Chapter Eight

Waverly

A sharp pain stabs the back of my neck, and I swat at it like it’s a buzzing fly. Eight hours have passed without so much as a bathroom break. Time got away from me. I groan as I reach up to massage myself with stiff fingers. When I look at the clock, it’s official. I’ve been working for so long that my body feels on the edge of collapse. It’s only in these times between projects, between tasks, that a whisper of loneliness caresses me, tempting me to consider there’s more to life than coding.

Neon is long gone. When I get upstairs, I have to flick on the lights with my phone since darkness has crawled through the Vegas skyline. I yawn and rub my eyes before padding into the kitchen and popping a pod into my Keurig machine.

As it steams and hisses into the waiting cup, I lean against the counter. Smugness tickles my brain, and I think about my meeting with Hawk. He left angry – I could tell by the way his feet stomped up the stairs – and knowing that I pissed him off makes me glow with pride. After the way he humiliated me at Defcon, in front of a whole line of hackers, I want him to really suffer.

Frustration chokes me like a Hermes scarf. He’s a local god. He’s in a position to help people learn. But instead, he chooses to be an arrogant cocksucker.

The Keurig finishes, and I reach for the mug and wrap my hands around the ceramic sides. I keep the air conditioning on in my house year-round, despite the milder Vegas winters. Cold temperatures are better for computers, and I can’t stand to sweat when I’m trying to work. But right now, it’s cold enough to cause a shiver. I grab a black hoodie from the table and pull it over my head, twisting my long hair into a knot at the nape of my neck before setting down at the table and bringing the cup of coffee to my lips.

But before I can take a sip, a loud knock snaps my head up. I look down at my watch with a frown – it’s after ten-thirty at night. The only person who would bother me this late is Neon, and he’s never bothered knocking.

Shit.

Maybe it’s Hawk – what if he was so pissed off that he got drunk and came back here to give me a piece of his mind? Or worse.

I roll my eyes and get up from the table with my coffee in hand. The knocking sounds again, loud and persistent.

“I’m coming!” I yell as I cross the spacious living room. “Hold on!”

The truth is, I have no idea what I’d say to Hawk – should I lie, pretend to be some random girl that Ostrich brought home? The thought doesn’t appeal to me, especially since there’s a chance he’d remember me from Defcon despite his dismissal. Of course, I had my hair up in a ball cap, and my figure was hidden behind folds of clothing. But when I open the door, my mouth drops open.

A middle-aged man in a perfectly cut Armani suit stands there, looking at me over the rims of his expensive sunglasses even though it’s been dark for hours. Two scruffy looking dudes stand beside him in identical black suits with black button-down shirts. Another shiver runs through me, but this time it’s not from the cold.

“Can I help you?” I ask skeptically, stepping into the space between the door and the frame so they can’t see past me. I palm my phone in my pocket.

This is a smart house with a fully digital footprint, and all I have to do is yell police, and they’ll be here within minutes. These fuckers better not be here to hurt me. Or worse, try to steal any of my electronics. I imagine my dad bringing the wrath of a billionaire down upon them in sheets of raining pain and regret.

The man smiles, but it’s an odd smile. Something’s not right about him. “Yes.” His voice has just the slightest touch of an Italian accent. “Are you Waverly Emerson?”

I straighten my spine. “What if I am?”

The man exhales. “I don’t have time for games, young lady.”

“Yes. I’m Waverly.”

“May we come in?”

I frown at the men on my doorstep. Armani Man looms over me, but the other two hug the line of scrimmage like linebackers. They probably weigh six hundred pounds combined. Even if I didn’t let them in, they could snap my measly front door in half. I lick my lips in case I have to scream.

“What is this regarding?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

Armani Man takes his sunglasses off and tucks them in his breast pocket. His eyes are dark and intense and more than a little scary, despite the neutral expression on his face.

“I have a proposal for you.”

A shiver runs down my spine. If this is related to Hawk, he’s got a lot more power on his side than I thought.

“Fine.” I step back and clear my throat. “But you can’t stay long. I’m in the middle of something very important.”

Armani Man eyes my black hoodie and rumpled black yoga pants. “I see,” he says curtly. “And no need. This won’t take long at all.”

Reluctantly, I let the three men into my house still palming my iPhone. Armani Man walks into the living room and sits down in the largest chair. The other two don’t sit. Instead, they stand by the door with their arms crossed, silent and foreboding. I’m certain they’re packing heat.

“Just who are you, exactly?” I ask as I sit down on the leather couch.

Armani Man chuckles. “So sorry. I’ve forgotten my manners. My name is Dante Giovanetti.”

It only takes my brain a fraction of a second to compute that this is the man Hawk warned me about. My heart skips a beat, but I keep my face cool as I nod.

“I’ve heard of you,” I reply.

Dante chuckles. “I should hope so. After all, my casino, the Mona Lisa, is the largest in Vegas. And the best.”

“I don’t gamble.”

Dante clucks his tongue against his teeth. “Shame. But that means you’re a smart one.” He leans closer, eyeing me with a stare that seems likely to pierce holes in my chest. “The smart ones keep their money close. And their enemies closer.”

I frown. Somehow, I don’t quite know how to answer that. Does he know about my meeting with Hawk? Does he know that Hawk’s my sworn enemy? Unless he’s some kind of a psychic, he couldn’t. I haven’t told anyone until I told Neon.

“Why are you here?” Fear settles into the pit of my stomach, and it takes everything inside me to hold his intense gaze. “What could you possibly want with me?”

Dante leans back and chuckles. “I have a very tempting offer for you. A little bird has told me all about your brilliant software. I’m very interested.”

I lean back until my back digs into my sofa cushions in a futile attempt to put space between us. “I don’t discuss projects with the public.”

“Oh, no. That’s not what I meant.” He flashes me another perfunctory smile. His lips tug over his perfectly white teeth, but the expression doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. “You see, I don’t really care about things like software. But I do care about my casino. My legacy. And I have a feeling your software would be very, very useful to me.”

I shrug. “Yeah, maybe. It’s possible.”

“Which is why I’ve come to offer you five million dollars in exchange for the rights,” Dante says. “I’ll have one of my lawyers draw up a contract in the morning.”

I barely ingest my hiss of shock at the outlandish number. “Why would you do something like that?”

“Because I think your software is very valuable.” The light in his eyes flashes the word diabolical in pink neon.

“No, I mean, why would you have a contract drawn up? I’m not selling,” I say firmly. “I don’t need money.”

Dante looks around my house. For a second, I see it through his eyes. It’s not opulent, but it’s clean, comfortable, and serviceable. My dad always taught me to live within my means after putting fifteen percent in my IRA. “Surely you don’t want to live in this dump forever,” he says. “And five million is a very, very generous offer.”

“I don’t really care. I don’t need money, so it’s not important to me.”

Dante stares. “Then what is important to you? Whatever you want in exchange for the software, I can provide it.”

I lift a hand, palm up. “Hmm...if I need anything, I get it myself. It’s called being an independent woman.” I stand, although I don’t like how shaky my legs are. “So, if that’s all you wanted, please leave.”

Dante narrows his eyes, and I see a glint of malice shining in his dark orbs. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. My work’s not for sale, and neither am I. I have an idea for this project, and that doesn’t include making a buck.”

It’s true. I’ve never wanted for money due to my huge trust fund. And frankly, the idea of Dante coming here and acting like I should be overjoyed is more than a little distasteful. Money doesn’t mean anything to me – not when I’m dealing with smug, corrupt thugs like Dante Giovanetti.

“Well, we can add ignorant to your list of attributes along with independence.” Dante grunts, then gets to his feet and walks to the door. When he’s right in front of his bodyguards, he turns around to face me. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours. Think it over. Again, remember how generous I’m being here. I always get what I want. And those who stand in my way live to regret it.”

“Fuck off.” I raise an eyebrow and smirk, tossing my hard-won independence in his face. “I don’t need your disgusting money.”

Dante glares at me. “Wrong answer.” The words hurl toward me, ruthless in their quest to land.

I burst out laughing. “I doubt it. I’m not afraid of you. Do you know who my father is?”

Dante’s quivering mask of rage is the last thing I see before he slams the door and storms out into the dark night.

With a contented smirk, I lock the door, then collapse on the leather sofa and curl up for a nap.