Savage Little Games: A Dark Mafia, Enemies to Lovers Romance (Sin City Mafia Book 1)
Savage Little Games: Chapter 2

Shit, shit, shit!

The last thing Mitch and I need is to get Dante Salvato involved in this nightmare.

It would’ve been nice to have someone stand up to those thugs as they hit me and kept kicking me when I was down, though. The pain was bad but gasping for air while one squeezed my throat…I really thought he was going to kill me.

Today is too late for a white knight or dark knight or whoever Salvato thinks he is giving me orders.

Why did he have to be down here tonight? Sometimes I can go weeks without seeing him in the lounge. The one time my face is a mess, he shows up and causes a scene.

Taking my hair down because I hate that he gave me the order to put it up and wash the makeup from my face, I march back out to the floor and tell James, “I have to go. I’m sorry. Hopefully, he’ll let me come back later…” I remove the few tips from my apron and lay it on the bar.

“I know. Mr. Salvato told me you’re done for the night. He looked pissed. What’s going on, Van?” the college-aged kid asks, then his jaw drops. “And what happened to your face? Did he do that?”

“No, he didn’t do this, but he is pissed about it. I’ll explain everything later. Please don’t tell anyone what happened,” I beg him, because I don’t want to be dragged through the casino’s rumor mill.

“My lips are sealed,” he says. “Hope you’re going to be okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him with a smile. I have survived worse than Dante Salvato.

Back in the employee locker room, I open mine to grab my purse and dig out my phone to call Mitch.

“Hey, babe. Aren’t you at work?” he asks, since he knows we can’t have phones on us during a shift.

“Yes, and shit just hit the fan. Who do you owe money to, Mitch?”

“I told you not to worry about it. I’m handling it.”

“Was that Salvato’s men last night?”

“Fuck, no.”

I guess that’s a relief. “Well, Dante—Mr. Salvato—just saw my face and made me tell him what happened. He wants you to come down to The Royal Palace. Now.”

“Me? What the fuck, Van? What did you tell him? Who the hell does he think he is?”

“I’m sorry. Just come down here. If you don’t, then he’ll probably send someone to pick you up.”

“Fuck! You should’ve kept your mouth shut!”

“That wasn’t an option!” I shout at him. “I have to go. He’s waiting on me.”

“Jesus, Van. I do not need this shit…”

“And you think I do?” I yell at him before I end the call.

This isn’t my fault, it’s his, and now I might lose my job, but Mitch doesn’t seem to care about that. All he worries about is himself, probably because he’s never had anyone that he’s responsible for keeping alive. He doesn’t have a twenty-year-old son in college with tuition that needs to be paid every semester.

I stuff my phone into my purse and throw it over my shoulder. Rushing out of the locker room, I make my way through the casino floor and to the hotel’s elevator bank. Dante’s leaning a shoulder against the nearby wall. His scowl says he’s running out of patience while waiting for me.

He looks so pissed I expect him to yell at me for taking too long when he pushes off the wall and stalks forward. Instead of cussing me out, he simply says, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Salvato. Mitch is on the way.”

“Good,” he grumbles as he jabs his finger on the elevator’s up button. I have a feeling it’s not going to be a good thing for Mitch. Salvato wants to blame him for my messed-up face, and in a way, he’s right.

I’ve never had any luck with men, not with the one who raised me, the one I was supposed to marry, the one who knocked me up, or any of the ones who liked me well enough to date me once or twice, but had no interest in dealing with a mouthy teenage boy. Mitch is my first and only serious relationship ever. He and Cole actually get along pretty well. It probably helped that Mitch didn’t move in with me until Cole left for college.

The elevator finally arrives. Once it empties out, Dante waits for me to get in before he follows, swiping a card for the penthouse while a man and woman join us and press the number six. I keep my gaze forward, but it’s impossible not to notice the tall, towering man’s reflection in the mirrors staring back at me. He’s eying me up and down while running his index finger over his lip slowly, thinking deep thoughts. Likely dirty thoughts.

When the man and woman exit on the sixth floor, he speaks. “You’re too…delicate.” He says the words as if they’re an insult. “I’d have to be careful with you, wouldn’t I, butterfly?”

My cheeks suddenly grow warm because I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about us having sex.

“Good. Now you’re thinking about it too,” he says with a grin, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his suit pants.

“No, I’m not.”

“Sure, you are.”

Oh, come on! How many floors does this place have? Thirty-eight apparently. We’re only on twelve.

“I would smother you in missionary,” Dante remarks. “So, you would probably have to ride me.”

I shake my head because there are no words. Insulting him won’t do me any good right now when I’m at his mercy and he knows it.

“Putting you on all fours could work, too. I do love it from the back.”

“This is the slowest elevator in the world,” I mutter. And hottest. There’s hardly any air flow. It has to be about two hundred degrees in here. Sweat is literally beading on my forehead and neck.

“You’re blushing like a Catholic school girl, but I think you’re older than you look.”

At least talking about my age is better than the best sexual positions for us. “How old do you think I am, Mr. Salvato?”

Again, his eyes roam my body like elevators up and down, up, and down, from head to toe. “Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”

I can’t help but smile, even though it hurts my damn busted lip. “Thank you.”

“Well? Tell me.” When I hesitate, he adds, “I could just take your purse and replace your license.”

“Fine. I’m thirty-six.”

“Wow. Thirty-six? You’re so petite it throws everyone off.”

“How old are you?”

“Forty-five.”

I nod and tell him, “You act younger.”

“Hmm. That’s not a compliment, is it?”

Thankfully, I don’t have to answer because the elevator finally jerks to a stop. The door slides open. The first thing I notice in the hallway are the two huge men in all black. Guards, obviously, one standing on either side of the heavy, double metal doors. Dante walks up and punches in a code into the wall-mounted keypad. I hear the lock turn, and he opens the right side, holding it for me to go through first.

The penthouse is even bigger and fancier than I imagined. There are stairs that spiral up, up, and up some more. The marble floors spill into a huge kitchen where a small wall with a fireplace separates it from a dining room.

“Where’s your living room?” I can’t help but ask, as if that’s my biggest concern at the moment.

“Second and third floors,” Dante answers. “My office is this way.”

We pass by the glass windows and door leading out to an infinity pool. The sun begins to set, and several beautiful women in bikinis relax in lounge chairs like they don’t have a care in the world.

Must be nice.

Dante’s office is just about what I expected. A cavernous room with two floors of books lining the walls. There’s a leather sofa, some chairs, a giant cherry wood desk that’s so large it looks like it was built in the room. Once inside, he gestures to the sofa and says, “Get comfortable,” while staring down at his phone now in his hand, typing away. “Eli is on his way here to wait with you.”

Being comfortable is apparently my latest command, and since there’s nothing else to be done, I go and plop down on the caramel brown leather sofa to wait.

Dante

A few calls later and, thanks to my many sources, I probably know more about Mitchell McKinny than his girlfriend. If so, I can’t wait to enlighten her. Unfortunately, there’s not much background information available for her. Previous tax returns show her places of employment going back fifteen years. DMV records list addresses where she’s lived. There’s not a single blemish on her criminal record. It’s all too squeaky clean for a thirty-six-year-old woman working in a bar as a cocktail waitress for a measly minimum wage and tips.

The only surprise my team uncovered was that Vanessa has a son. He’s twenty years old, and there’s no father’s name listed on his birth certificate.

When I come in from the balcony, Eli is still standing as directed outside my office, where the little blonde bombshell is waiting.

“McKinny has arrived and been detained downstairs,” he says.

“About time,” I mutter.

Having overheard us, I see Vanessa stand up as if to join us. Buttoning my suit jacket, I tell her, “You’re staying here for now. Yell for Eli if you need anything.”

“Okay then,” she agrees with a sigh before she sits back down and crosses her legs.

“Here’s the document you wanted.” Eli offers me a tri-folded slip of paper. Trusting it’s exactly what I asked for, I stuff it inside my suit’s breast pocket.

“Make sure she doesn’t leave this room,” I warn him.

“Yes, sir.”

He remains in his sentry position next to the open doorway to wait while I head to the basement to have a talk with McKinny. Like the penthouse, it also requires a card, along with a fingerprint scan to keep tourists out.

When I step off the elevator, my dress shoes are loud in the quiet space, echoing around the concrete floor of the mostly empty open space. I make my way over to the single occupied chair in the room where a man sits with four of my guards surrounding him. In a word he’s…messy. His brown hair and beard are long and shaggy, his clothes, a band tee and athletic shorts, are faded and wrinkled like he slept in them.

“Mitchell McKinny?” I ask when I’m standing in front of him, as if I haven’t just downloaded his entire life history including photos and videos.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you just get out of bed?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Sleeping while your girlfriend works all night?” Sleeping instead of selling his soul or whatever he has to do to pay off his debt to keep her out of harm’s way.

“I’m looking for a job,” he says, which is probably a lie.

“You’re a shitty boyfriend,” I tell him.

“Excuse me?”

“You let her work ten, sometimes twelve-hour days on her feet while you fuck around behind her back and blow money on idiotic bets with very dangerous men.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you?” I ask as I walk up to him so close, he has to tilt his head up to see my face. “Because I don’t think you’re sorry.”

“How is that any of your business?”

“It’s my business because I made it my fucking business. Vanessa is also my employee. You screwed up, and she took the fall for you.”

“I begged them not to hit her!”

Tilting my head to the side, I examine him closer. “Unlike her face, yours is completely unmarred. Why is that?”

“They said they were hurting her to motivate me.”

“Motivate you to pay off your debt to Kozlov?”

“How did you—”

“I had my people ask around,” I reply. The Russians are not a group he wants to fuck with. I would know. They once put a hit out on me, one that I barely dodged by laying low in Europe until my father and the Russian boss Yuri Petrov reached a truce.

“How long have you and Vanessa been together?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess we’ve been living together for a year or so now, dating for a little more than that.” Yeah, he’s definitely not a man who buys her flowers on anniversaries.

“And why are you stringing her along when you obviously want to be a free man again, screw who you want, do what you want?”

“I-I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. The photos and videos I just received of you fucking at least four of Kozlov’s strippers and whores says it for you.”

“Oh, shit! Please don’t show that to Vanessa. I’ll-I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, sir. Name it.”

“My sources tell me that you owe Kozlov seventy-six thousand dollars.”

“How? The girls were free!”

There’s no fucking way that’s true. In Vegas, men have to pay those women to even look at them.

“No, dumbass, they weren’t free. No woman in Vegas is free.”

“Shit.”

“Well?”

“Yeah, I owe Kozlov a lot. I didn’t know it was that much.”

“I rounded up. You know how interest works with assholes like us.”

“Jesus. I’ll never get that much cash…”

“I’ll pay off your gambling and whoring debt.”

“You will? Why?

“Because I want Vanessa.”

“Vanessa? My Vanessa?”

“Yes.” Although, she won’t be his Vanessa much longer.

“What do you mean you want her?”

“What do you think I mean?”

“Like how long do you want her? A night or what?”

He doesn’t get angry or even look the least bit appalled that I just insinuated that I want to fuck his girlfriend. He’s a selfish asshole who is ready to get down to the dirty details, not even concerned that Vanessa may be opposed to such an arrangement made without her permission. I have no doubt that for so much money he would be willing to stand back and let me take her even if she refused me. And when she replaces out just how easily he would’ve sold her body to me like he owns it, she’s going to be fucking furious.

“Well, if I were paying a whore a grand a night that would buy me seventy-six nights.”

“Seventy-six nights? You want me to give my girlfriend to you for seventy-six nights?”

“Yes, but I want her days too.”

“And you’re going to…”

“Fuck her as many times as possible in those seventy-six days.”

“What if she doesn’t want to fuck you?” Now he finally asks the important question. “She seriously hates you, man.”

She hates me? What the hell?

“If Vanessa refuses, then I’m out seventy-six thousand dollars and you get her back safe and sound in seventy-six days. If she still wants you by then.” I should’ve let him think the worst, but replaceing out she hates me throws me off my game.

“She’ll never agree to this.”

Is he just realizing that now? God, he’s an idiot.

“How long would it take you to pay Kozlov off at his interest rate?” I ask him.

“Fuck, I don’t know. Years?”

“That’s what I thought. Years. Decades, maybe, with the interest growing every single day. Unless he just decides to kill you and cut his losses.”

“I, ah, I heard he’s done that before.”

“He has. So have I when collecting debts becomes too tedious.”

“You’ll really pay it all off? Tonight?” he asks, like he’s trying to figure out the catch.

“I’ll pay it off before you walk out of the building tonight. Do we have a deal?” I hold out my palm to him and he stares at it.

“Fuck. Van is going to kill me or-or leave me…”

“Hopefully both,” I admit honestly. Then I bait him, knowing he’ll take it. “At least Kozlov won’t kill you. Hell, how much do you want to bet she willingly fucks me before the night is over?”

“Double or nothing?” he eagerly suggests with a grin before shaking my hand.

For his audacity and stupidity, I haul my left arm back and slam my fist into his fucking mouth.

“Ow! What the fuck?” He tries to stand up and my men grab his shoulders to sit his ass back in the chair. “You didn’t say you were gonna hit me!”

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t either, you stupid son of a bitch. You still haven’t learned your lesson about taking idiotic bets. You don’t deserve her.”

“Hell, I know that,” he mutters as he dabs his fingertips over his lip. I’m happy to see them come away with crimson staining them since that was my non-dominant left hand.

“You better hope she gives a shit about you,” I tell him. “Because if Vanessa refuses my offer, I’ll just slit your throat right here and now.”

His jaw drops, and I punch him in the eye so hard with my right fist that my knuckles split open.

“Fuck!” he exclaims as he clutches his face but remains seated.

“Just a few more blows to go. Stand him up,” I tell my men who jerk him up by his elbows. I land a blow to his gut that would’ve doubled him over if not for the hold they have on him. I slam my fist up into his ribs a few times as he cries out.

“Drop him,” I order them, wanting him sitting for the final part. When he’s slumped in the chair, I wrap my fingers around his throat, squeezing hard, and tell him, “Don’t you fucking dare drag Vanessa into any of your bullshit again. Do you understand me?”

His face turns red, then purple while he nods his head vigorously, as much as I’ll allow. Finally, I relax my fingers and he sucks in a breath.

While I want to make damn sure Vanessa ends things with this asshole, I’m not just doing it out of the goodness of my heart.

I want her. I will have her. It’ll be what she wants too. Eventually. I’m not going to make it easy for her to refuse me. I still replace it hard to believe she hates me…

“Tell Eli to bring her down,” I instruct my men while I pull out my handkerchief from my pocket to dab at the blood on my knuckles before it gets on my custom suit. “Now, Mitch, tell me you know the names of Kozlov’s men who hurt Vanessa.”