Page 12 of Devil of Vegas

I turn on the penthouse’s sound system, and the room fills with the sound of Charles Gounod’s classical opera.

Isla raises a brow at me in a sort of angry amusement. “Faust, really? I suppose that’s a fitting piece for the Devil to listen to.”

I give her a small smirk, and then she dances. But Isla doesn’t just move across the floor. She dancesfuriously, defiantly—passionately. Instantly and almost against my will, she captivates me completely. I’m entranced as I sit there watching her every movement.

My eyes follow each curve of her body. I want to run my hands over the smooth lines of her form. Her languid figure glides across the floor with such grace that I can barely hear the wooden blocks of the shoes beneath her. The longer that I watch her dance, the more enraptured I become. I not only forget about the memories that had been plaguing me, but I also forgetabouteverythingelse. It’s as if the entire city, the world, and my whole empire have dropped at this woman’s feet. And I realize that things have suddenly just changed. Isla Hart is no longer just a witness or a problem to be dealt with. She’s no longer just a pawn or a problem for me to handle. She’s becoming anobsessionthat threatens to be my undoing.

“Stop,” I say, as I reach to turn off the music abruptly.

She freezes in place before letting herself down off her toes to stand and stare at me.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it?” she asks.

I can’t even form the words to answer her at first. My thoughts are spiraling, and my heart is racing. I haven’t felt this out of control since the night I lost my sister.

Without answering her, I stand, grab my keys and coat. I head straight for the door, leaving her secured with Junior outside the door. I can’t be here any longer right now. I can’t let myself be around her.

Pausing for a moment, I touch the doorknob, muttering to myself something I realize I should have known. “I’ve made a mistake.”

CHAPTER 6

ISLA

Irealize it now—Vincent Moretti is never going to let me go. I was a fool to think for even a second that there was a chance to appeal to a shred of humanity inside that man. He hasnone. It was stupid of me to think that I could make a deal with the Devil. Everyone knows that doing that requires losing your soul.

I stand at the window inside the sprawling penthouse living room. I’ve grown sick of being cooped up in my room. This decorated prison keeps me confined, regardless of which room I occupy.

Outside the door, Vincent’s men guard the only exit. They take turns in shifts, and there’s never a gap in which I might escape. Even if there was, the entire building is crawling with Vincent’s men. Sometimes, radio and earpiece chatter filters through the door. It’s raining outside today, which is rare in Vegas. Yet, it matches my mood—sullen, dim, and dripping with a quiet hopelessness. I stand by the window watching the rain, observing the people in the city below, unaware of the woman trapped at the top of the building like a princess in a forbiddentower. Watching the city go by unaffected, my mind drifts to the shift in Vincent’s demeanor as he watched me dance.

It was as if something snapped inside of him. One second, he was appreciating and enjoying my dance. His face held a faint smile, I believe. The next, he looked angry. Perhaps the strangest part of his sudden shift in demeanor was that the anger didn’t seem directed at me, but maybe athimself.I sense Vincent is full of scars, and not just the ones that you can see on the outside. I avoid dwelling on his trauma; it’s too disturbing. Especially since I’m trapped here with no actual idea of what his intentions for me are. I can’t imagine he’s just going to keep me here housed and fed and bored out of my mind for the rest of my life. At some point, he might just decide to have me killed and erase the problem of my witnessing a crime at his hands.

I shudder to think about that. Even more to think about a life trapped here like a caged bird, unable to dance or see the theatre again, or talk to anyone other than my captors. It’s an unbearable thought, one that had me contemplating things I shouldn't.

The sound of the falling rain against the windowpane lulls me into a sort of rhythmic trance as I stare blankly out and mourn the death of my dance career. For a hot minute, things were finally going well for me. Just a few days ago, I was on the cusp of embarking on a dance career I’d spent my whole life dreaming of. Ironically, losing the one thing that pushed me to secure a ballet academy scholarship and escape my difficult group home is what has me contemplating the worst, but I can’t think like that. Survival has always been my first instinct. But what options do I have? Either I take what little control I still have. Or I let Vincent do it and destroy me slowly.

Adrenaline mixed with desperation bubbles up inside of me in a caustic mix of unstable emotion. I won’t let that monster force me to dance again. And I won't stay here anymore. I vowed I would never again let anyone hold me captive—not group homes, not wicked people, not a monstrous mafia boss. If the only way to free myself from this prison is to take my life into my own hands, save myself, then so be it. At least I’ll be free or die trying.

I survey the room, searching for anything I can use as a weapon to break the glass, making them think I jumped while I make a run for it. When the penthouse door opens, I jump a bit in surprise.

“Sorry,” Marco says as he steps inside. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” I say, forcing a smile to my lips.

Marco doesn’t seem like a bad guy. In fact, he might be a good man, were it not for his current circumstances. He feels less like my captor and more like a protector, checking on me from time to time to see if I need anything, but not hovering over me or being too pushy. Unexpectedly, he appears to respect me genuinely, which I appreciate. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything, Ms. Hart,” he says, returning my smile.

“Isla,” I remind him. “And no, thank you, I’m fine.”

Instead of leaving right away, Marco walks over to stand at the window with me for a moment. His entire presence is quieter than the others I’ve interacted with so far. His muscular build implies that he’s very strong, but the unassuming way that he carries himself makes him feel a lot less threatening.

“I like the rainy days sometimes,” he says as he stands beside me for a moment. “Most don’t like them, but I find the rain relaxing—a reprieve for reflection, you know?”

“I agree,” I nod. “It’s always good to reflect on one’s life from time to time.”

A brief look from Marco reveals his inner turmoil. Maybe he isn’t totally on board with keeping me captive here. However, his opinion is irrelevant. He sighs and then turns to leave.

“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside the door.”

I thank him and wait for the door to close before resuming my search for something to break the window. It will be loud, and he’ll come running in when he hears it. So, when I do this, there will be no turning back and no time for hesitation.

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