Page 9 of Salvatore

“Is this your girlfriend?” I ask the defeated Edward and his eyes flare with panic, telling me I’m right.

I forward her contact details to my phone and stare at the work of art I unleashed on his body throughout the night and shake my head as I sigh.

“If you are planning on calling this in, I’d think again.”

I toss his phone on the floor and grind it into the carpet with my boot, the sound of it crushing beneath my feet almost as satisfying as it was beating him to a pulp last night.

I laugh softly. “I have her number and next time it will be her blood on my hands. Do I make myself clear?”

His rasping breathing intensifies, and a brief nod of his head causes him to wince in pain.

I think back to when he caught my eye in the casino, his loaded look of lust firmly directed my way. It didn’t take much to strike up a conversation and his intentions were crystal clear.

Within the hour, we were in this room and wasted no time in getting naked and downright dirty. It was just a shame he picked the wrong man because I kind of prefer the rougher side of sex which he discovered to his cost.

His bloody nose trails a path down his face, painting the bruises that were driven by my fist.

One eye is almost closed, and the other is filled with blood. The purple bruising on his neck and torso is my finest work and I can only imagine the pain he is experiencing inside after my attention.

I toss a wad of dollar bills on the floor and growl, “Remember, not a word or your girl pays the price and if I see you in Vegas again, it will be your last visit — anywhere.”

His moans of pain serenade me as I walk away and as I exit the room, I am feeling very good about life.

I make my way to the office and the first man I see is my brother’s consigliere, glowering at the CCTV as another lucky customer hits the jackpot on the slot machines.

I slump into the seat across the room and say with interest, “Where’s Salvatore?”

He smirks, and I register an unusual gleam in his eye as he shrugs, “He’s taking the day off.”

“He’s what?”

I stare at him in astonishment because my brotherneverskips business, and he sighs as his attention returns to the screen.

“He asked if you would meet the contingent from Miami. He wants a full report emailed to him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I lean forward and Sinclair’s blank expression tells me I’ll get nothing from him. He is good athis job, which is why he’s invaluable to my brother and so I say nothing and stand.

As I reach the door, he says in a deep tone, “Michael.”

I stop and he says with interest, “The guy in fourteen sixty-three, is he alive?”

“Barely.” I shrug and am surprised when a low laugh accompanies my response.

“Shame.”

I turn and Sinclair’s eyes dance with devilish merriment as he says gruffly, “Salvatore wants his stay to be an unhappy one.”

He turns his head away and I know that is all I’ll get, and I chuckle to myself as I exit the room. When you come to Vegas you leave as a winner or a loser, not really understanding how highly the odds are stacked against you. I’m guessing Edward lost a lot more than he bargained for last night and apparently my brother had another successful night at the tables. Me, I never lose and as I head to work, I prepare myself for another day ruining souls and deepening the darkness in my black heart.

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