“Where’s our drinks, Leo?”
Vinny could very well see my car was shot to shit, fuckinghearit, and I was in the middle of a breakdown, but he was good at sidestepping personal issues. He said there was enough estrogen in the building to send a rocket into space, and he wasn’t fond of Mars. If men were from there, I was sure Vinny was from Uranus. But that was his way of taking the easy street when the girls who worked for him had problems.
And there were plenty enough to go around.
It wasn’t like we were all making it in the big league of life. We’d all had big dreams but ended up in this small shack on barren land. The cars that belonged to the staff, besides Vinny and Sam’s, were replicas of mine.
Sam walked around to my open window and leaned in. He punched the area where the horn is, and it went wimpy before it stopped completely.
I planted my hands on my hips. “Who does Jerry Rispoli work for?” I didn’t miss the hysterical tinge to my voice. Neither did Vinny.
He took a step back. “Who’s asking?”
“Is that even a legitimate question? Newsflash. It’snot. Since the question came from my mouth, Vinny.”
“It is legitimate when you want to know who Rispoli works for. Maybe it’s not you who wants to know. Maybe it’s someone who has nefarious intentions. I’d be the man telling.”
“Why? Is he terribly dangerous?”
“You can say that.”
“I did. Give me more than that, Vinny, or I’m calling that guy to come back and separate your finger from your hand again.”
“Whoa. Whoa.” He held his hands up. His pinky finger was bandaged. “Did someone piss in your drink or something?”
“I didn’t get a fucking drink!”
He looked at Sam, then at me. “Rispoli works for Tullio Bigatti. You might know him as—”
“Mr. Big,” I breathed out.
“You do something to him, Leo?”
Yes.
No.
I didn’t fucking know.
My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my throat.
Mr. Big owned Portofino, an Italian-Riviera-inspired casino along the strip, and he ruled his fair share of Vegas. He was also connected to Giordano Capitani, who ran Paradiso, another Italian-inspired casino a few doors down. Vegas, and probably beyond, had dubbed him Bugsy.
They were all fucking buggy—in a ruthless criminal way.
Why, Angelo, why?!I almost cried out.
Vinny opened his mouth to say something, but sirens whooped in the distance.
“What happened, Kallistos?” Sam’s voice was deep and rich, soothing.
It did nothing to make me feel better. Especially when the familiar European car pulled in the parking lot behind the cops. I wasn’t even exaggerating. She was clutching the wheel to her car, her face in a snarl, riding the cop car’s ass. She was on the hunt for me.
“We know where our drinks went. Fuck.” Vinny must have noticed the pink stains on the spoiled princess’s car. He looked at Sam. “Looks like we’ll need bail money.” He looked at me. “I’m deducting it from your pay.”
For the first time in however long, money had no bearing on my feelings. I knew I was in deeper shit than that.
Mr. Big.
