ACE

I've called Denise five times in the last five hours. She promised she tried to get in touch with Emmy using the number left on her employment records, but Emmy hasn't answered.

I haven't slept. I'm fucking pacing my penthouse, so spun up over the fact Grotto is busting my balls and Emmy isn't answering.

I've never been like this with a woman. Granted, I've never met a woman I actually wanted for something more than a quick fuck. I've worked damn hard to keep my head clear by never falling for a girl.

But this wasn't intentional. It’s been nearly forty-eight hours, and all I can think of is her.

McQueen texts that he and the guys are on their way up to my penthouse. I head for the kitchen and notice the caterer has brought in lunch. It’s sitting on the kitchen counter but none of it is appetizing. There’s only one thing I want to eat.

So I grab a beer from the fridge, and take a long swig. I hardly slept. My mind is reeling about what dirt Grotto could have on me.

If he's truly dug up shit on me, it could get bad. The investors I need for this property deal aren't gonna want anything to do with me if they learn I pulled the wool over their eyes in regards to where my initial capital came from. I didn't drum up investors in Spades Royalle by mentioning my father was a mob-boss.

The elevator opens, and in walk McQueen, Landon, and Jack. These guys all have enough shit going on in their own lives, but here they are, on a Saturday afternoon, sticking out their necks for me.

I swear I'm a fucking pansy because my eyes sting at the fucking sight of them—showing up here like this for me.

It makes me miss having a family. Makes me miss Sunday dinners when Ma was alive, back when I was a little kid, before my Pops started bringing me around his business deals. Back when I'd eat fucking spaghetti and veal parmigiana around a big wooden table and listen to the adults argue over carafes of wine while I teased my sisters mercilessly.

I take a deep breath, knowing those memories get me nowhere. And right now I need to bury the past like I never have before.

But not entirely, because I need to tell my friends the motherfucking truth.

“So what's the deal, Ace,” Jack asks, grabbing a beer and helping himself to a pulled pork sandwich from the tray of food I haven’t touched.

“It's complicated.” I take another drink of beer. All morning I tossed and turned about how to explain this to them without them walking out of here—out on me.

“Try me,” Landon says. “It can't be worse than my situation at the moment. My father is threatening to cut me off if I don't rally and marry some British lady, and start working.”

“Would he really do that?” McQueen asks. The idea of Landon sitting in an office taking business calls is laughable. That man only knows how to take poker chips and women. Both across a table.

“Apparently,” Landon says, shrugging. “Like I said, Ace, can't be worse than that.”

“It's worse,” I say, still not explaining myself.

“Fuck, Ace, out with it,” Jack says, not as patient. “Why does Grotto want you gone?”

“He says he has shit on my family.”

Landon frowns. “I thought you were an orphan. A child straight out of a Charles Dickens novel, only—you know—with a shit-ton of money.”

“Who the fuck are you, Landon?” McQueen laughs. “You read fucking Dickens?”

“There’s a lot about me you don't know,” Landon says. “Depth that you wouldn't understand.”

“Yeah, and there’s a lot about me that neither of you know.” I straighten my shoulders, knowing my closest friends might turn and leave the moment they hear the truth. “My name isn't Ace Royalle. It’s Adrian Genova the fourth.”

The three of them cock their heads as they try to process this information.

“Like the mafia Genova?” Jack asks.

“That’s the one. But after my sisters and Ma were killed I swore I’d never be initiated into the family circle. Obviously, that didn’t go over real well. My dear old Pops was the King.”

“You fucking kidding me right now?” McQueen asks.

“I came to Vegas after my Pops was murdered. I took the family money, split town. People think I died when he did. But I didn't. Obviously. That piece of shit Grotto says he has dirt on me. And if it’s what I think it is, I’m over.”

“This is some joke right?” Jack asks. “I've had your back for five fucking years. You slept on my couch for six months when you moved to this town, trying to get your shit together. And all that time you were the fucking son of the most infamous mafia boss in New York?”

“It's not like that,” I explain. “That family is dead to me. I left that place and I’ve never looked back. I hated the violent shit my Pops was a part of. I wanted to leave that behind me and start over.”

I run my hands through my hair, knowing I am in too deep—but also knowing I need these guys on my side or I’ll have nothing to fall back on when the shit really hits the fan.

“Look, Grotto fucking killed a man yesterday as a threat to me.”

“Why, though?” Landon asks. “Why does Grotto want to screw you over?”

“Because we both want the same piece of fucking property.”

At this, McQueen shoves away, hands in the air. “Fuck this. You're dragging us into a life-or-death situation over a fucking building?”

“It's not a building. It's the building. I want it to stake my claim on this town.”

“You already have a fucking hotel named after you, Ace,” Jack says, aggression dripping from his voice. “What more do you need to prove?”

“Everything. I need to prove to myself that I can dominate with clean money, prove that my fucking piece of shit father went about it the wrong way. He gained his power by threats and killing anyone who got in his motherfucking way. That isn't me. I want an empire, but I want to build it the right way.”

“That's golden, Ace,” McQueen says, laughing sarcastically. “You used your own capital to get this hotel—you telling me that cash was clean? Bullshit. We’re standing on dirty money right now.”

I throw my beer bottle against the wall and swipe at the food on the counter; it crashes to the floor.

“You think I don't know that?” I yell. “You think I don't carry that with me everywhere I go? Why do you think I want this property so bad? I want to build something good. Something decent. Something I can be motherfucking proud of.”

Landon comes up to me, pushes me against the wall. “Fucking cool it, Ace.”

When I raise my hands in surrender, he steps back, lets go of me. I've never seen him so pissed off.

Jack shakes his head. “I know what it fucking means to want to prove something. I know what it means to want something you can be proud of. But don't fucking play around with this guy Grotto.”

“Then what do you want me to do? “I ask. “Back off? Let him get the property on his own? Let him win?”

“Is that what this is about? Not wanting him to win?” Landon asks.

“It's about not wanting to lose everything to him. Once my investors find out about whatever dirt Grotto has, I'll be toast in this town. No one will want to touch me.”

The room is quiet for a moment, everyone tense. I’m still scared my best friends are gonna walk out on me.

But then Jack shrugs, and says, “Then back off the investors.” He raises an eyebrow at Landon and McQueen and they all nod in agreement. “Let us invest in you. In this property.”

“Hell yeah,” Landon agrees. “I don’t want that guy to win. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Fuck,” McQueen says. “We can build this motherfucking town on our own. That's what we came here to do, isn't it?”

Landon, Jack, and McQueen raise their beers, all of us grinning. I join in, clinking our bottles in unison.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Ever since I met Emmy Rose, my emotions are screwing me over. These guys having my back like this makes me wanna cry like a fucking baby.

“You guys can’t do that. There are too many risks involved. Grotto wants to tear me down, and I don’t want him coming after you.”

“Hell, no—we’re your family now,” McQueen says. “Fuck Grotto.”

I clench my jaw, not knowing how to respond to this support. The last person who treated me so well was my mother.

“You have to let us help you,” Jack says. “What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t help a friend?”

“Besides,” Landon adds. “My father will piss himself when he learns I want to do something in the business sector.”

“You guys are fucking nuts,” I say. “And I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“You’re the fucker who got us the gigs we have here at Spades,” Jack says. “You’re the reason my career, and McQueen’s career, have taken off. And our boy Landon would be playing at the fucking Tropicana if you hadn’t saved his ass from that scene. We’re good, bro.”

“Okay,” I tell them. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

EMMY

The next morning I wake up on the couch. Errr, the next day. It's like two in the afternoon. I genuinely can't think of the last time I slept in so late, but considering we didn't get home until five this morning, I guess we didn't sleep an obscene about of time.

Claire and Tess are sprawled out in my bed. They fell asleep there last night while I was in the shower and I didn't have the heart to wake them.

Now I pull open the blinds, squinting in the afternoon sun. Walking a few steps into the kitchen, I begin making a pot of coffee.

As it brews, I turn on my phone and see I've missed several calls and texts.

Text 1: This is Denise, Ace Royalle's personal assistant. We met yesterday at the buffet. Please call back ASAP.

Text 2: Hello, Denise again. Please return message.

Then there are three voice mails saying the same sort of thing.

The final voicemail, however, is a bit more worrisome: This is Denise, calling on behalf of Ace Royalle. Shall I have someone come to your listed address to check on you?

I so do not want anyone connected with Ace showing up here.

Claire and Tess inch out of my bedroom, both wearing tee-shirts of mine.

“Must. Have. Coffee,” Claire mutters as she does a zombie walk toward the pot. Pouring herself a cup, she literally guzzles it.

“Did you just burn your throat?” Tess asks warily.

“It was totally worth it.” Claire smiles a bit manically, as if the caffeine has already shot through her blood stream.

“You are so weird,” I say, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and adding it to my own steaming mug.

“I'm not the weird one,” Claire says. “You, sweetie, are the one who screwed the most eligible bachelor in Vegas, then ran out all tears and confusion and cried yourself to sleep. Without explaining anything.”

“True.” I sigh, feeling defeated. “Look, I just don't want you to judge me. And, now that I know the truth about Ace, what I actually need to do is go speak with my detective.”

“The detective on your sister’s case?” Tess asks, scrunching up her nose. “What does he have to do with Ace?”

“I think Ace was driving the car the night of the accident.”

“No shit!” Claire gasps, nearly spitting out her coffee.

“I know. It is fifty shades of crazy.” I explain the conversation with the detective from the day before, and then fill them in on what Grotto said last night.

“Wow. I guess it makes sense now why you freaked out,” Claire says.

“Yeah, and here I was thinking you got all weird because Ace was bad in bed,” Tess adds.

“Well, they technically didn't screw in a bed—they were in a hallway at the club or something, right, Emmy?”

Oh. My friends weren't privy to my previous evening’s post-poker game sex-capades.

“We actually hooked up after the poker game—”

“I knew it!” Tess shrieks.

Claire shoots Tess dagger-eyes. “No screeching this early in the morning.”

“It's not the morning anymore,” I say. “Also, there's nothing to get hyper about. Ace is a creep, remember? What kind of man leaves a woman alone after a car crash? He's a monster.”

“You may be jumping to conclusions,” Tess says. “I mean you don't have actual proof.”

“Are you seriously defending him right now?” I ask. “Because tell me, Tess, how many people have you ever met who go by the name Bullet?”

“None, I guess. I just. I don't know … he seemed so nice. So generous.”

“You just like the fact that I hooked up with a guy who is loaded and comes with a fancy entourage.”

“Let's not get catty, ladies,” Claire says, pouring herself another cup of joe. “Look, Emmy, no judgment, but did you actually like Ace, or was it just sex?”

I feel the burn on my cheeks with that question. The reason it hurt so bad to hear him called Bullet last night was because I actually did like him. But more than that … because like sounds flat and feel superficial.

Ace and I had a connection that was real. I just wish I could have explored that more … really gotten to know him before the carpet got pulled out from under me.

“I … he … it was….” I can't finish my sentence, because I don't want to feel the way I feel. So completely torn.

It doesn't matter what I felt before I learned the truth. Now I can't go back. If I do, what does that make me? A monster too?

“Okay then….” Claire pulls her words out exaggeratedly. “But honey, the fact that you can’t answer says something. Maybe you should get the facts straight before you dismiss him all together. Maybe he isn't what you think. Maybe he’s what you need.”

Just then my doorbell rings.

“Who's that? I don't know anyone in Vegas besides you two.”

Tess heads to the door and looks through the peephole.

“Oh, shit,” she says pulling back and looking at me with shock written on her face.

“Who is it?” Claire walks over and takes a look herself as another knock hits the door. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“Emmy,” a voice calls through the door. “Emmy, are you there?”

My stomach drops. Whatever red flush filled my cheeks a minute ago, with Claire's questioning, has drained.

Ace is here. For me.

“Ohmigod, I can't deal with this,” I hiss at my friends. “Say I'm not here. Say I'm … at work.”

“Ugh, that won't fly. He owns the casino you work at dummy,” Tess whispers back.

“Just—” Claire rolls her eyes, exasperated, as if she has all this experience with men like Ace. “You guys are so weird. Just let me deal with it.”

I grab Tess's arm and pull her into my bedroom. I close the door, keeping a small crack open so I can watch Claire be the grown-up. The two of us look through the opening, not wanting to miss a thing.

Claire pulls open the door, revealing a tall, handsome man. A man with searing green eyes and a grim look on his face. There is no cockiness or fronting. Right now, Ace looks pissed.

“Oh, Ace, what are you doing here?” Claire asks, all wide eyes and feigned surprise.

“Where's Emmy?” he asks, stepping into my apartment.

I watch as he takes in the modest space that is my sister’s apartment. I don't let myself be embarrassed with the place I live in. I’m grateful to be able to take care of Janie’s place until she gets out of the hospital.

If she gets out of the hospital.

Which I know is beyond a long shot.

“She's not here. Went to get coffee.” Claire shrugs unapologetically.

“Then why are you drinking that?” he asks, pointing to the still-steaming mug in her hands. His eyes sweep the room and land on the two other half-filled coffee cups on the table. The near empty pot on the counter. The creamer opened, still sitting out.

“Oh.” Claire laughs in an awkward high-pitched way I've never heard escape her lips.

This is bad. But it's also kind of hilarious to watch Claire get all flustered around Ace, a bad-boy hottie to the extreme.

She’s probably thinking about the fact that her recent date with the bowling league babe doesn't compare to someone so chilled, so rock-solid. Someone who I want to be mine.

Stop it Emmy!

I want to punch myself in the freaking face. I should not be here cowering behind a bedroom door. I should walk out there, calling Ace on his shit, and then getting my tail over to the hospital to talk with the doctor who freaking wants to pull Janie off life support.

This is the problem with men. They one hundred percent, without fail, screw with a woman's priorities.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

But seriously, I don't.

“Where is she, Claire?” Ace asks, his voice softer than I expect. “It's not funny. I tried to reach her half a dozen times and she isn't answering. I got worried. The guy at the club, Grotto, got under my skin, and I don’t want him to hurt her.”

“He hasn’t been around, I promise. And Emmy’s tough. She can handle a lot.”

“I didn’t say she couldn’t handle it, but Grotto’s dangerous. And she left last night without a word. I just want to makes sure she's okay.”

“She doesn't want to see you, Ace.” Claire bit her lip, and then spoke apologetically. “Sorry. I don't want to get in the middle of anything … but she's my girl.”

“Yeah,” Ace sneers, his soft edge unfurling. “Well, she's my woman.”

Claire's eyes get wide at that statement, and Tess squeezes my leg, giving a not-so-silent squeak.

I'll admit it—my entire chest fills with emotion as I hear his words. Emotions I can't sort out this fast. I love the way the possessive statement rolled off his tongue. But I hate the kind of man he is. I'm scared of the places he's been.

Ace and Claire hear Tess's squeak, and both sets of eyes dart our way.

Shit.

Ace takes two long strides and opens the door. Both Tess and I stumbling as our hide-out is uncovered.

“Hey,” I say, standing, tugging at the tank top I put on after the shower last night.

“We need to talk.” Ace doesn't ask if I want to, he just tells me what we need to do. This sort of authority is the kind that will get me in trouble.

The kind that will give me exactly what I need.

“Uh, I'm gonna call an Uber,” Claire says, dashing into my room and grabbing her phone.

“No,” I tell her. “Stay. Both of you.”

“I think you guys need to talk.”

“You’re seriously gonna leave me here with him? This monster?”

Ace's eyes swivel to mine. He looks completely caught off guard by my words. Good. I want him shaking in his boots. Okay, so he isn't wearing boots. He's wearing some shiny, fancy-pants dress shoes and a suit that looks like it was made for someone to wear down the red carpet.

He looks good, but truthfully I think his look is a little forced. I honestly think he'd be more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

“Just go. Both of you,” I say, exasperated. I turn to get my coffee cup, needing more coffee if I’m going to have this conversation with Ace.

Not that I know what the conversation will entail.

Were you driving the car the night my sister went into a coma? Were you the one who fled the scene?

And what if he denies it? What am I supposed to say or do then?

Claire and Tess throw their clothes in a tote bag and pull on sweats and tee-shirts.

“Can we borrow some flip-flops?” Tess asks.

“Of course,” I say, knowing sweats, tee-shirts, and the high heels they wore last night would look ridiculous together. Thankfully for them I stocked up on cheap flip-flops when I moved to the desert.

Ace stands in the center of the apartment, and I have literally no clue what he is thinking. Do I want to know?

“The car's here, Tess,” Claire says, checking her phone.

“Okay,” Tess says, then walks over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You text me in an hour or I'm gonna start stalking you like Ace here, ’kay?”

“Got it,” I say, smiling tightly.

“You swear you're good?” Claire asks me, as she wraps an arm around my neck. “Because we can stay.”

“She's fine,” Ace says coolly.

I nod in agreement, and watch as my friends leave the apartment.

I walk over to the door and bolt it closed.