Page 14 of Devil of Vegas

“Come on, Alonzo,” Marco says in my defense. “She’s not a threat as long as she’s inside that room. Besides, I’d imagine that being Vincent’s underboss means that you’ve got more important things to take care of than a ballerina.”

I can hear Alonzo let out a disagreeable grunting sound. “Ballerina or not, she’strouble, mark my words. And I don’t want to see the boss getting distracted by her pretty face. She’s barely old enough to be turning his attention as it is. Trust me, I’ve got a daughter her age, and I know how they can be. She’s a dancer too. And if I didn’t keep a tight leash on her, Sera wouldbe out throwing herself at the feet of any handsome, powerful men like Vincent as well. Women need to be kept on a short leash, especially the young ones, or else they cause problems.”

I try to place the name I hear,Sera, to see if it’s a dancer that I’m familiar with. I wonder if he means Serena Ferraro. She’s been a dance rival of mine ever since I started rising in the world of ballet. It seems like another lifetime ago now that I’ve been stuck inside here. One week felt like an eternity. And just when I wonder why Madame Durant hasn’t turned the city upside down looking for me yet, Alonzo mentions her name.

“We’ve got Durant curtailed for now,” he continues. “She’s a manipulative witch, but she’s easy enough tocoaxinto cooperating.”

I bristle when I hear anyone attack Madame Durant’s character and call her names. She’s been a mother figure, fiercely protective of her dancers and company. That said, I guess there are a few things Idon’tknow about Madame Durant from the sounds of it too.

“Oh?” Marco asks. It almost seems like he’stryingto keep Vincent’s underboss talking, as if he knows that I’m listening from inside my room. That’s impossible, right? Why would one of Vincent’s men want to help me? As kind as Marco has been to me, I have no delusions about his loyalty lying firmly with Vincent.

“Yeah,” Alonzo chuckles. He must find all of these games that they play with people’s lives very entertaining. “I think the old woman still carries a lot of grief and guilt over her dead daughter. Blames herself, if you ask me. It’s no surprise then the way that she latches onto her favorite dancers like Isla Hart.She’s trying to fill a hole in her chest, an open void. Which makes it pretty damn easy to convince her to keep quiet.”

“I don’t understand,” Marco says. “How did you get Celeste Durant to agree not to go to the cops?”

“Simple. I told her if she opened her mouth, we’d kill her star dancer. I told her I’d do it myself, hack our captured ballerina up one piece at a time. She won’t be squealing to anyone anytime soon.”

Stepping back from the door, I’m horrified by the enforcer’s ruthlessness. If what he said is true, then it’s clear he prefers violence as his main negotiating tool. He’s not a man I want to cross. He’s the kind of man who would kill me on impulse and then ask for Vincent’s forgiveness after the deed is done. I’ve never been more thankful to have Marco standing outside the door and keeping him out. Vincent’s harsh world seems filled with terrifying men, but at least Marco’s small moments of kindness and protection help to humanize it a bit.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go,” Alonzo says to my relief. “While Vincent is busy with that pretty face inside, our enemies are still scheming on the streets.Someonehas to keep this operation from folding.”

Just as I hear footsteps walk away, Marco calls after him. “Alonzo,” he says in a measured, softly aggressive tone that is impressive for his young age and lesser position inside this gang of thugs. “I’d be careful not to undermine Vincent.”

“Areyouthreatening me, Junior?” Alonzo asks as he walks back.

Vincent speaks before anyone else can.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Vincent asks in an icy tone.

“No, sir. I was just checking on Junior here. Now I’m leaving to go take care of some other matters,” Alonzo backpedals.

“Good, I won’t keep you then.”

A couple of minutes pass silently while Marco shows Alonzo to the penthouse exit. There’s volatility between Vincent’s underboss and some of the rest of his men. Maybe even with Vincent himself, and I’m glad that man is now gone.

A minute passes as I listen, unsure if Vincent will seek me out. When he doesn’t, I decide to calm my nerves with a hot bath. Hearing about how Madame Durant is being blackmailed and knowing that anytime Vincent or Marco isn’t standing outside my door leaves the chance for one of the more brutal men to slip in and kill me, has my nerves on edge and my outlook feeling bleak.

I step into the bathroom and draw the water for the tub. There’s a whole plethora of scented bath salts and bottles of bubble bath at my disposal in here. I choose one that smells like ripe peaches and toss a splash into the running water. While undressing, I think about how strange yet comforting it is to enjoy a simple pleasure such as a hot bath while still in captivity. I guess that’s what people do when they’re traumatized. They look for the little things they can grasp onto to help them feel some sense of normalcy.

After dipping a toe in to check the temperature, I slide down into the tub, resting my head on the back of the porcelain and letting the warm, silky water cover me. The feeling is one of instant relaxation for my muscles, even if my spirit is still uneasy. The bubbles only partially cover my breasts, leaving my nipples and knees exposed. It isn’t until I’m already comfortable that I look up and realize I’ve forgotten to close the bathroom door. Isuppose it doesn’t matter because no one brings my next meal in for a few hours, still. That’s when I notice the tiny cameras in the corners of the room. Two of them, both pointed directly at the bathtub as if they rotated viewpoints to follow me in here. I expected monitoring given my confinement, especially after my window-breaking attempt. I stare into the camera nearest me and can practicallyfeelVincent’s eyes looking back through the lens at me. It’swrong.I feel more enticed to stay right here and keep staring at the camera rather than get out of the tub and cover myself.

Upon glancing at the camera’s blinking light, I realize I’m being watched. A sudden feeling of no longer being alone washes over me. Sure enough, as I turn to look, Vincent enters the bathroom.

In the doorway, he stands silently. He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t try to touch me. He just…watches.

I don’t know what comes over me, but instead of telling him to leave, or getting out of the bath, I reach for the bar of soap and wash. My eyes hold his as I run the slippery bar over the crests of my breasts and sit up straighter in the tub until the bubbles no longer hide the pinkish flush of my skin.

My eyes drop to the crotch of his pants when I can’t help noticing the growing bulge there.

I should stop—IknowI should stop. By doing this, I’m tempting fate—and tempting the Devil. I expect something unwanted to happen. Despite that, I can’t seem to help myself. Instead of being afraid of Vincent, I’m turned on by the way he’s watching my hands trace over my body.

I let my hair fall down around my shoulders as I sink back down in the tub, keeping my chin just above the water and my lipsslightly parted as I continue to stare back at him. Vincent stands frozen, his steely eyes unblinking, his body motionless except for the subtle swelling in his pants.

When I reach my hand down with the bar of soap between my legs, the tension between us rises to a level that seems unbearable. I tremble, wondering and maybe evenwantingwhatever is about to happen next. But then, as quickly as he appeared, Vincent turns and leaves without ever having spoken a single word.

As soon as he’s gone, I realize what a mistake that could have erupted into. What the hell was I thinking? He isn’t some dark knight or seductive anti-hero—Vincent Moretti is a mafia man, a cold-hearted killer, and a vicious man who has stolen me from my life. Any fantasies I’ve allowed to creep into my head need to stopright now.

I avoid lustful thoughts about him during the day, but my subconscious desires take over when I try to sleep. Almost as soon as I drift off into a deep slumber, I dream.

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