Page 13 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

“I’ll say.”

I go back to making notes, trying hard not to think about what other types of things he might be good at.

9

MICKEY

As a rule, I don’t take meetings in the crow’s nest. I’m there most nights, and Ragucci spent a lot of time in there going over things with me. But apart from the head of security, I’m not sure I’ve ever had another person sit at that table with me. Until tonight when Katie leans over her notebook with a serious crinkle between her eyebrows, I find out with breathtaking suddenness that apparently watching her do math turns me on. In all my years running this joint, I definitely never felt that about my old accountant doing the books.

When she traces one pink nail down a column of numbers it might as well have trailed that line down my belly because my abs tighten and I harden so much I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay in these pants. There’s no way to adjust myself even under the table that would give me the slightest relief. I need to calm my body and leave.

She makes me laugh, and she keeps getting more real. I want to stay detached and just let her be another employee. But she’s not. She’s smart and curious, takes a ton of notes. She’d be a terrific employee if I could stop wanting to fuck her senseless on this very table. My body just keeps making decisions before my brain could stop it.

She’s starting to understand the scope of this business, the thousands of people who depend on me for their livelihood. This isn’t just a corporation—it’s a family and the Pearl is the highly profitable and secret beating heart of that family. The revenue this place generates supports not only families but also funds the anonymous nonprofit foundation that administers assets from a huge, interest-bearing principle I started five years ago.

It isn’t just software and numbers. It’s more than that. It’s the weight of the goddamn world somedays, and the greatest of privileges on others. It’s something greater than my life or legacy. It’s the power to mold my end of this city into a better place for the future generations. I feel like an asshole saying any of that, so I just show her the charts, the numbers. I send her a file on the nonprofit’s portfolio and the organizations that currently benefit from its proceeds.

“This is separate, then? From the charities you sponsor like the ball teams and hospital wings and stuff,” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Why hide it?” she challenges.

“I’m not hiding it. I’m distributing funds efficiently without anyone wasting money on throwing some dinner to honor my contributions so everyone claps for me and I get a plaque with my name on it.” I rub the back of my neck and don’t want to look at her.

“You’re embarrassed,” she says almost gleefully. “You don’t want to throw your weight around or let everyone know what a good guy you are. That would ruin your reputation if this city knew how generous you were.”

“You make me sound like the Grinch.”

“No, more like if John Wick bought teddy bears for sick kids and poured enough money into the fire department that they never had to have another chili cookoff to upgrade their safety equipment. Jesus, Mick. This is amazing.”

She looks at me like she thinks she is perfectly safe. Like it is no risk at all for her to sit here across from me, alone in a dimly lit private room with a security code and a scanner set to my thumbprint, and then look at me like I’m Captain America. She has no idea the things I’d like to do to her right here and right now.

“John Wick, huh?” I say and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t flattering. “Except I don’t have a dog.”

She laughs and the sound is music to my ears. Making her laugh like that feels like I won the Heisman Trophy or something. I’d think I was drunk or something, but I haven’t had a drop apart from the single beer.

I set up a meeting for her and the rest of the accounting team for tomorrow. They can brief her on the software and procedures. The nuts and bolts. What I need to show her tonight is why this matters. Not for greed, not even for success which is nothing but greed in nicer shoes.

The joint’s open for the night and there’s a few dozen people down there trying their luck. Mostly the usual crowd, a well-heeled set from the corporate world and a few privileged tourists who have to accompany a club member to enter. I don’t host games of chance for people who are down on their luck, already in debt, or have trouble with the law. It’s a classy place and I plan to keep it that way.

Katie’s gazing out the mirror at the action downstairs.

“Want to go out on the floor and try your hand at roulette?” I offer.

“No way. I lost eighty bucks in half an hour in Vegas last year. Plus, I’m not dressed for it.”

I look her up and down and she looks fine to me.

“What?” I ask.

“What?” she says dubiously. “Look at them and then look at me. I don’t have on silk or sequins or red-bottom shoes.”

“So what?”

“I don’t fit in down there. I’d feel conspicuous. Like the help wandered out of the servant’s quarters in some old movie.”

“This ain’t Jane Austen, Katie. Nobody’s hung up on class differences. You and I come from the same place. No way in hell any member of the Pearl would look down on you.”

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