Chapter Nineteen – Marcella

"No fucking way," I say, staring at my phone as if it's sprouted horns and a cloven hoof.

Lita leans back in her lounge chair, then dips her sunglasses an inch so I can see her curious eyes. She's rocking her favorite lime green bikini that shows off her olive skin to perfection. Add a little suntan oil, and she could light up the entire pool with her pearly glow. "What could possibly be that bad that it would cause you to use that tone on the most perfect day of the year?"

"I can tell you in one word," I say, sitting up. "Manny."

"Damn and double damn," Lita says, flopping back down. The lounge chair makes a gigantic whooshing noise. We're laying out in the sun in a luxurious cabana courtesy of Nixon. I'm done working with Linc for the day, and since it's already a hundred degrees with a blazing sun, he thought Lita and I might like to lounge in the sun while we sip free cocktails. I think he just wanted to see me model the string bikini he bought me. It's the perfect shade of gold for my skin tone. I'm starting to feel spoiled but only in a good way.

"He's at it again. That was Ms. Carr from the Mona Lisa. Seems that's his go to gambling spot lately. You'd think he'd keep it to a locals' casino or a dive, but not Manny. He always thinks he's more important than he is. Thinks he's going to be the next Chris Ferguson."

"Maybe he will."

At Lita's bizarre words, I sneak a look at her while I'm shoving stuff into my tote bag. She's always had a little thing for Manny, who doesn't know she's alive. He crows about being older, and he always avoided us like the plague when we were little, like we had girl germs or something equally as foul. He thinks of Lita as another kid sister. Besides, Manny is in no position to be dating until he gets his shit together.

"And we're not mentioning this latest shit storm to Nixon," I warn, standing and sliding my sunglasses onto my face. I wish I would have worn a hat to match my maxi dress. My skin's feeling a little prickly, like I got too much sun.

"Roger that," she says. "Not telling Nixon anything. By the way, what should I tell him when he stops by to check out the ass of his hot girlfriend and her ass is conspicuously missing from the chair where it should be lounging?"

I sigh. She's right. I hadn't thought this whole thing through. "Tell him there was an emergency."

She purses her lips and frowns. "I can't tell him that. He's a full on version of Mr. Fix It. He'll be off and running, leap on to his white horse, and gallop down the strip until he finds you and saves the day. You can never tell Nixon Caldwell you're having an emergency. No. We have to think of something plausible that he won't even bat an eyelash at."

"Tell him I got to feeling crampy, and I had to go home and take a Midol."

Lita pops up and snaps her fingers. "Perfect! Every single time I've used a period excuse on a guy, he runs for the hills. I'll try not to laugh when I say it. Sometimes, that guy's gaze is so hypnotic, I feel like he can see right through my rib cage to the neon sign that's blinking 'liar, liar, pants on fire.'"

I don't comment, but I know exactly what she's talking about. Nixon's eyes are such a piercing color, they do stop a person dead in their tracks. As I'm pondering what I'm going to do to get Manny back on track so he can stop ruining my perfect life, I hustle toward the valet. Nixon's tried to buy me a new car numerous times but I've refused. I can't have him buying everything for me. Even if I would be safer with a newer ride, I like to do for myself.

Once I'm behind the wheel of my old beater, I gun it the couple of blocks to the Mona Lisa. If I didn't have huge wedge heels on to make my legs look longer, I would have walked. But hoofing it that far would have been a recipe for Charlie horses and blisters.

After breezing through the revolving door, I search for Ms. Carr, so I'm surprised when Dante Giovanetti is standing inside the opulent lobby as though he's waiting for me. What the hell does that douche want with either me or Manny? Piddly debt like the kind Manny racks up isn't important enough for the owner of a casino to get involved.

"Miss Castillo?" he says, looming over me like a giant bird of prey. His eyes scan my body from head to toe as if he's inspecting apples for bruises. I shiver, and the brand on my stomach seems to throb. There's a look on his face like he wants to devour me and the man makes my skin crawl.

"Yes?" I lift my chin in defiance, even though I'd rather run.

"I'm assuming you've come to collect your brother?" he asks as his hand snakes out to clutch my forearm. My first reaction is to shake it off, but I know this man's dangerous, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing I fear him. He could destroy Manny with just a nod of his head, so I tolerate the disgusting touch.

"Where is he?" I ask, scanning the casino like an automatic sprinkler head. Even though I know Manny won't magically appear, I'm hoping he will so I can just grab him and get the hell out of here.

"Before I fetch him, there's something I'd like to discuss with you. Do you have a few minutes to chat?"

As he talks, his grip tightens on my arm until I feel pain. White hot rage explodes in front of my eyes, but I remain still and shrug it off. I know better than to get involved in a pissing match with him in the opulent lobby of one of the most beautiful and expensive casinos in the world. A slice of fear lances through my gut. I don't want to move to another location with this guy, away from prying eyes. The random tourists make me feel safe. Once I leave the lobby, I'm completely at the mercy of Dante Giovanetti, and I doubt he has any.

"Sure," I say, my voice low and shaky. I don't want him to see my discomfort, but I know it's written all over my face.

"Come this way, please," he says, yanking me forward and leading me toward an office to the side of the front desk as if I were an errant toddler who took too many pieces of candy and needed a reprimand. I wouldn't be surprised if Manny is already there with his nose in the corner in some kind of poker player's time out.

"Have a seat please." Dante waves toward a plush armchair upholstered in a rich gold velvet with a cushioned seat. Even though I'd rather stay standing and not put myself in a position of inferiority, I sink down into it. My wobbly knees thank me, but my pride shouts at me to stand up and fight.

"Where is my brother, Mr. Giovanetti?" Even though it's a question, it comes out of my mouth like a demand. He's playing games with me, and I don't like it. The text message to come and get Manny was from Ms. Carr, and I don't understand why Dante is even involved in a minor issue. It's not like Manny's a whale or something.

"He's somewhere safe," he says, taking a seat in the chair behind the desk. It's a calculated move, keeping a barrier between himself and the woman who's about to get hysterical. Probably been in this position before. My eyes take him in, and from the perfect haircut to the immaculately tailored designer suit, he's an exercise in male perfection. Even though he's traditionally handsome, he's ugly to me. I can't imagine being intimate with someone so ruthless. Peril seems to ooze from every pore. My mind drifts to disturbing images of him choking me until I'm a lifeless lump.

"Why am I here?" I ask, anxious to get this confrontation over with.

"I've come across some information that might be of use to you," he says, tenting his hands in front of his face and touching them to his lips. He spears me with a knowing look as if he's got me right where he wants me.

"And what is that?" I ask, taking the bait.

"All in due time, my dear. First, we need to talk about poor, poor Manuel. Such a waste of potential in that young man. It breaks my heart, truly it does."

I want to tell him to cut the crap with the histrionics, but I remain silent and wait for him to go on. I'm sure there's a veiled threat in there somewhere, but I want him to actually articulate it. I want to know what it's going to cost me out of my savings to get him off Manny's back.

"What do you want?"

"I don't want anything, my dear," he says, evil lacing his every syllable. I wonder what he's capable of, but I'm afraid I already know. I've seen "The Sopranos." He's capable of everything. Even if he never gets his own hands dirty, he has goons to see his orders through to the bitter end. "Manny's just having a bad day at the tables, that's all. I'm sure the next time he plays, the turn of the cards will fall his way."

"How much?" I ask, knowing this is about the money. They have to know that we don't have a pot to piss in, and Manny isn't good for anything he owes. If Nixon had to bail him out for four figures the last time, this is probably just as bad if not worse.

He waves his hand. "That's not important. What's important is that you know the person you're dealing with over at the Armónico. The person who's paying your brother's debts. And not just this time. The one who's been paying all of your brothers gambling debts for months to amount to well over a six-figure payout. That person isn't who you think he is."

My heart starts to race, pounding against my chest wall. What the fuck? Nixon has been paying all of Manny's debts and not telling me about it? I wonder how long Manny's been off the wagon and lying about it, and how long Nixon's been aiding and abetting his addiction. More importantly, why he's doing it? Questions float through my mind, rebounding off my skull without any logical answers.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, my voice trembling. I hate that he knows it because I see a flash of delight in his obsidian gaze before he can mask it with his usual cool indifference. He has me, and he knows it. It's what he wanted all along.

"Nixon Caldwell, my dear. He's a thug and a pervert. Ever wonder why you never see him out with the same woman more than once? It's because he has a thing for virgins. He thinks fucking them and taking their hymen brings him good luck. Ever since his dad took his own life, that kid's been screwed in the head. The worse part? Those poor, innocent virgins… he buys them."

I almost double over when nausea hits me. He buys them. He bought me with a payday for Manny. I can't even believe what I'm hearing, but I also can't think of any other reason Nixon would shell out over a hundred thousand dollars for some fucked up kid he doesn't even know. It's because he wanted me. He wanted to fuck me for some twisted belief that's so archaic I can't even wrap my mind around it. This is like some warped sacrificial rite of passage that you'd see on an old season of "Game of Thrones." And Manny handed me over to him on a silver platter for his own selfish gain. I'd been keeping my virginity for someone special, so having sex would mean something. My mind reels.

How could I have been so stupid to think that a man like Nixon Caldwell would decide that he actually wanted something more from a woman than just her body? And that woman could be someone like me? The concept is so ludicrous I want to laugh hysterically. No. I really want to cry hysterically because this news has gutted me in a way I didn't even think was possible after losing my folks. I hate the fact that I've allowed myself to become completely undone by something I knew all along didn't have the possibility of a future.

"I can see how upsetting this is for you," Dante says, leaning back in his chair. "Can I get you a glass of water? Anything?"

I shake my head because I'm struggling to hold back the tears, and if I say anything, my voice will crack, and the ugly cry will commence. I stand on my shaky legs, ready to leave. I no longer give a shit about Manny. He can rot in debtor's prison for all I care. When the fork's in the pork, it's time to set the table.

The free meal is done, and so is he.

"Miss Castillo…" By the look in his eyes, Dante's about to say something equally as vile as his previous comments, but he's interrupted by the door crashing open. I sink back down in the chair, unable to stay upright.

This can't be happening.