Unspoken Obsession (Casino King #4)

5. Francesca

FRANCESCA

J ake came for dinner like he does twice a week. It's getting late, and he helps me by putting Damion to bed while I clean up the dinner dishes. When, out of nowhere he makes a move on me.

I'm standing at the kitchen counter when Jake steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my stomach and holding me against his chest.

"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to shrug him off.

"Don't be ridiculous, Frankie. You want this too. You can't keep denying it."

I try to push him away, but he holds tighter, and fear creeps in. My blood turns cold, and I ask nicely.

"Jake, please. We've spoken about this." I turn around, and now my back is against the counter so I'm facing him, looking into his eyes so that he can see how serious I am. "Jake I think you need to leave." He's made me uncomfortable.

He snarls and shakes his head. "You've been taunting me for years. A cock-tease, and I'm not fucking leaving. It's time you give me what I've been waiting for."

I scream when he grabs me by the throat, his hand cutting off the sound, and lifts me onto the kitchen counter. He's clumsy as he pushes his hips between my legs, shoving my dress out of the way. I kick, trying to move backward—anything to get away from him.

My head is spinning from the lack of oxygen because he is gripping my throat so tight I can't breathe.

I watch in horror as he tugs his belt off and unzips his jeans. His cock is throbbing and veiny when he pulls it out.

Tears are streaming down my face. "Please. Please stop this." I plead with him.

He dips his fingers between my legs and rips my panties off. The fabric cuts into me and my skin is left raw.

My fingers claw at his face, and he knocks me backward, hitting my head against the cabinet behind me and a dizzy wave of nausea washes over me.

I want to vomit.

He grabs his cock and pushes it between my legs.

I can't believe this is happening. Why is he doing this?

My vision swims in and out of focus, but I don't stop fighting him off.

Jake's eyes shoot wide with fright and he is flying across the room.

I fall off the counter and land on the hard kitchen floor, rubbing my throat desperate for air.

There are two men standing over Jake. One of them is holding him down, the other has a knife. He swings it in a wide arch from his hip upwards—straight through the bottom of Jake's jaw. It makes a cracking, squelching sound when the blade embeds inside his skull.

I turn to the side and puke as blood pours from his head and splashes onto the kitchen floor.

Through my tears, I watch the two men hoist Jake's lifeless body onto their shoulders and drag him from my peaceful little cottage. My haven that now has become some kind of hell.

I can't move.

I don't understand what is going on, how did they know? Did I scream?

After a while one of them returns to the kitchen where I am huddled against the cupboard with my knees against my chest. I want to check on Damion, but perhaps it is safer if I leave him where he is so that these attackers don't find him. He's quiet and safe for the time being.

But I'm terrified.

"Francesca." The man says my name and I choke in shock. "Your father says it's time for you to come home."

And then he walks out of the cottage, and I am left alone with a puddle of blood and the worst kind of fear in my heart.

My father's men found me, and now they are following me everywhere.

It's making the whole town talk and whisper, and rumors are feeding the gossip mill and it's making my life here more challenging. Everyone keeps asking me if I've heard from Jake and I have no idea what to say. My life has turned into a complete nightmare.

I came to town this morning to get some groceries and a new pair of shoes for Damion. He is growing so fast, and at three he is a little firecracker of mayhem and unbridled energy.

He has his father's eyes. Bright blue and piercing. In his first year, I kept expecting them to fade or change but that intense blue stayed.

Everyone comments on it.

Walking through town, I notice the goon following close behind me, the handgun on his belt hidden beneath his jacket. I scoop Damion into my arms so that I can walk faster.

I'll get his shoes another day. I hate this, I want to get out of here.

Everyone is staring at me as though I don't belong here anymore like I am an outsider.

I sigh as I climb into my car.

I guess I never belonged here. It was a temporary escape. A vacation from my real life.

My father will never stop having me followed.

The only way to stop them is to go back to Las Vegas.

It fills me with relief, and it terrifies me at the same time. I knew he would find us, I just thought that Damion would be a little older.

He is the sweetest little boy with the kindest heart - and I am so scared of him changing when we go back to where we came from. The heart of Sin City.

They knew what they were doing when they gave Las Vegas that nickname.

I drive home along the long dirt road with Damion strapped into the child seat in the back. He is singing his favorite song in a jumble of words that make no sense, but I recognize the tune, so I hum along with him.

I am relieved to see that we are not being followed. I guess they know where I live - so they'll just pick up where they left off tomorrow.

Parking outside my little cottage I stop the car and turn off the engine.

"Home." Damion shouts tugging at his seatbelt.

"Baby calm down, I'll help you with that in a second."

"No, I do it." He says, sounding frustrated while his little fingers press the wrong part of the clip.

I chuckle, climb out of the car, and go around to help him.

"Here, press this." I point to the red button, hidden.

"Oooh." He squeals as it springs open.

He stands up and with no warning, he leaps forward into my arms. I laugh and step back away from the car, then spin him around in the air.

He leans his head back and stares up at the sky, grinning.

Then I put him down and he bolts towards the bucket of play-dough he was playing with just before we left for town.

I sigh as he dunks his hands right into the goo and grabs two handfuls. I'll bathe him again after this. Luckily he enjoys the water.

Walking up to the front door I see my landlord has left a note for me. She does this to invite me for dinner some nights or to ask me to help her with something.

I pull the note off the door.

But it isn't from her.

It's from my father.

My heart is beating so fast I can barely breathe. Dizziness sweeps over me, and I grab the railing of my little wooden porch and sit down on the swing chair near the door.

With shaking hands I unfold the piece of paper.

Francesca,

I'm done playing games. It's time to come home. Do not make me force you.

You've got forty-eight hours and then I expect you to return to Las Vegas. If you don't do as you're told I assure you–you will regret it.

Antonio

He signed the letter the same way he signed everything. Business contracts, bills, orders. Nothing is ever personal. Except it's my whole life. It's very personal to me.

I brush away the tear that spills from my eye and escapes down my cheek.

But Damion has been watching me.

He drops the wad of clay and runs over to me.

"Mommy sad," he says with concern, his little nose wrinkling with worry.

I smile, scooping him into my arms, ignoring his dirty little hands as he wraps his arms around my neck and hugs me.

"Mommy isn't sad. Mommy will be ok. But guess what little guy. We are going on an adventure. Do you want to go on an adventure with Mommy?"

"Avedent—"

"Yes." I laugh as his face scrunches in concentration.

"Ad-ven-ture."

"Ana-dent?—"

I stand up, holding him tight. "Let's go bathe and start packing. Do you want chicken nuggets for dinner?"

"Cheeken." He shouts. It's his favorite. I swear he would eat it for breakfast lunch and dinner if I let him.

I've got no choice now. I can't stay here anymore. It's too dangerous and anyone close to me here could get hurt. I need to go back home.

Las Vegas hasn't changed at all.

Nothing and everything is different.

It has the same smell, the same sounds, the same bright lights. It's as though I've stepped back in time, right back to where I left. It might be easy to forget that I ever left in the first place - except I've changed.

My hair is darker, no longer bleached blonde - now it is back to its natural color. It's longer and falls in wavy curls over my shoulders. I'm more alert, from years of being in hiding, and I no longer go by the name Francesca.

I am just Frankie now. I hope the slight changes in me will help me blend in and go unnoticed.

I don't want anyone to know who I am or that I am back.

For Damion's sake, I want to stay under the radar and unknown.

When I arrived three men confronted me.

My father's goons.

They tried to tell me they were taking me right back to my old home - my father's mansion - but I refused.

Instead, I've moved into a small apartment in the city, near the casinos.

I can't face the idea of living with my father - and how his overbearing control will affect Damion who has only known a peaceful, free life in the countryside.

I don't want this Las Vegas life for my son and even though I am back I will do everything I can to keep him safe from my father's suffocating influence.

Tonight, I am on my way to see my father for the first time since I left.

Seated in the back of the town car he sent for me, with Damion strapped in beside me, my stomach is in knots. Riddled with anxiety, I can't sit still.

Damion can sense something is wrong, even though I am doing my best to hide it from him.

He keeps looking over at me, a little frown on his face.

I keep reassuring him as best I can.

"We are going to see your grandpa," I say, tucking a dark wild curl behind his ear.

"Gampa?"

"Yes, baby. Then we will go home and make some chicken nuggets."

He nods, satisfied that he is getting chicken nuggets soon.

I stare out of the window, trying not to fidget.

Whatever happens - I will not let me father keep us there. That is my primary concern. His men could've kidnapped me at any time and they haven't - yet. So, me going to the house, or not going to the house will not make a difference.

We arrive at his mansion, and he is standing on top of the steps, like the 'king of the castle' waiting for the peasants to arrive. I get out of the car and pick Damion up.

Taking a slow, deep breath to settle my nerves.

"Dad," I say, walking up the steps towards him.

"Francesca, my daughter, it's good to see you." He steps aside and gestures for me to go inside.

Once we are in the house, he closes the front door and my throat tightens.

It's so strange being back in this house and there are far too many memories slamming into me right now.

"Is this my grandson?" My father says, tilting towards Damion.

Damion's little fingers grip tighter onto the shoulders of my jersey. He can sense something is off about this man. He isn't comfortable.

"This is Damion. Damion - this is my dad - your grandfather."

Damion scrunches his nose and leans his head against me. "Hello." His quiet little greeting comes out in a whisper.

"He's timid, isn't he? You can tell he wasn't raised by a man. It's good that you came back now while he is still young."

I grit my teeth, holding back the sassy reply I want to make, and instead opt to keep this visit as civil as possible. I knew my father would be his usual, cold self. I shouldn't let it surprise or hurt me.

His comment does make me wonder -- what are his plans for my son? Does he think I will let him teach my son about the mafia?

There is no fucking chance I will let that happen.

A new fear creeps in, the fear that my father intends to take my son from me because he is the perfect heir to his empire.

I push it away. There is no point in panicking now. Keep your head clear. Stay focused. Be polite. Keep it civil.

"We can't stay long, Dad. I need to get Damion home for dinner and bath time. I just wanted to say hello - and let you know I am back in Las Vegas."

"My men tell me you are going by the name Frankie now. Why is that? And who is the bastard's father?"

"It is nothing for you to worry about."

I'm going by the name Frankie to hide from my old self - the girl who lived under my father's oppressive rules. I don't want people to know that I am Francesca Musetti. I don't want them to associate me or my son with my father's name. I can't tell him that. It will only piss him off.

As for his question about who the father is. Well - I can't answer that because I don't know - and even if I did - it's none of his business.

I want to find out - even if I do it from a distance. He's here in Vegas somewhere.

My father huffs in annoyance and I can see his jaw clench. I've already upset him.

His eyes are cold and like daggers as he stares at me. His hair is a silver-gray, always sleek, and never a hair out of place. Even his close-cropped beard is silver now.

Yet, he doesn't look his age.

He looks sharp, and hyper-aware of everything around him. Decades of having to watch his back turned him into a paranoid control freak, driven by power he's a monster of a man.

I turn my face away from his stare.

I don't like the way it makes me feel.

In the living room, I do my best to hold a civil conversation with him, but every moment that goes by all I want to do is leave. Finally, when Damion becomes fidgety, overtired, and starts crying a little - I take my cue and as fast as lightning I say my goodbyes and get the men to take me home.

I can't even explain how much of a relief it is to be arriving back home, to my little apartment with Damion.

After chicken nuggets and carrots for dinner, it's the only vegetable he will eat right now - cooked, soft, and drizzled with a tiny bit of honey - Damion is fresh out of a warm bath and tucked into bed.

I call Clarissa, the girl who lives downstairs who I interviewed the day I got here; she is his nanny and I want to ask her to come and sit in the apartment while he sleeps so that I can head out for a while.

I need to clear my head.

A part of me wants to go to the Russo River Casino - but it is only because that is where I last saw his father. It's ridiculous to think that I would bump into the mysterious stranger again in the same place all these years later.

Besides, the new casino that opened up while I was gone is closer to my apartment and I don't want to be gone for long.

I just want to play a few games of Blackjack. I want to see if I still have my secret skills. The money would be good too. I'd prefer to not have my father support us here.

The casino is loud and colorful, just as I remembered them all to be. No windows, no clocks, just shiny lights, and the thrill of the games. I am wearing an understated but elegant black dress. I want to blend in, not stand out.

Sliding onto a seat at the Blackjack table I nod for the dealer to deal me in as I slide my chips across the table.

And yes - I do still have it. In fact, as soon as I play it all comes back to me, and the thrill, excitement, and that strange sense of empowerment I get when I count cards - it sets a wide smile across my face.

I play for an hour, letting go of all my worry and all of my stress about being back here in this City of Sin.

My father seems to be happy to let me keep some distance for now; I am in his city. He doesn't need to know that Damion's father was a one-night stand. He doesn't even need to know that Damion's father is a stranger to me. And I will take it day by day - doing everything I can to stay out of the mafia world that I despise. My son will not grow up having to watch his back.

I am terrified that my father only invited me back so that he could raise my son to take over his empire. He was always desperate for an heir to his kingdom.

If I need to - I can run again. Even though I doubt my father would just allow me to leave this time. But no matter what - I will be ok. And my son will be safe. I will make sure of it.