Ruthless Vow (Vegas Vicious #2)

6. Leo

6

Leo

Charlie is a cat. A fucking cat.

The relief I felt when Nicole said that makes no sense.

My fascination with her makes no sense.

That kiss. That fucking kiss.

Nicole Milano is not beautiful, not in the conventional sense. Her cheekbones are high and a little too sharp. Her jaw a little too strong. Her nose a little too long. Her brows are dark and full over piercing brown eyes. The ragged haircut she gave herself is terrible, but it’s actually flattering, the wisps of bangs and the strands that hug her cheeks softening her face. With her wrists bound above her head, she had no way to slouch. She’s taller than I thought. Five-foot-nine or ten.

No, Nicole is not beautiful if you take her apart, feature by feature.

But put it all together and she’s sleek and lustrous, agile, streamlined. Arresting. Magnificent. How the fuck did I not notice any of this before she tried to kill me?

Flashes of memory flicker in my thoughts. Late at night, when I’d been working for twelve hours straight, Nicole setting a bottle of cold water and a sandwich on my desk though I hadn’t asked for them. Issuing a soft order, “Eat.” And I ate.

Nicole accompanying me to a meeting with the mayor. He’d been testy, slippery, avoiding committing to my request that he ensure that a certain investigation by law enforcement be dropped. She’d silently handed him a single sheet of paper, a bullet-point summary of all our campaign contributions. Nothing untoward. All legitimate. But the sight of the physical list had been enough to push the mayor into a commitment. I hadn’t even known she’d prepared it.

Nicole sitting with me in my father’s office two days after his death. With tears in her eyes, she’d poured two glasses of Macallan single malt scotch, my father’s favorite whiskey. She’d put one on his desk beside his chair and set the second in front of me. Then she sat down beside me and didn’t say a word. Just let me have that final moment of memory with my father as I slowly drank the whiskey.

Only in retrospect do I see the care she’d offered and the fact that I’d liked it.

I’d thought she’d mourned my father right along with me. And I still believe that, despite all I’ve discovered, because I saw the pain and heartbreak etched in her face.

I’d thought she was loyal to the core. In that, I was wrong.

She is a viper. A snake. A traitor.

She’s also cunning, elusive, resilient. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. My wolf.

I want to rip her clothes off, stroke her naked skin, push my cock down her throat, fuck her cunt while she moans and begs.

I want to mark her, own her.

The look on her face when she’d asked me if we were in a sex dungeon… For a second, I’d wanted to be. I’d wanted her bound and naked so I could play with her until she begged and sobbed and lost her fucking mind.

I shake my head. I must be out of my fucking mind.

I take the stairs two at a time, then slap open the metal door at the top. It opens to a massive empty warehouse. I stride to the office at the back and find Luca sitting in front of a laptop, my calendar open in front of him.

“You summoned me?” I say.

“Yeah,” he says, apparently missing my sarcasm. Or maybe choosing to ignore it.

He stares at the laptop, frowning.

“Because…” I prompt him.

“Cass is here,” he says.

“Where?”

“Forgot my phone in the car,” my brother says from the doorway behind me. “Just went out to grab it.” He takes a seat on the dark brown leather sofa against the far wall.

“How’s Dante?” I ask.

“Showered. Shaved. Got a haircut. Hasn’t had a drink in two days. He almost looks like himself,” Cass says.

“Good to hear,” I say. Our brother Dante blames himself for our father’s death. He believes that if he had been more vigilant, Enzo Bianchi would have failed. He’s wrong. It’s just going to take some time for him to accept it. Until then, we’re taking turns hanging out with him, having meals together, making sure he isn’t alone because he’s set himself on a course of self-destruction and we have no intention of letting him succeed. I had dinner with him a couple of nights ago. Cass saw him for lunch today. Damian and Alina are taking him for Sunday brunch. Sabina’s convinced him to join her for mini golf in the afternoon. Not sure how she accomplished that, but good for her.

“Got two pieces of information you might be interested in,” Cass says. “One is about the Ivanovs. The other might be.”

I hook my ankle around the leg of one of the office chairs and pull it out. “Go on,” I say as I sit.

“One of the men on the yacht, the guy with gray hair. Name’s Danila. He’s part of the Vasiliev syndicate from Chicago.”

“What’s he doing in Vegas?” I ask.

“Still looking for the answer to that,” Cass says. “Dante’s on it.”

I nod. “And the Ivanovs?”

“Word has it they’re moving 500 AK-47s, 200 RPG-7 launchers, fragmentation grenades, some night vision goggles, and body armor. It’s all coming from Belarus. Arriving at a private airstrip near Henderson on the 13 th . Leaving Vegas for Mexico on the 25 th . They’ll be using armored SUVs and private trucks for transportation.”

“Who’s the buyer?” I ask.

“Waiting for confirmation on that,” Cass says. “But it’s looking like the Scorpions.”

They’re a biker gang in control of drug trafficking routes between Nevada and California.

“Nicely done,” I say.

“Ah, the highest praise from my oldest brother. What more can a man want?” Cass grins.

“A gorgeous woman, a great meal, a bottle of fine wine, and a book?” Luca says.

Cass laughs. “I’m on board for three out of the four.”

“What, you don’t want the gorgeous woman?” Luca asks.

I only half listen as they banter. My thoughts are on the Ivanovs. This arms deal doesn’t step on our toes, so I have no reason to feel wary. But when it comes to Mikhail Ivanov, I’m always wary. He’s a wild card. Unpredictable. And as Dante has often said, he’s a piece of shit. He treats everyone like garbage, even his son Nikolai.

Most importantly, he ordered the hit that killed my father.

I’m biding my time, gathering information, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I will annihilate Mikhail Ivanov. But first I will make his operation burn.

He started this war when he had my father killed. But I will end it, in my own way, in my own time.

Revenge is by its very nature an emotional, impulsive response, and given free rein, those emotions can control a man. I am a man who prefers to control my emotions.

After Cass leaves, I turn to Luca and ask, “You need anything else before I leave?”

“Yeah.” He gestures at the laptop on the desk. “There are files on here that are password protected. We need the passwords.”

Those files probably contain information that Nicole has been accruing ever since she started working for my father. Information she has been sharing with whomever is pulling her strings.

“I’ll get the passwords,” I say.

“You find out anything of value while you were down there with her?” Luca asks.

I think of the way Nicole tasted, the sounds she made when I kissed her, the lust that etched her features. “A few things,” I say.

“You know, this hurts. This betrayal. I always liked Nicole,” Luca says. “She’s smart. Funny. Has a sarcastic sense of humor if you listen for it.”

“When the fuck were you listening to Nicole?” I snarl the question at him. She’s funny? Sarcastic? Why the fuck have I never noticed her sense of humor before now?

“Who pissed in your Cheerios? She’s been working for us for years. You think I’ve never spoken with her?” He shoots me a what-the-hell look. “You want me to take a turn with her? See what I can find out?”

The offer isn’t outrageous. Trading off interrogators is something we’ve done often. The presence of more than one person increases the pressure, makes the interrogation more intense, overwhelms the subject.

But the thought of Luca or anyone else going near Nicole ignites a possessive rage in my gut that is both unfamiliar and unwelcome. No one touches her. No one but me.

“No,” I tell him flatly.

“Okay.” Again, he shoots me a what-the-hell look.

“Anything else you need?” I ask, struggling to keep my tone neutral.

“Uh, yeah. Just want to let you know that you’re having lunch Friday with the Mayor,” Luca says, glancing at the laptop.

“No,” I shake my head. “Friday lunch I have that meeting with Bennett.” The accountant. “That should already be in there.”

Luca leans closer to the screen.

“It’s not here,” he says.

I round the desk and look over his shoulder. He’s right. The accountant isn’t there. I grunt. I could swear I entered it.

“Okay, confirm the mayor and call Bennett to reschedule,” I say. “What about Giuseppe’s widow? Did you send her something?”

“Done,” Luca says. “Cognac. Remy Martin. The 6-liter bottle. And I sent the white chrysanthemums to the mayor.”

“What? No, Luca, the cognac was for the mayor. The flowers were for the widow. She’s a recovering alcoholic. And white chrysanthemums? They represent death, grief, and mourning. The mayor’s going to think it’s a message. That we plan to ice him.”

“Fuck.” Luca snarls. He slams the lid of the laptop down and spins the office chair so he’s facing me. “I told you I was not the right person for this job,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “I cannot do Nicole’s job. I am not Executive Assistant material. I have fucking ADHD. There are a million radio stations playing in my head at all times. Hire someone who can do the job, someone organized and detail focused, and let me go back to the job I’m good at.”

“I can’t trust anyone,” I say.

“What about Sabina?”

“I asked her. She said no.”

“What about Alina?” he asks.

“No.” I’d already asked Damian about the possibility. His refusal was unequivocal.

“What about Vito?”

“Poor organizational skills,” I point out.

“Joe?”

“He’s a gossip.”

“True,” Luca says.

“You’re doing a great job,” I tell Luca.

He’s doing a terrible job.

So far, he’s botched dinner reservations, terrorized a woman from the bank who called to confirm a credit card expenditure, drafted the wrong report for a meeting, and failed to collaborate with Sabina on a list of venue options for her engagement party. And now he’s double booked me, sent cognac to a recovering alcoholic, and ordered a bouquet for the mayor that’s going to make him think I’m sending the message that I plan to assassinate him.

“I have a job for you,” I say. “One that does not involve scheduling or calendars.”

Luca surges to his feet. “Thank god.”

“I need you to find, retrieve, and deal with Nicole’s cat.”

Luca frowns. “Find, retrieve, and deal with her… cat ?”

Annoyance surges. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

Luca sits back down. “No. No way.”

“No? You’re saying no?”

“I’m saying no.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. “I’m not doing a cat. I have scruples.”

“Wait… what?”

“I’m not a killer.”

I stare at him, at a complete loss for words, probably for the first time in my life.

“You kill people all the time. It’s part of the job description,” I say, struggling for patience.

“People. Not cats. Or dogs. Or guinea pigs. Or fish. Or—”

“I get the picture. People are fine. Animals are not.” I shake my head. “For the record, I’m not asking you to kill the cat, just go get it. Bring it here.” I wave my hand. “Bring whatever it is that cats need… food, bowls, toys…”

“Litter box,” Luca supplies.

“Yeah. That, too.”

“Fine. But I’m not cleaning it.”

“The cat?”

“The litter box. Vito’s going to have to do it. Or Joe.”

I close my eyes for a second, wondering how this became my life.

Then I glance at the desk and gesture at the wrapper of the burger Luca had for lunch. “You do know that burgers come from animals, right?”

Luca looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Yeah, but I’m not the one who killed it.”