Sold: A Billionaire Bad Boy Mafia Romance (6 page)

There were the girls too. All of them were gorgeous and I disliked them all instantly. The brunette who had asked me who I was in a cutting tone was Bibi and she seemed to be just a waitress; there was a redhead too, Arantxa, who kept players in check and helped verify their claims in the computer when they made their bets (and helped with the drinks too); and there was also a blonde who seemed to be above the other two, acting as Ace’s secretary of sorts. She was the big-breasted girl who I found with her arm around Ace’s neck the first time I saw him. She didn’t show up in the first weeks, and when she did, she gave me a nasty look, as if she wanted me dead. Her name was Veronica Redd and she was the youngest one.

I heard about other people who worked for Ace, most of them located in different cities around the States. There was also a computer whiz nobody mentioned by name, who (according to what Ace had told me at the gym the other day) must be one of the most important people in the organization. There were bouncers at every location who had a limited knowledge of what Little Vegas even was, and thought they were just working for the pub’s or storehouse’s owner or something like that.

There were no meetings to speak of. We talked to each other on the phone whenever we needed to discuss something, and then met at one of the locations, usually by night or late afternoon. Sometimes Pip would pick me up and take me to Ace’s house. I never saw any of the girls there, though the rumor was that they were
more than welcome
to stay.
I have no right to be jealous
, I reminded myself constantly, but the thought of them lying on his bed, maybe more than one at a time, made my skin crawl and burn.

Ace didn’t give me the actual job at first. When I started working for him, we met once or twice so that he could hand me some documents or a pen drive with audio files in Russian. I was supposed to confirm that those documents looked like authentic Russian certificates of property and asset transfers, and listen to what people were saying in the recordings, usually specifying what they would bet. He didn’t need to see me to give me those materials, so it was all an excuse to
keep me around
, as he’d said. I was sure they’d had no problem translating papers and recordings before I entered that damn pub.

At these times he spoke to me coldly, but I could feel a slight current of nervousness in his voice, and more than a bit of desire. His fingers grazed my hand when he gave me the papers, and he stood very close when holding the door for me. So close that I could smell his minty breath, and a tingling sensation in my body.
For fuck’s sake, Van, just jump on him and fuck him already.
The thought made me bite my lip as I felt something melting inside me.

He called me for the first real job about a month into the business. He wanted me to go with him and meet a rich Russian businessman who was in New York temporarily. Apparently, he had made the trip just to sit at one of Ace’s tables and play; but he hadn’t been vetted yet. The amounts he wanted to bet were astronomical, about the size of a small country’s budget. Ace wanted me to hear him talk and pick up clues that he was being deceitful or things he didn’t want to say.

“Have you ever run into the Bratva, Van?” Ace asked me before telling me about the businessman.

The Brotherhood, the Russian mob? No, only petty criminals like my brother
, I thought, but I didn’t say it. I just shook my head. Ace thought the man could have ties to the mafia, so he wanted to make sure he had actually come to America to play poker and not, say, kill everyone in the organization.

The three of us sat around a table in al luxurious hotel room in downtown Manhattan. The rich guy was named Vassily Zhurov and started hitting on me as soon as he saw me, which made Ace Hart visibly annoyed. He said he owned the hotel we were in and dozens of others around the world. He also apparently led a boring life and risking all his money on the green felt was his way to spice it up.

“Will she be there?” he asked at one point, nodding in my direction.

“You could just ask
me
, Vassily. I’m right here,” I said. When he turned his head to look at me, his eyes were so hungry that I feared he would try to rape me right there on the table. He was a creepy, slimy old thing, but his eyes were full of a malevolent strength, and an inexhaustible lubricious impulse that would last until the end of his days.

“Well, will you be there, precious?”

“I don’t know.”
Fuck you.

“OK, that’s enough,” Ace snapped, standing up and offering the man his hand. “We’ll think about it. Thanks for your time.”

Zhurov incorporated slowly, the golden pin and chain in his tie glistening on the sun that came in through the window, and shook Ace’s hand feebly. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “I hope I’ll see you both at the table.”

Ace and I stood silent as the elevator ran down thirty floors to the street level. I could feel his anger, even smell it: something about manly hormones or a faint sweating, I guess. I had to refrain from putting my arms around him and assuring him that I found the other rich jerk repulsive, and that he, Ace Hart, was the only rich jerk who made me feel all tingly and fuzzy inside.

Well, Vassily
was
creepy and repulsive, but he was not lying. Or at least, I didn’t think he was. So, when we were in the car and Ace asked me what I thought about letting him play, I said he should.

“Really?” he asked, and gave me a quick, disappointed look.

“Yes, really,” I replied. “I don’t like him, but I trust him. He is exactly the nasty thing he claims to be.”

* * *

ACE

Well, I keep fucking up, it seems. I can’t help it.

Who could I blame for my stupid decisions? Nobody, only me. I should never have offered Van a job. It was not safe for her or me. How did I know I could trust her? I
felt
I could, but I had been wrong before. And I couldn’t think clearly when she was around. I turned into some kind of horny baby. That day at the hotel, after that sorry old Russian asshole spent half an hour making advances on her, I would have undressed and fucked her right there in the elevator. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t utter a single word. I was cursing myself for not having punched the guy in the face. Also, I could smell something in her, some kind of magical scent that made her turn into some fairy tale princess as her breathing made her chest go up and down, hypnotizing me.

She bit her fucking lip at one point, which almost made me lose my mind.

I knew I shouldn’t keep doing this.
It’s been a whole month since the last time I had sex
, I realized.
I just can’t. Other men would die to be with Veronica or Arantxa or Bibi Faire. I avoid them as much as I can.

I think the sexual abstinence is making me crazy. That must be the reason I’m acting so dumb lately.

That, and her big dark eyes.

11. ENCOUNTER IN BROOKLYN

VAN

More flowers? Another card? This kind of thing gets old fast.

This time, they’d had the decency not to break into my apartment. I found the note when I opened the door to go outside. This one was typewritten and the address was some place in Brooklyn, well away from Tribeca.

What is Ace up to now? Is this another way to “keep me around”?
I thought.
I hope it’s an invitation for lunch and not to see him workout and brag.

I almost called him to ask him what drug he was on, but I finally decided against it. I would let him play his little game. I found it charming, to tell the truth.

The place was an old building, and a modest one at that. The façade was neglected and covered in graffiti. I reread the card to make sure I hadn’t shown up in the wrong address. The block was pretty much deserted, except for some cars parked along the street.

So what now? Will the door open on its own? Is he building a rocket in the basement?
To be standing there in front of the building, just for nothing to happen, was anticlimactic after our previous encounter at the Tribeca mansion.

I climbed the steps to the door, rang the bell, and waited.

Well,
something
happened.

“Hey!”

I turned around, alarmed, as I heard the man’s voice and, almost simultaneously, the sound of a car screeching to a halt.

A black car with darkened windows had stopped right in front of the building, and the man inside opened the door violently and ran towards me. I recognized him: he was Jack Starr, Ace Hart’s close friend. He was holding a gun.

“Wh-what? Nooo!” I screamed, and started running on the sidewalk, while a thousand absurd thoughts raced inside my head. He ran after me. I was so frightened I didn’t want to look anywhere but ahead; I heard other noises, people running, men yelling.
Someone come and save me
, I implored silently as I ran as fast as I could. I was about to reach the corner when the stocky man grabbed me by the arm, making me stop in my tracks and almost fall.

“Wait!” he exclaimed. He let go of my arm and raised his hand.

“Get away from me!” I screamed, and started running again, trying to make it to the corner. But he caught me by the arm once more and pushed me back violently. When I resisted, he tackled me and I ended up falling hands first on the floor.

“Stay put!”

I yelled, “Help!”, but when I looked up, he wasn’t beside me anymore. He was running towards the corner. He got there huffing and puffing, looked around, and started shooting at something or someone I couldn’t see. I yelled some more, but nobody came to help me. It was like everybody had suddenly fled, leaving the neighborhood deserted.

Jack Starr walked back to me, his face shiny with sweat. He helped me get back on my feet. “Get in the car,” he said.

I rubbed my hands, scratched by the fall on the sidewalk. They burned. I took a step back, then another, and a third.

“I... I won’t,” I refused. Jack Starr approached me. My arms and legs were shaking. “What is this? Y-you...”

“Get in the fucking car,” he said again, in a more peremptory tone. “There’s no time to argue. There could be more thugs around. Do you want your pretty face blown up?”

“B-but I...”

Jack Starr grappled my arm again in a decidedly non-gentle way, opened the passenger door and pushed me inside the car. He climbed in, turned on the engine, and sped away.

“What is this?” I asked once more as the streets ran past each other through the darkened window. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“What is this?” I asked for a third time. “What’s happening?”

It took him a few seconds to answer. He spoke mechanically, looking at the road.

“We don’t know yet. But it’s fortunate that Ace told me to keep an eye on you. Those guys probably wanted to kidnap you. Maybe kill you.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know yet,” Jack Starr repeated, “but I can guess. You know too much. Ace should have never mentioned Little Vegas to you. He put you in danger.”

I snorted. “So he put me in danger and now he wants to keep an eye on me? Why? I didn’t even ask to work for him.”

This time Jack Starr looked at me. There was something akin to reproach in his eyes.

“Do you really need me to tell you why?”

“Well... I guess I do,” I replied, defiantly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said. “He cares about you. Plain as day.”

I was going to snort again, but a sudden chill went down my spine when I thought about what had just happened on the street. The horror of the whole thing hit me all at once: someone was after me, maybe wanted me dead, and if Ace Hart hadn’t sent his guy to check on me, I could have been dead already.

Asshole or not, Ace Hart had just saved me. I had to give him that at least.

Jack grabbed his cellphone and made a call. I recognized Ace’s number in the screen. “I’m taking her to the Hamptons,” he said, and hung up. None of us said a word during the rest of the trip.

12. PROTECTED

ACE

Why do you care?
I told myself as I climbed down the stairs to the garage.
If this has nothing to do with Little Vegas, it’s good news. Just leave the girl alone and let her worry about herself. Let her go back to Russia. You don’t even know her that well. She’s nothing to you.

That was the big boss in me. The bad boy. The mafia guy. The one who plays by simple rules. The one who makes the good decisions.

The one who usually doesn’t need lots of internal monologue to know what to do.

There was another thought floating around:
I’m too old for this shit.
It echoed what Jack Starr had told me so many times, and I was beginning to think I knew what he was talking about. The thought ricocheted inside my head as I climbed in the Audi and turned on the engine.

There had been a time when I had wanted to leave all this behind, many years ago, in what felt like another universe. That had ended in disaster. A sense of dread invaded me as I called Pip Glover. I punched the
Send
button with such energy that I almost broke the smartphone’s screen.

“Hey, boss,” Pip said.

“What the fuck is going on?” I yelled.

He seemed taken aback.

“What are you talking about?”

“You told me that it was just the Chinese. That there was no other people behind what’s been happening. Then WHO THE FUCK just tried to kidnap Van?”

There hadn’t been more than a couple of minor incidents in the last month. I didn’t like this. I’ve developed a sense of smell for this kind of thing; such a sudden calm could mean that the Chinese were just setting up something big.

“I... I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been following this for more than a month, Ace. I’ve told you everything I know. But I’ll find out, I promise.”

“You bet.”

I didn’t even wait for him to answer. I hung up and threw the phone aside. I was cursing under my breath as I drove to Grey Gardens to meet Van and Jack.

He had called me from Brooklyn to tell me about what had just happened. “I have no idea who they are,” he said, “but I can tell you something for sure: those guys are Russian as fuck.”