Vegas Underground Collection: Books 5-8

Chapter 5-1

Chapter 5

Desiree

Two men arrive late afternoon—more Tacones, judging by the resemblance. Junior seems less than enthusiastic to see them and they’re subdued as they come into Gio’s room, Junior trailing behind them. I wonder if Junior’s decision not to take Gio to a hospital was a controversial one.

I’m in the room, repacking the wound, rolling him to another side and changing out the IV bag. “Hi, boys,” I breeze, like it’s perfectly normal for a nurse to be doing home health care on a gunshot victim.

“This is Desiree,” Junior says. “She was Ma’s nurse after the hip surgery.”

Both men eye me speculatively. “I’m Stefano,” the friendlier looking one says with a Hollywood worthy smile. He holds out his hand, but I spread my gloved fingers and shake my head. Not a good time to shake.

“This is Nico,” Stefano introduces the other man, who just looks at me coolly. He’s as scary as Junior in his own way. All three are handsome as hell, but Junior’s definitely the hottest. He’s at least ten years older, and I find the age on him attractive. The slight graying at the temples and the hard lines on his face make him look more powerful. Seasoned.

“I heard all about you from your mom. You own the big casino in Vegas, right?” It’s where most the Tacone money comes from these days, if I understand correctly.

Stefano nods and they turn their attention to Gio, apparently done with me.

“Hey, Gio. You don’t look so hot,” Stefano says when Gio’s eyes flutter open. He’s been mostly out, which is to be expected. I’m keeping him on a healthy dose of pain meds and a mild sedative.

“Vaffanculo,” Gio mumbles and the two newcomers chuckle. I’m guessing it was some kind of curse.

There’s a charged silence in the room.

“Well?” Junior demands. There’s a defensive note to his voice and now I’m sure there’s conflict over how he handled this. For some reason I feel firmly on his side even though his method involved k********g me and making me an accessory to his crimes. It’s not super logical, but I guess I don’t like seeing him on the defensive. Not when I’ve seen how much he cares about his wounded brother. I’m sure his decision is costing him in more gray hairs.

“I’m not stupid enough to offer my opinion without you asking for it.” Nico’s tone is grim.

“Say it,” Junior growls.

“I think Gio looks like he’s in good hands,” Nico says. “But if he takes a turn for the worse, I say take him to the hospital. If the cops come asking, I’ll make sure you have the best f*****g lawyer in the country there is.”

“Just say what? He got skewered roasting marshmallows?” Junior snaps.

I finish with the IV bag, but I’m nosy as hell and want to hear the conversation, so I fiddle with the medications on the dresser.

“You say nothing.”

There’s a long silence and I turn around because I get the sense they’re communicating without words. Sure enough, all eyes are on me.

“Desiree, go downstairs,” Junior says. No please, no thank you. But that’s pretty much par for the course with him.

And of course, bluster is par on my course. “Why don’t you three go downstairs?” I challenge. “My job is in this room.”

Nico and Stefano freeze and I realize I’ve made a huge mistake. Both shoot glances at Junior as if expecting he’s going to explode. Since I’m the one who mouthed off, their fear must be for me. I guess mouthing off when it’s just Junior is one thing. Mouthing off in front of others might be cause for correction.

An icy tingle races down my spine, but I toss my hair and raise my brows at Junior, keeping up my bluff.

He reaches for me, and catches my arm, but his grasp isn’t rough. He pulls me against his body, my back to his chest. One arm wraps around my waist, one hand cages my throat. Lips at my ear, he murmurs in a voice too low for the others to hear, “Baby, you are definitely getting punished for that.”

My p***y clenches at the rumble of s*x in his voice.

I don’t say anything, but my breath comes in pants.

“Now listen up. We have s**t to discuss, and unless you want to be more of an accessory than you already are, you need to get downstairs and out of earshot, capiche?”

The hand around my throat isn’t tight at all, and his thumb lifts to stroke the side of my jaw—a lover’s caress. Our backs are to the others, so it feels like a secret message to me. He’s seeking my compliance without losing face.

“Would it kill you to say please or thank you?” I mutter. I don’t know why I’m so stubborn—it’s just in my genes, I guess.

I feel his smile against my temple. “Per favore.” He releases me and I spin around and smirk, far too pleased with myself for getting a concession from this hard man. Of course, he has to go and smack my a*s as I head out of the room, settling the score back firmly in his favor.

Pues. Now I know the truth. Junior Tacone gives the girl he’s screwing more leeway than his own brothers.

And I kind of love that.

I go downstairs and search Junior’s cabinets for something to make for dinner. He has pasta, so I put a pot of water on to boil. I’d unpacked fresh sausages from the groceries Paolo brought earlier—apparently he considers them a staple. I smile to myself at these Italian boys. They fit the stereotype in absolutely every way. It’s so cliché it’s almost funny.

The men come down about forty minutes later. Stefano wanders into the kitchen while Nico and Junior remain out in the living room, talking.

“We’re taking off.”

“Yeah? How long are you in town for?”

“We’re flying back tonight. Gotta run the business. Listen, you take good care of my brother, okay?”

I stop pushing the sausages around the frying pan and turn to face him. “Gio’s going to recover,” I promise. I’ve seen enough of these cases. I mean something could go wrong, but he’s got a really great chance of making a full recovery.

“I meant Junior,” Stefano corrects and I gape in surprise. He winks at me. “He has a real thing for you,” he says. “I haven’t seen him like this with a woman before.”

I still can’t seem to speak, I just stand there with my mouth open, wooden spatula in my hand.

“I hope you’ll forgive him for shoehorning you into this.”

I swallow.

He shrugs. “Well, it looks like you’re already busting his balls on a daily basis, so I probably don’t need to worry too much about you, right? You have our stronzo brother handled better than any of us.”

“What’s stronzo?”

He grins. “Asshole.”

“Stefano, get the f**k away from her,” Junior growls from the living room.

His grin widens, and he throws his hands out, Italian style. “What? I’m not flirting. I’m engaged—you know that. Just giving her a few pointers for handling you.” He winks at me again and turns, sauntering out in his thousand dollar suit and shiny dress shoes.

Junior comes into the doorway and gives me a suspicious up and down sweep with his eyes before seeing them to the door. While he’s gone, I plate the food for us and set it on the table, then sit down and start eating.