Ace of Hearts

Chapter 1-2

Tony

Merda. Pepper Heart is nothing like what I expected. I figured her for a party girl—a spoiled young rock star who’d pissed her money away like water. Either that, or a child in need of growing up, maybe whose parents or manager had grossly mismanaged her career and finances. And the latter may still be true, but Pepper is neither a child, nor a vapid starlet.

She’s every bit a woman.

A beautiful woman with slender, muscular legs like a ballerina. Youthful, braless—f**k yes, braless—t**s that shift under her sweet little babydoll dress like they’re begging to be licked. She has a fluffy, platinum bob over a pink under layer and heavy black eyeliner around those eyes. Those eyes were what stripped me of my judgment about her. Big, deep, the color of warm caramel: they are full of pain.

And if I see that asshole manager of hers grab her by the elbow like that again, I’m going to yank his tie so tight his eyes pop out.

I swear to la madonna.

I order my guys to keep an eye on her at all times, because I don’t like the fact that she only has one bodyguard, and fans who want to get up close to that ripe little body of hers.

I trail behind her entourage at a distance, telling myself I’m just making sure they’re fulfilling their obligations to me. To Nico. And Junior.

Pepper Heart owes a s**t ton of money to the Tacones, and it’s my job to make sure she pays it off. I’d say she’s lucky she has the talent and following for me to squeeze, but it’s not luck. Junior Tacone knew what he was doing when he let her borrow 900K to produce and release her last album and worldwide tour—which sold sluggishly. He knew we could put her to work at the Bellissimo. Forever, if we need to.

The sweet little songbird’s in my cage now.

And f**k if I don’t wish she was the spoiled brat starlet drinking and partying her way through her tour. Because I don’t like to squeeze a woman.

I have a big f*****g problem with it, actually.

It’s always been my sore spot.

The don warned his son Nico about me when he sent us off to Vegas together, years ago. When Nico decided to make a name for himself away from Chicago, Don Tacone said, “Trust Tony. He’ll be your most loyal soldier. Just don’t ever ask him to hurt a woman. And don’t you ever hurt a woman. Or else all bets will be off.”

The don knew. He turned a blind eye as I worked to right the wrongs of my childhood. Bloodied my hands and my soul, vigilante style.

So I hope to God Pepper’s shows sell out, we get her debt paid and send her out of here unscathed.

Because I don’t want her to know the kind of violence I’m capable of. What I’ve done since I sold my soul to the devil Don Tacone.

I stop one of the cocktail waitresses. “Deliver a bottle of our finest champagne to Ms. Heart’s dressing room with my compliments.”

It’s not because I feel guilty.

It’s just to smooth things over between us. A gesture of welcome, to show her she’ll be treated with respect, so long as she does as she’s told.

Definitely not because I give a s**t what she thinks about me. Or because that sexy little glare she gave me when we were introduced got me harder than a rock.

I shouldn’t celebrate the fact that she’s not afraid.

Putting her at ease is definitely not part of this job.