Stefano

I walk through the Bellissimo like I’m king of the castle, fucking proud of the place and what Nico’s built here.

I was with Nico when he talked our father into investing 1.2 million dollars to open a casino in Vegas. It wasn’t enough. Hell, the gambling license alone cost over thirty grand. But Nico was smart. He knew better than to involve any investors who weren’t family. Only Tacones were allowed to kick in and hold shares of the Bellissimo. And they did. He scraped together enough to get it open and built it from there.

Nico had the architects design the massive structure so it could be added onto in sections and he went classy right from the start: Italian tile, marble statues, beautiful rooms.

The first version of the Bellissimo was small, a boutique casino. Nothing cheesy about it—ever. And so it attracted high-end customers right from the start. Especially when word got out about the private games.

Nico had a business plan and a vision, and he convinced our family to invest. Still, I don’t think anyone expected it would turn out like this. Now, it’s a behemoth of a building—five different wings, twenty-eight stories high. Eight restaurants serve all kinds of food and it’s still the classiest joint in Vegas. And the money? It fucking overflows.

Speaking of my stronzo brother, I’ve been in the Bellissimo for thirty-six hours and haven’t seen the bastard. First he was out of hand looking for his woman. Now he’s gone home to fix things. We’ve talked on the phone and already texted a dozen times, but he’s too irritable to give me any good direction.

I dial his phone and he answers with the same impatience. “What is it?”

“Nice to hear from you, too. Did you get things straightened out?”

“I’m working on it.”

Of course he’s not going to tell me anything. He’s not exactly a let’s talk about our feelings kind of guy.

“You talk to Dad?”

“On my way now. Sondra’s with me.”

Sondra. The woman I want to meet. “Ah yes. I had to find out her name from a lovely red haired croupier last night.”

“You met Corey.”

“Yes. I enticed her to cheat and she tried to slap my face.”

Nico snorts. “Sounds about right.”

“What about Corey?” I hear the pleasant timbre of a female voice.

“Are you in the car? Put me on speaker.”

“No—fuck off.”

“Sondra,” I raise my voice so she might hear me. “I met your cousin last night,” I tell her. “I’m in love.”

Her laugh is light and sweet. Nico must have put her on speaker because I hear her voice clearly. “I’m definitely hearing the Italian in you.”

“No, it’s true,” I insist, but she’s right—even before my six-month stint in Sicily with my great uncle, I’d adopted the over-the-top aggressive courting style of my parents’ country of origin.

“He already got himself slapped,” Nico fills in.

“Uh oh.”

“Almost slapped,” I correct. “She tried. I didn’t allow it. We came to an understanding.”

“She’s under my protection,” Nico grumbles, but he knows I don’t hurt women.

“Nothing to worry about. I told you—I’m already in love.” As in, I can’t wait to get those long legs wrapped around my waist so I can pound into her hard and dirty.

Would she like it that way?

Somehow I think she would. But she’s not the type to go down without a fight, and I don’t have the time or attention to spare. I’m already up to my ears in work. I can see why Nico needed help running things.

“Listen, Stefano.” Nico takes the phone off speaker. He’s got a serious tone to his voice.

“Yeah?”

“If things go sideways, I need you to take care of…”

I understand what he’s saying—all too well. I think chances are slim he’ll die, but you never know. Our father’s in prison and Junior, our oldest brother, is a dick.

“I will protect what you love,” I say quietly, making the vow of it ring in my voice. I know that’s what he’s asking; he wants to know Sondra will be safe.

“Thank you.” Nico’s voice is gruff.

“Good luck, Nico. Let me know how it goes.”

“Yeah.” He hangs up and I shake my head.

My brother’s had a stupid marriage contract hanging over his head since we were kids. It was a way for our father to bind our family to another. Total stupidity, but signed in blood. Nico’s just been pretending it will never happen all these years, but now he’s in love. And she left him when she found out he had a fiancée.

Poor bastard. But if anyone can figure shit out when he needs to, it’s Nico.

Look at what he did with this place.

It’s bizarre to think of my brother in a committed relationship. I sure as hell hope he finds happiness.

Me? I don’t do committed. Ever.

I’m a ladies man. I love sex, but the rest of it? A relationship?

No thanks.

Corey

I’m uneasy about working the private game tonight. I don’t know if it’s my spidey sense alerting me to potential trouble or if I’m being paranoid. It’s the same uneasy feeling I had about Sondra dating Nico.

There’s danger at the Bellissimo and until this point, I always managed to stay out of it.

Still, I’m going to be well-paid. And although this might not help me when push comes to shove, my cousin has the owner’s ear. Of course, he didn’t think twice about making Dean disappear.

I wear a clingy red dress—the one Sondra borrowed last week when she got herself into trouble flirting with another man to make Nico jealous.

It molds to my body, showing off my cleavage with a plunging neckline and my long legs with a provocative slit up the side.

I’m not dressing for Stefano. I’m not.

Okay, yeah, he might have been on my mind as I showered and dressed. I might have paid a little more attention to my makeup and hair tonight than usual.

But that’s not because I hope anything will happen. Getting involved with Stefano Tacone is the last thing I’m interested in—the very last! But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a little male attention, especially from a man who makes my body light up when he’s nearby.

I park in the employee parking area and strut into the casino, my purse clutched under my arm. I put it away in an employee locker.

“What are you wearing?” Tad, one of the other croupiers asks. He’s okay. Pretty into himself, but nice enough. He gives me an up and down look without much interest. I’m not sure the guy is interested in anyone other than the person he sees in the mirror.

“Don’t ask,” I say as I pin my nametag on the dress and slam my locker shut.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He catches my arm. “What’s going on? Did you get transferred to another department?”

“You could say that. I’m dealing for a private game tonight.”

Tad’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Wow. Be careful.”

I nod. Okay, I wasn’t being paranoid. Even regular employees think this is a bad idea. “Thanks, I will.”

I head to Stefano’s office, holding my head high, sinking into my croupier persona. It’s an interesting one—more dominatrix than stewardess, but I still have to be approachable and friendly, especially when gamblers are warming up.

Stefano’s door stands ajar and I hear him reaming out one of the floor managers. His style is different from Nico’s. His body language is casual, not nearly so deadly, but the result is the same. The manager shakes in his wingtips. Which doesn’t bother me a bit, because the guy is a douche.

Stefano flicks a glance at me and holds up a finger, so I take a step back to give them privacy.

A few moments later, the manager comes out, sweat dripping from his temples.

I step in and Stefano flashes his panty-melting smile, unfolding himself from where he was perched on the edge of his desk, presumably to tower over the manager in a power play.

“Entra, bambina. You look great.” He does the fingertip kissing gesture like I’m something delicious he’s going to eat. “Perfezionare.” He walks right up to me and reaches for my nametag, unpinning it from my dress. His fingertips brush the bare skin of my décolletage, sending a tidal wave of heat pouring between my legs.

It’s far too intimate a gesture between boss and employee. I’m overly aware of his proximity—the Henry Cavill good looks, the scent of soap and light cologne, the deft movements of his fingers so close to my breasts. The man is always so damn self-assured, which shouldn’t unnerve me. I’m the same way—usually.

“No, nametag, hmm?” I step back, struggling to regain my footing.

“Nah. It detracts from the, ah, view.” He lets his eyes shamelessly wander over my cleavage before tossing my nametag on his desk with the same casual grace he does everything.

I frame my breasts with my hands. “Are the girls what got me this new job?” I ask drily.

He gives me a crooked smile. “They didn’t hurt.” Another lingering look that makes me roll my eyes. He smirks. “The game won’t start for a couple hours. Walk around the floor and be my eyes. Find me at 9:30 p.m. and I’ll take you upstairs.”

“Be your eyes?”

He nods like I should know exactly what he means. “Check security, look for anything suspicious or off, report anything you find.”

I try to hide my surprise at this new duty. I’m a croupier, not a security guard, but I don’t argue. At least it’s a task that my tits didn’t have to qualify for. Hell, it could actually be entertaining. I have a good sense for people. I can smell a rat a mile away. You might say I got it from my dad, but I try not to claim any traits of his, good or bad. And besides, he was the biggest rat of all—maybe that’s how I know.

I amble through the casino, stopping to watch the bets and tables. I enjoy looking through the lens of Stefano’s eyes. What would he want me to report?

He appears at my elbow an hour later. “Tell me.”

I jump at the voice so close to my ear, then curse inwardly for startling. “Tell you what I saw?” I turn to face him, unnerved by how close he’s standing to me.

“Mmm hmm. Your full report.” He has this way of looking at me—with appreciation and warmth, but also the promise of something I know I should avoid.

I lick my lips. “Well, I’m not sure what you want to hear about. I didn’t see anything big.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw a cocktail waitress keep a chip when a customer dropped it. I saw a dealer slip a five dollar chip in his pocket that wasn’t a tip, I saw a couple college kids attempting to count cards and failing.”

“Which dealer?” All the friendliness has left Stefano’s face, like stealing from the casino—even just five dollars—is an offense punishable by death.

A shiver runs down my spine when I realize how accurate that assessment might be. And I’m supposed to throw the guy under the bus.

I blink, hesitating for a moment.

Stefano’s eyes don’t leave my face, the intensity of his gaze ratcheting up.

“Andrew,” I murmur, because I’m not sure how to get out of this without giving a name. I probably shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

“I’ll tell you what I saw.” Ease has returned to his face.

“What?” I manage to say.

“I saw you rebuff six different men and attract the attention of nearly three dozen more. I saw a woman who knows how to handle herself with confidence and who pays attention.” He reaches out and puts a finger under my chin. I jerk away. He smirks again. “I like making you blush.”

“You don’t make me blush,” I snap. It’s an idiotic comeback since my blushes are impossible to hide. I sense one spreading across my chest and up my neck right now.

He at least has the decency to drop it. He takes my elbow. “Time to get you upstairs, bella. Let’s go.”

If anyone else took my elbow in such a bossy, controlling way, I would punch him. But it’s Stefano—a sex god in a thousand dollar suit—and his deft direction actually feels right. He’s like one of those ballroom dancers who can conduct a partner anywhere and everywhere simply with subtle changes in pressure of his hand at her back. I don’t pull away because I enjoy the sensation of being guided by him.

And that is just ten kinds of wrong, right there.

He takes me in the elevator to a private, key-card access only floor and lets me into a guest suite. It’s been set up for gambling. The bedroom door is closed and a horseshoe shaped table sits in the middle of the room with slim high top leather padded chairs around it. No chair for me. I take my spot behind the table and check the rolly cart holding my chips and five decks of cards still in their wrappers.

“Same rules as downstairs. Only thing different will be the minimum and upper bids, capiche?”

I nod at Stefano’s clipped instructions.

He produces a water bottle, which he places beside me. “This is for you. Leo will be here the entire time. If any of them give you trouble, just signal him.”

“Where will you be?” I don’t know why I ask. It’s stupid. It’s not like I’m afraid without him.

Maybe I am, just a little.

“I have to run shit. With Nico gone, there are fires to put out. Don’t worry, no one’s going to touch you. If they do, I’ll have Leo break their fingers.”

Corey

Mr. Donahue. That’s how the guy is introduced, and I get an off vibe from him right away. For one thing, he’s late. I’ve been dealing poker for two hours with three other guys who showed up tonight and they’re not pleased with letting someone new into the game.

Two of them cash out. The third—Mr. Smith—stays but that’s because he’s down three hundred grand. He’s probably hoping to win something off Donahue.

“Where’s Nico Tacone?” Donahue demands once he’s sitting and his chips are in front of him.

“Mr. Tacone isn’t here tonight,” I say smoothly, dealing the cards.

Donahue looks pissed. “Why not? He invited me personally. I was told I’d be playing poker with him.”

My eyes narrow slightly. I doubt that’s true. I flick a glance to Leo, at the door. He’s not normal casino security or management. He’s an import from Chicago. Part of the Family, if you know what I mean. I’ve worked at the Bellissimo long enough to know the insiders.

Leo’s upper lip curls like he wants to shove his fist in the guy’s mouth, but he just gives me a small shrug.

“I don’t know who told you that, Mr. Donahue, but it won’t be happening. It’s your bet.”

The guy looks pissed off, but he plays.

“Stefano Tacone’s here,” Mr. Smith grunts after he places his bet.

Donahue turns on him. “Oh yeah? Who’s he? Another Tacone son?”

That should’ve been my clue—he referred to Nico and Stefano as sons, not brothers, but it doesn’t register as any more strange than the rest of the man’s behavior.

“Nico’s brother. I met him when I came in. He’ll be back,” Smith sagely provides.

Donahue sniffs and settles in to play. He’s a shitty player—distracted and impatient. Like Stefano last night, he doesn’t fit into the normal categories of big gambler, yet he’s betting thousands at a time. Is he just here to see Nico? Is that why he was so pissed he wasn’t here? Maybe he has some kind of Family business to take up with him and it has to be in person.

He’s lost three rounds to Smith when Stefano walks in.

“Ah. Here is Mr. Tacone now,” Smith says, pushing his chips across the table toward me. “I believe that must be my cue to take my winnings and go.”

I count him in and return a stack of eight ten-thousand-dollar chips as Stefano saunters in, a cigar box in his hand.

“Sorry I couldn’t be here for the whole game, gentlemen. I hope you enjoyed yourselves.” He offers a cigar to Smith, who takes one, but doesn’t stay to light it.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

Donahue knocks his tumbler of whiskey over and it rolls to the floor. He leans over to pick it up, placing the broken glass on the table as he stands. “So you’re one of the Tacone boys?” There’s malice in his face, and I realize his hand has been in his pocket since he stood up. I try to signal Stefano, but he’s already walking toward the man, answering him.

Stefano’s signature charm is present, but he’s guarded. “Yes, I’m Stefano. Do you know my family?”

Donahue pulls his hand from his pocket, holding a tiny pistol. “This is for my brother,” he says, the gun wobbling in his shaking hand.

Two shots fire at the same time.

I throw the table I’m behind forward. A scream leaves my mouth.

Donahue goes down, a bullet between his eyes. Both Stefano and Leo have guns out, arms straight in front of them.

My ears ring with the sound of the shots.

For a moment, no one moves. I’m rooted to the floor, shock plunging through me like a bolt of lightning, rooting my feet to the floor..

Stefano swears in Italian and puts his pistol in a holster under his arm. “How did he get a gun in here? Wasn’t he searched for weapons?”

My body shakes—teeth chatter. I can’t tear my eyes from the dead man. “I-I think he pulled it from his boot, or pant leg,” I provide, remembering he had ducked under the table.

“Who is he?” Leo asks.

“No idea.” Stefano stoops and removes Donahue’s ID and wallet. “Get Sal and Tony up here to help you rid of the body.”

Leo lifts his chin in my direction. He still hasn’t put his gun away. “What about her?”

Ice cold shoots through my veins like daggers. What about me? Oh God, I’m a witness. Is he asking if he should kill me, too?

Stefano examines me with an inscrutable look that seems to last a millennia. I don’t breathe. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

Stefano doesn’t take his gaze from me. He gives a single nod.

Leo mutters something and tucks what appear to be zip-ties in Stefano’s jacket pocket.

The room swoops and spins.

I am so fucked.

Stefano

Vaffanculo. Why in the fuck did I let an outsider deal a private game? Bringing Corey Simonson up here was the worst mistake. Now I have a witness to murder on my hands.

Corey’s smart enough to understand the position she’s in. She takes a step backward, her normally shrewd blue eyes wide with shock. “W-wait. Why don’t you just call the cops?” Her voice squeaks, a higher pitch than usual. “It was self-defense. I’m your witness.”

“That’s not how we’re doing this.” I keep my voice smooth, my face expressionless. I haven’t figured out what in the hell I’m going to do with her yet. “Come here.” I beckon to her with what I consider my take charge command.

She takes another step back, glancing around for exits. There aren’t any, except the one I’m blocking.

Leo barks coded orders into his comms unit.

I don’t want Corey to see any more of our men implicated in this scene.

“Corey, now.” I make my voice sharp and urgent.

It works. She skitters forward, around the table she so wisely upended. Amazing reflexes.

I catch her elbow and propel her out of the suite, moving swiftly toward the elevators. I don’t really have a plan yet, other than to get Corey away from the scene of the crime.

When we get in, we both stand facing the doors, like we’re strangers. “I don’t understand why you don’t call the cops.” She’s pulled herself together enough that her voice almost sounds normal.

“And I’m not going to explain Family business to you,” I tell her curtly. Which is the only answer I have. Yeah, it was self-defense. But that stronzo who pulled a gun on me wasn’t some wacko off the street. He had a beef with the Family—probably my father. I’m not going to open that can of worms with the local cops and trust them to sort it out with me coming out on top. No fucking way.

So it turns out Corey’s not as pulled together as I thought because she suddenly lunges for the elevator control panel, smacking buttons.

I catch her wrist and wrap it around her waist, pull her back against me. “Stop. You’re panicking.”

Her body trembles against mine. “I won’t tell anyone. I know it was self-defense.” Her voice wobbles at the end and I curse, realizing she’s crying.

And of course, the elevator has to stop at that moment and let people on.

I release her wrist and cup her nape, turning her to face me, so her face is angled away from the people who get in.

She stares straight ahead at my chest, eyes still swimming with tears. I pull a silk handkerchief from my suit pocket and slip it into her hand. That’s when I notice the blood—tiny splatters stain the smooth column of her neck.

When she’s finished wiping her tears, I take the handkerchief back and dab at the stains, using the moisture of her tears to get it off. If possible, she goes even more pale, probably realizing what I’m rubbing at.

The elevator stops on the first floor and everyone gets out, but I keep my hand at Corey’s neck, not allowing her to move. I hit the button for the parking level.

I don’t know what my plan is, really. Drive her home, have a talk. Make sure she knows bad shit’s going to happen if she ever opens her mouth about what she saw. It’s not really well-formulated yet. I’m just responding to the sense of urgency to get her away from the dead guy.

When the elevator opens at the garage level, Corey panics again. She grasps the handrail inside the elevator and hangs on, digging her heels in when I try to escort her out. I tug her waist, but she doubles over. If I’m going to get her out, it’s going to take some serious manhandling.

Which under different circumstances might be appealing.

“I’m not getting in a car with you! I know what’s going to happen.”

“Calm down. What do you think is going to happen? I’m not going to kill you—is that what you think?”

“Just let me go!” she splutters, pitching away from me and then whirling and kneeing me hard in the nuts.

I’d like to say I kept my cool. I don’t hit women—ever. My ma raised me better than that.

But I’m not above spanking a girl’s ass. Especially when it belongs to a beautiful woman. I yank one of the zip-ties Leo put in my pocket out—which I’d had no intention of using. Wrangling her wrists together, I cinch the plastic strip around them and tighten it up.

“You need to calm the fuck down,” I grit through clenched teeth. I pin her hands against the elevator wall and bring my hand down to smack her ass.

I don’t hold back. My balls are throbbing and each spank satisfies the part of me she unmanned with that low blow. Of course, now my cock starts swelling, renewing the pain.

The elevator doors close and it lurches into motion. I put my keycard in the elevator and hit the floor with my suite without releasing her wrists from the wall.

Then I resume her punishment. She gasps and twists as I lay down slap after slap.

“Okay!” she cries.

“I’m sorry I kneed you in the balls, Stefano,” I prompt with another slap.

“I’m sorry I kneed you in the balls, Stefano,” she mutters.

I turn her and slam my lips down on hers.

She freezes for one moment, probably taken aback by my change in tactics, but then she responds. Her lips move against mine, body softens. I hold her nape with one hand, her ass with the other.

The elevator doors open.

“All right, let’s try this again. You will walk out of this elevator nicely this time.” I propel her through the door.

She allows it. “Where are you taking me?”

“To my room.”

Her footsteps stall and I have to tug her toward my door. “Why? What are you going to do with me?”

The truth? I have no idea.

I key open my door and thrust her through, following and shutting the door. She immediately turns around and tries to tug the door handle back open despite the limited movement allowed by her bound wrists.

I reach around to catch the knob and she shoves her ass back. My cock goes rock hard at the contact.

“If you keep rubbing that sexy ass against me, you’re going to be in a different kind of trouble.”

She freezes, breath catching and holding. But when she speaks, scorn laces her words. “Are you saying you’re going to rape me?”

It’s meant to shut me down, but her bravado turns me on even more. I cup her throat with one hand, not squeezing tight enough to scare her, but enough to hold her head in place against my shoulder as my other hand slides down the front of her short dress. I don’t hesitate—it’s not in my genes. I find the skin of her thigh and trace it up under her dress to cup her mons.

“Soaking wet,” I breathe against her ear, triumph punching my cock out against my pants. “Is it rape if you want it?”

“I don’t want it,” she lies.

I slip my fingers under the gusset of her miniscule panties and stroke along her honeyed slit. “Then I won’t touch you,” I lie right back to her.

She bites her lip against a moan when I dip a finger into her ready entrance. “No,” she says, but it sounds more like a yes than anything.

“No?” My finger slides out, drags up and circles her clit. Her hips jerk against me, and my hand closes tighter around her neck. “You want me to stop, baby?”

“Yes,” she pants.

I stop moving my finger but keep it there, her clit pulsing against my digit, giving her away. But I’m not going on.

I don’t force women, and she told me to stop.

Regrettably. I would love the privilege of getting Corey off.

I pull my finger away. “You tell me when you want it, baby, and I’ll give it to you good.” I don’t release her throat.

Corey

My hips writhe in a circle like I’m seeking out his hand again.

Traitorous body.

I’m so fucking confused right now, I can’t think straight. A minute ago, I was sure Stefano planned to throw me over the Hoover Dam. Now I’m in a different kind of trouble, as he so eloquently put it.

It’s a much preferred trouble, despite my protests.

“Come here.” Stefano hooks his index finger through the zip-tie holding my wrists and tugs me further into his suite like a farmer leading his cow. It’s the same style suite Sondra’s been staying in here, with a kitchenette and living room area.

He doesn’t bring me to the bedroom, but to the kitchen, leaving me at the table while he gets a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I lean my butt on the table because my legs are too wobbly to stand. Stefano returns and cracks open the bottle, holding it to my lips.

I lift my bound hands to take it myself and drink. “You got anything stronger?” I ask after I’ve downed half the bottle.

Stefano gives me that lazy grin and walks back to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of Glenlivet and two tumblers. He pours us each a couple fingers of scotch and holds one out for me. “Saluti.” He clinks his glass against mine.

I throw the scotch back, hoping the burn will scorch the memory of what happened upstairs right out of my mind.

“So, basically, I’m an accessory now.” It hits me like a concrete block on my toes.

Stefano shrugs like accessory to murder means nothing to him. “That would never hold.” He crowds into me, pushing my knees apart to stand between them. I still can’t figure out if this is seduction or a scare-tactic.

“So you’re not planning on killing me.” He already said so, but I guess I don’t believe him.

He reaches out to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek lightly. “Cara, if I was going to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

I try to ignore the warmth his touch produces, the urge to nuzzle into his hand. It’s just because I’m in shock and I’ve lost my mind. “Why let me live? Because of Sondra?”

Stefano shakes his head. “I don’t want you dead.” He drops his thumb to my lips and traces them. I hold still because despite his assurance, I’m still his captive. The zip-tie on my wrists prove it. “I don’t kill innocents.” Something flickers behind his dark eyes. “Despite what you may think about me.”

I find my cheeks heating, which annoys me. “I don’t think about you.”

He smiles because we both know it’s a lie.

I wet my lips with my tongue and he tracks the movement, hunger flaring in his chocolate brown eyes. “So what are you going to do with me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I’m figuring that out, bambina.”

“Th-there’s something I better tell you.” I don’t want to bring this up—I really don’t. But if he finds out another way, he may shoot first and ask questions later.

He arches a brow.

I lick my lips again. “I don’t talk to my dad. Like, we’re totally estranged, and that’s a good thing.”

Stefano’s eyes narrow. I’m sure he’s wondering where in the hell I’m going with this.

“But he’s a fed. An FBI agent,” I blurt.

Stefano curses in Italian, a long string of words I don’t understand but get the meaning. He tugs my ass off the table and starts searching me in quick, pissed off movements, running his fingers along the neckline of my dress, around the insides of my bra.

If I weren’t more than a little afraid of Stefano Tacone in warrior mode, I might remark at the similarity of my situation with Sondra’s. This was how she met Nico, after all. He strip-searched her for a wire when he found her cleaning his bathroom.

Stefano drags his large palms up my thighs, around to the back, sliding a finger over the G-string through my crack. He checks the gusset of my panties, sparing me any comments about how wet I am this time.

And yeah—my panties are damp again. I shouldn’t be turned on by Stefano’s rough and thorough search, but I am. He lifts my dress up to my waist, hikes it up to my armpits before he realizes it’s not coming off. Not unless he removes the zip-tie.

He pulls me across the kitchen, where he grabs a pair of scissors from the drawer.

I think he’s going to cut off the zip-tie, but instead the fucker slices through the fabric of my dress.

I shove at him, even though it’s too late. “Jesus! You don’t have to cut it, asshole. This is my favorite dress.” The dress falls in shreds at my feet. I’m standing there in a black lace bra and matching G-string, a pair of black thigh-highs and my stilettos. It’s quite an outfit, but he’s apparently unaffected.

He yanks my bra cups down, searching visually as he runs his thumbs inside them for a second time. “Watch your mouth, I’m still your boss. I’ll buy you another fucking dress if you’re clean.”

“I’m clean, dammit. Where else would I hide a wire? Why didn’t you just cut off the zip-tie?”

He catches my jaw with grim determination. At first I think he’s going to punish me for getting too mouthy, but he presses it open. “Maybe I like having you at my mercy.” He flicks his brows and I register the return of his jaunty arrogance, a fraction of humor and enjoyment. Maybe that’s what pisses me off. When he sweeps a finger inside to check my teeth, I bite down, hard.

“Merda!” He yanks his finger back and my teeth scrape over flesh. I pop them open at the taste of blood, instantly realizing I went way too far.

I tense, frozen like a rabbit, but Stefano doesn’t move, other than to shake out his hand. His eyes lock on mine, blazing, but not with anger. No, with dark promise. Excitement. Like he’s glad I bit him.

A shiver races up my spine.

“I think you must want another spanking.” His voice holds deadly calm.

I can’t seem to move. Can’t breathe.

I fear he’s right.

In a flash, he whirls me around and pushes my torso over the table. He doesn’t start spanking hard like he did in the elevator, though. He just runs his hand over my bare ass cheeks and whistles.

“Bambina, if I knew you were hiding this under your dress, I would’ve lifted your skirt for your last punishment.” He circles my ass again.

Anticipation races over my skin, flutters in my belly.

“You’re still wearing my handprints.” There’s a rumble of appreciation in his voice, almost a purr. “Are you sore?”

“Yes,” I say, infusing petulance into my words. I am still sore. In fact, now that he mentions it, my butt is hot and tingling. Of course, redheads register pain more than most people.

He rubs my ass. “Spread your legs, baby.” His voice is no more than a murmur.

I attempt to ignore the direction, like I didn’t hear it, but he kicks my feet apart. To my utter humiliation, he starts spanking my pussy. Short, deliberate taps right over my clit. My inner thigh muscles jump and shiver as he puts a little more wrist into it.

“Stefano,” I gasp.

“That’s right, amore. Say my name.”

My pussy clenches, more shivers run down my legs. He smacks one ass cheek, hard.

“Ouch!”

“Mmm hmm.” He slaps the other cheek, then picks up his pace, alternating one cheek then the other. The man doesn’t know the definition of a light slap. Every time his palm connects with my flesh it sends shockwaves of sensation jolting through me. Pain mingled with pleasure. It’s too much, and yet I don’t want him to stop. I’m tragically enamored with my situation. He increases the intensity and speed another notch and I cry out. “Ouch! Hey!”

Yeah, now I want him to stop.

Definitely.

“You might remember the words I need to hear, bella.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I bit your finger, Stefano.”

He stops and spins me around. “Good girl. Quick learner.” Like before, he ends the punishment with a kiss. His lips crash down on mine and he bends me backward on the table, following me down. I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist and cradle his hips against mine. His cock presses hard and insistent against my panties, but he doesn’t rush. He kisses down my neck, yanks my bra down to scrape his teeth across my nipple.

I arch into him, grind my mons against the hard bulge in his pants. He draws my nipple into his mouth, sucks it until I feel the answering tug between my legs.

His movements are sure and confident, like he knows his way around a woman’s body, yet there’s also a crazy urgency, a passion behind every movement that carries me away. I can’t help but respond to his touch, like he’s the musician and my body’s the instrument. The music he makes with me intoxicates us both.

He moves to the neglected nipple, sucking, biting, blowing air across it. Hot hands slide up my thighs. I think he’s going to fuck me now. This time I’m not going to refuse.

But after he yanks my G-string down, he brings his face down to my pussy and licks into me. I cry out, my hips jacking up off the table. He holds them down and licks again, a long lick, from anus to clit.

Jesus. I didn’t know that would feel so good. I’ve never had attention paid to my anus—never wanted attention paid there, but Stefano’s unafraid.

He delves his tongue into my pussy, penetrating me, then shifts to suck my clit. He dips two fingers into me and curls them inside, rubbing my inner wall.

I tear at his hair, my juices flowing so freely I’m afraid they’ll leak out of me. This is all too much and yet my body sings, glories in his touch. His thumb slides in my entrance and another finger, wet from my pussy, pushes at my anus.

Once again, my hips fly off the table. He holds me down, re-affixing his lips to my clit, sucking the nubbin hard. He penetrates my asshole with a finger.

I’m mortified.

Exhilarated.

The sensations flow through me too quickly to process. My body belongs to him. I have no choice but to surrender, to let go and let him play me, his instrument. And he does.

Within moments, I’m orgasming—hard. When I scream, he covers my mouth with his hand, still pumping his fingers in and out of me. It’s miraculous and horrible. I’m undone.

And when it’s over, vulnerability and a pinch of shame rush in like an ocean tide. I choke back a sob against his palm.

Stefano

Oh fuck.

I release my hand from Corey’s mouth to see her face. She turns away from me, shoving her knuckles between her teeth. She’s crying. Or trying not to.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was so sure she wanted it. Her body responded like I was its master. She never said no, never pushed me away.

My cockstand drops to nothing. I don’t get off on rape. At all.

I quickly pull her up to sit, tugging her panties back into place. “Cazzo, Corey.” I search her face, trying to decipher the tears. Was it just too much? Sometimes chicks cry after orgasm, especially a big one. Or did she feel forced?

I fucking hope not.

“Are you—” I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but she thumps me on my chest with her bound hands.

“Stop looking at me, Stefano.”

Relief washes over me. She’s okay. I can tell by the familiarity she uses—calling me by name, smacking my lapel. She wouldn’t do that if she were truly scared, truly felt forced. She’s raw from the orgasm and the fucked up situation, that’s all.

I cup the back of her neck with my clean hand and pull her against me. She hits my chest with her forehead and stays there, gulping and sniffing. I stroke my thumb along the tendrils of hair at her nape until her breath slows. Then I release her. “Sit tight,” I warn, pointing a bossy finger at her. “Don’t move or I’ll spank your ass again.”

She scowls at me, which I take as a good sign. She still has spirit. I have no interest in breaking her.

When I come back, she’s pulled herself together. “Stefano,” she says, holding her bound wrists out to me. “Let me go. I’m not going to talk, I promise. My cousin, who’s like a sister to me, is marrying your brother. I’m practically part of the family now.”

My eyebrows shoot up, because Nico—the stronzo—hasn’t told me he’s marrying the girl yet. I hope that means the shit with the Family is done. “That true? They getting married?”

She bobs her head. “She texted me a picture of the ring.”

I don’t know why, but that makes me insanely happy for the guy. Nico is one seriously intense motherfucker. He’s never attempted to make himself happy, maybe because the marriage contract with Guisseppe Pachino’s daughter’s been hanging over his head all these years.

I crowd into her space again. It’s hard to take her seriously when she looks like she stepped off the pages of a classy men’s magazine. The thigh-highs and heels are pretty much blowing my mind. “What does that make us, then?” I unhook her bra in the back and slide the straps down, even though I know they’ll catch on her zip-tied wrists.

“There is no us,” she snaps, but doesn’t resist my touch. “Stefano, let me go. Please.”

I put a finger under her chin. “I can’t,” I tell her. Won’t. “Not yet.”

Her breath quickens, which makes her pink-tipped breasts bob with each inhale. “Why not? What are you going to do with me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Please.” Her voice rises. “You can call Nico—Mr. Tacone…” she trails off, though, uncertainty flickering over her face. Which doesn’t surprise me. I can count the number of people who are certain of what Nico will do or say on one hand.

“I will certainly talk to Nico,” I say smoothly. “In the meantime, you’re staying here.” I tug the bra tangled around her wrists.

“Are you going to cut that off, too?” she snaps.

“Yes, I think I will.” I pick up the scissors. It’s not to be a dick, but because the idea of buying her new bras gets me harder than a rock. I’m going to enjoy having Corey Simonson at my mercy.

Very much.

She huffs as I snip the bra straps and free the fabric from her wrists.

“Come, bella.” I take her tangled fingers and lead her toward the bedroom.

She balks, digging her heels in and pulling against me.

“Relax. I’m putting you to bed to sleep. It’s late and I need to get my ass back out on the floor.”

She shakes her head. “Stefano, please. This is fucked up. Just let me go. I don’t understand why I’m your prisoner.”

“I need to be sure of you, bella. So for now, you stay.” I nudge her toward the bathroom. “There’s the restroom. Use it if you need to, because you won’t have a chance while I’m gone.”

Panic flares in her eyes, but she tosses her long red hair on her way to the toilet. While she’s gone, I yank the casino phone out from the wall and stow it in the closet. Using more zip-ties from my pocket, I make a chain with them, affixing the top one to the solid metal of the bed frame. When she returns, I pat the bed, hiding the zip-ties. She eyes me warily but approaches and tucks herself under the covers, presumably to hide her state of undress.

I catch her wrists and attach the zip-tie chain to hers.

“Hey! What the fuck?” she tugs at them.

“Stop.” I make my voice sharp. “Take it easy, bella or this zip-tie will cut into your wrists.”

She glares up at me. “Oh, and you care because why?”

Because I don’t want to feel bad about the way I’m treating her. And I definitely should. She doesn’t deserve to be tied up to my bed. She’s done nothing wrong. But I’m thinking with my dick now, and there’s no way I’m letting her go. Not when I have her in such a delicious position.

I lift her bound fingers to my lips and kiss them softly. “I don’t want to see red marks here.” I trace my finger beneath the zip-tie, testing for tightness. “If I come back and you’ve worked your skin raw, I’m going to punish you again. Capiche?”

Her eyes fly wide, genuine fear flooding them.

“No,” I say, guessing at her panicked thoughts. “I’m not a psychopath. Although I’d love to play sex games with you chained to my bed all fucking week. Be good”—I tap her nose—“or it can be arranged.” I head for the door.

“Stefano!” she screams my name through clenched teeth. It’s a good sign. I like her mad. I don’t want her terrified.

I turn and arch a brow. “Need anything? No?” I don’t give her a chance to answer. “I’ll get you a toothbrush while I’m downstairs. I’ll be back by dawn. Try to get some sleep.”

Corey

I’m ready to murder Stefano Tacone myself. I can’t figure out his game. Is he really worried about me talking? Or is he a crazy sex predator who saw an opportunity to take me captive and did so?

But no. If he was into sex crimes, he would’ve raped me on his kitchen table. And he didn’t. He didn’t even try to have sex with me. All he did was offer me pleasure.

He’s definitely attracted to me; he’s made that plain. But I really don’t think he’s going to force himself on me tonight.

With that thought, my confidence in making it through this situation takes an upturn. I witnessed a mafia murder, but I’m still alive. The man who captured me has not been cruel. In fact, other than keeping me captive, he was fairly attentive—offering me water, suggesting I use the bathroom. Blowing my mind with the orgasm of the century.

Oh fuck, what am I saying? Do I seriously already have Stockholm Syndrome? Am I bonding with my captor?

Then it hits me with a flash of cold. Is that his intent? How he’s going to be sure of me? Get me to bond to him so I won’t talk?

No, that’s ridiculous. A man like Stefano Tacone does not rely on wooing women into silence. That’s scoffable. He uses his fists. His gun.

And since he’s used neither on me, I can probably assume I’m fairly safe.

I lean over the side of the bed to investigate where he attached the zip-tie. If it’s to the leg of the bed, maybe I can lift it off.

No dice.

It’s right to the metal frame beneath the mattress. Stefano’s good. I shudder to think he’s done this before.

My maneuvering twists the zip-tie around my wrists and I check my skin for marks. Yep, totally left some.

And that thought should not excite me.

But I could really get off on Stefano Tacone’s punishments. What am I saying? I already have.

So yeah, tempting him into another one feels like a delicious danger I’d love to play with.

But despite my certainty I’d never sleep, I drift off.

I dream of mafia meetings: dangerous men with guns and tempers. My dad is there. He’s the leader and he catches me spying on them. He holds me up by the hair and slaps my face like he used to when he was drinking.

I startle awake, sweating.

“Shh, bambina. You’re safe here.” Stefano Tacone appears in my dream, brushing my hair back from my face.

No.

Stefano Tacone is in the bed.

I blink my eyes open. The early light of dawn spills through the curtains.

“Go back to sleep, bella. It’s too early to be awake.”

I try to turn toward his voice, but plastic bites into my wrists and I whimper.

“Okay, okay. I’ll free you.” The mattress pitches and he climbs off. When he appears in my line of vision, he’s holding a deadly hunter’s knife. He crouches in front of me and slices the zip-tie holding my wrists. His stubble has grown overnight and weariness tugs down the corners of his eyes. “You stay in this bed, though,” he warns.

I rub the chafed skin, rolling over to face the middle of the bed where he lies down. He takes one of my wrists and strokes the marks with his thumb.

“Naughty, babe,” he murmurs, closing his large hand around my wrist as his eyelids close.

I stare at his handsome face in the dark, listen as his breath slows. He smells like the casino—like scotch and money and old leather. I consider trying to slip out of his grasp, but I can’t seem to find the motivation. I might have to admit to myself that I enjoy being his captive. Leaving now would be a disappointment. Eventually, my inhales match his and I slide back into a dream. Only this time, I’m tied to Stefano’s bed.