Page 390 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“So, this is the job you came all the way to Vegas to interview for?”

“How ironic that you almost killed me outside the airport and made me miss said interview,” I say in a teasing voice. See? I can be charming when I want to be.

He grins. “Thank fuck I hit the brakes when I did.”

Thank fuck indeed.

I certainly didn’t relish the idea of spending my first moments in Vegas splattered across the pavement.

“Speaking of hitting the brakes…” I look at him from under my eyelashes. “Don’t think that what happened at the Bellagio is going to happen again if I get this job. I’m a professional.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he says. “I’m just trying to figure out…a professionalwhat?”

My mouth drops open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leans toward me, his blue eyes blazing with heat that can rival the sweltering air around us. “It means there’s a lot about you that doesn’t exactly scream nurturing.”

“Oh yeah? What does it scream, then?”

His lips curl upward into a wicked smirk. “It scream a lot of things that sure as hell aren’t appropriate for a little kid to hear.”

I grit my teeth. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been taking care of kids for the past five years now. My references are amazing becauseIam amazing!”

“Looks like I struck a nerve, yeah? You’re getting pretty damn defensive about your qualifications. But I’m not the one you need to convince. I don’t have a say in this decision, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” I snip. “I’m not one of your little gold-digging groupies. And by the way, who are you to judgemewhen it seems like all you do is live off the spoils of your family? What are you, some trust fund baby or something?”

“Ouch,” Dante says. “Judge much?”

I take a couple of breaths. I have got to control my temper or he’s going to tell his brother I’m some crackerjack who by no means can take care of this baby. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just a little bit tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Yeah, me either,” he murmurs, averting his eyes for a fleeting minute. For a second, my mind trips back to our time at Velvet Lounge, when his body was pressed against me and his mouth was hot against mine.

Is he thinking about that, too?

“And to answer your question, no. I’m not a trust fund baby. I run my own international business. But my job isn’t a typical nine-to-five one. I work on a few big projects a year, travel, take meetings with clients. I set my own schedule so I can be free for my family when they need me.”

I narrow my eyes. “If that isn’t the most evasive job description I’ve ever heard. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth, that you’re a contract killer?”

“Because it might have scared you off,” he says without missing a beat. “And Heaven would have kicked my ass if you high-tailed it outta here.”

Holy shit…?!

Did he seriously just admit to me that he was at Tatiana to kill Vigo in his own twisted way?

“Gotcha.” Then, he laughs, a low rumble that reverberates through me. “Holy shit, your face was priceless.” He reaches for Aisling and takes her from me, blowing raspberries on her belly. “This silly girl thinks I’m a hit man,” he sing-songs. “So silly! So silly!”

I bite down on my lower lip. Why does he have to be hot as fuck and equally adorable? “Okay, so if that’s not your gig, then what is?”

“I invest in real estate for my family,” he says. “I travel to different locations, check out properties, meet with clients who are interested in investing. That kind of thing.”

I nod, not believing him for a single second, although I pretend to eat up every bullshit word. He doesn’t know it was me last night. And that guy was most definitely not a glamorous, globe-trotting real estate investor.

He was a thug.

A killer.

I watched him with that gun.

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