy watching him come home smoking a cigar with blood on his fists and a smile on his face.
I thought I wanted to be like him. It's how I was raised. I'm not afraid of violence. I've gotten my hands dirty as a mafioso ever since I was eleven years old, and my parents gifted me a gun and a set of pocket knives for my birthday, telling me it was time I got into the family business.
It hardly fucking matters if I still want this life. There's nooutin families like mine. I just need to show my father that I know what I'm doing, even if he doesn't have the patience for it. One way of doing that is making sure the casino hacking problem in Las Vegas steers clear of my establishment.
Which means checking in on the woman I haven't managed to keep out of my head for the last week and a half.
After I told her to keep the money, Loren returned to barely looking at me whenever we were in the same room. She's a hard worker, arriving early every morning and leaving only when the head of my security does. She has admirable focus and looks damn tempting every second of every day. Still, I sense her unease whenever I'm around. It bothers me more than I care to admit.
I don't want Loren to be uneasy around me. Too many others are put off by my personality. I want her to smile warmly, giggle, and joke around the way she did the night we met.
And I want to find out why she returned because I know she skirted around the truth when I asked. She's too smart to have returned merely because she thought she could escape it.
It's unlikely, but perhaps she returned to see if I was still around. I try to ignore how much I like that idea. Loren having any interest in me would be dangerous because I still haven't forgotten how it felt to worship her body over and over, hearing her soft gasps and feeling her fingers tangled in my hair.
That night replays in my mind, as does her crestfallen face the next morning when I threatened and banned her for her own safety.
I scowl at myself for lingering so much on something Loren clearly has no intention of repeating as I walk into the back hall of my casino, headed toward the main security room. It's late in the day, and there's every chance she's already left. I have no reason to be back here right now, yet I can't stop using every excuse I can to get near her.
When I step inside, there are only a handful of my security staff—and Loren. She's in one of the office chairs, black high-heeled feet propped up on a desk as she pores over printed documents with an adorable furrow in her brow, chewing her lower lip. Her hair is falling out of the messy braid over one shoulder. She's so distracted she doesn't even glance over, not noticing that I've come in.
Instead, I resist the temptation to stride over, reach out, and smooth the frown on her pretty face with my lips. It's certainly not something I can do when other security members are chatting quietly and keeping one eye on the cameras and one on me, their boss.
I ignored them and approached Loren directly for the first time since hiring her. I keep my voice quiet enough that no one else will overhear our conversation—they already see nearly every move I make in my own casino. My words with Loren aren't their fucking business.
"Working late?"
Loren jolts upright so fast that she nearly falls out of the chair, cheeks pink.
"God. Hasn't anyone told you not to sneak up on someone in a room full of security cameras?" Then she makes a face. "On second thought, the fact that you could sneak up on me in here, of all places, just reflects badly on me. Sorry, I lost track of time, but I know you said no overtime, so I'll get out of—"
"Have you eaten?"
