Wild Card

Chapter 1-2

Paolo

I break into the apartment of Caitlin—aka WYLDE—West using the key I had made by a locksmith who owed me a favor. I sent one of my henchmen over to watch her for the past week and give me the deets on her habits, so I know she’s teaching her dance cardio class now.

I know she’ll be home soon, and I’m looking forward to putting the surprise on her when she arrives.

Intimidation is an art form I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting, and I’m going to scare the piss out of the little hacker who targeted my family’s casino coffers.

As the second son of now imprisoned Don Tacone, head of the biggest Chicago crime family, I learned how to c***k my knuckles and posture practically as a toddler. How to give a beatdown by age six.

Most of the time, my reputation and the flash of a g*n do all the work necessary. It’s rare I have to actually hurt anyone or make a plain threat.

So when my brother asked me to take care of our hacker, I was happy to do it. Especially after I saw a picture of the computer geek. The moniker Wylde seems to fit her. It’s not the mess of long thick hair or black glasses. It’s the pink lip gloss on her smirking mouth that makes me think she’s not the antisocial nerd you might expect of someone with her exceptional skills.

The place is tiny—a studio, I guess they call it—with the kitchen on one wall and the bed on the other and a tiny bathroom off the living / dining section. It’s a mess. Clothes everywhere. Dirty dishes on every surface.

I pick up a miniscule white thong with one finger.

Nerds in hot panties. That could be a whole fetish. Kinda goes with the sexy librarian thing. I toss the panties in her hamper and continue my perusal.

Stacks of books and computer equipment line the walls and desk. An old bike is parked against one wall, helmet hanging from the handlebar.

I wander around, looking through her things. Ramen and baked beans in the cupboards. Frozen burritos in the freezer. At least she’s not living large on our cash.

According to my brother, Stefano, all the stolen money was transferred from an off-shore account straight to the bursar’s office of Northwestern University. But if I’m supposed to think it’s noble that she only steals for her education, I don’t. She f****d with the wrong family.

I stop to examine her bulletin board. Schedules from local yoga and dance studios are pinned over restaurant takeout cards. There’s only one photo—of Caitlin and a young man. I pull it down and examine it.

It’s the younger brother, Trevor—I see a family resemblance.

He’s my ace in the hole. I have a guy watching the twenty-year-old kid who is an art student at the same university. No way my little hacker is going to try any funny business when I hold her brother’s balls in a vise.

She’ll return our money—steal it from someone else or do whatever she needs to do—and I’ll consider letting both of them live.

Normally that wouldn’t be Tacone policy, but she’s a chick.

And a hot one at that.

Plus, I don’t hurt women.

I look through her closet, smiling when I find the clothes I half expected or hoped to find. The vibe I got was right. She has kinky s**t—Fishnets. Bootie shorts. Ripped sheer tops. Stripper gear, only she’s not a stripper.

I f*****g knew this girl was freaky.

I swear I could tell it from the photo. The computer geek thing just doesn’t sit on her, despite the big black glasses and sloppy clothes. Something about her just screams s*x. Maybe it’s the candy-colored lip gloss on that wide-mouthed pout. Or the way she holds herself. She just f*****g embodies carnal pleasure.

And that’s why I’ve been looking forward to this meeting all week.

I glance at the clock. Almost showtime. I throw the clothes tossed over the easy chair onto the floor and make myself at home to wait.

I don’t even bother taking out a g*n to rest on my thigh like I might with a dude.

She’ll be scared enough to find me in her apartment.

And I shouldn’t let that give me a hard-on, but it does.

But even with my research and my own conjectures, I’m still unprepared for the hot sexy mess of a hacker who blows in.

She enters her apartment with earbuds in her ears, apparently still jamming out to her workout playlist. She’s in a pair of yoga pants and puffy jacket, which she instantly strips to dump on the floor. Underneath, she’s wearing a crop top that shows off a perfectly toned midriff below a pair of perky t**s. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in a thick, messy bun and she’s wearing that bright lip gloss that makes me think about how that mouth would look around my d**k.

She doesn’t notice me as she comes in. She doesn’t notice much of anything. She appears to be lost in thought as she walks straight to the kitchen, pours herself a bowl of Golden Grahams cereal and milk and starts eating standing up.

Only then does she turn and spot me.

The cereal bowl clatters to the floor as her scream pierces the air. Milk splatters fly everywhere.

Her wide eyes lock on mine, that pretty mouth opens.

But she recovers way faster than I expect. Just one short scream and she goes silent.

“Hello, Caitlin.”

“Oh.” Her palm travels down her toned belly, wiping at the milk splatters, then she dries it on her a*s. And a very fine a*s it is.

“The Tacones sent you?” She sounds breathless. Good. She was expecting me.

“I sent myself.”

“Mr. Tacone, then.”

And that’s when I realize my usual intimidation schtick is a total and complete fail.

Because little miss hacker slowly slides her hand between her legs, holding my gaze while she curls her fingers there, touching herself like she’s watching p**n.

Or rather, like she’s the p**n star and she knows she owns me with that simple move.