Fire & Vice: Burning Beauty

Chapter 3

Maria tapped her fingers on the counter while she tapped her toe against the floor. She had to stop herself from checking the lounge every five seconds for the man she was supposed to be meeting. God, she was nervous.

Why was she so nervous? She had this. She was in perfect command of the situation. All she had to do was exactly what Franco told her to do, seduce the rich Italian, save her brother and get the f**k out of Las Vegas. Yeah, she had this.

Maria picked up the shot glass in front of her and downed the tequila. She signalled for another and set the glass back down as the fiery liquid slid down her throat. When the bartender approached, reaching for the glass, she waved him closer.

"Top shelf this time," she said coolly, then winked to take the edge off her words. "Liquid courage."

The bartender grinned at her. He reached a little higher and grabbed a bottle of the good stuff, Casamigos. As she waited, she studied her fingers, made longer by the red paint on her nails so dark that it was nearly brown. Diamonds glittered enticingly on her hands, wrists and throat, and the dress she was wearing hugged her like she'd been born in it. If the bartender's heated glances were any indication, she had succeeded in her efforts to be breathtaking and irresistible.

He filled a new shot glass and set it in front of her. She picked it up and downed it in one smooth move, baring her long tan throat. She set the glass down and said, "Thanks, please charge it to the penthouse." Franco had added her name to some kind of register so she wouldn't have to pay for anything in his hotel.

"Hey, where you from?" the bartender asked as she walked away.

She threw a wave and another wink over her shoulder. Who knows when and where a girl might need an ally? She made a point of making friends with the staff wherever she went. They were more like her than the rich folk that frequented these places.

She was about to scan the room for a table where she could sit and collect herself, prepare for the upcoming meeting, when someone stepped in her path. She slammed into a very tall, very broad chest and bounced back. She might have fallen except he took hold of her arm at the elbow to steady her. Instead of removing his hand though, he slid it down her arm and encircled her wrist, tightening his grip. His touch against her skin was warm, electric and shocking.

She jerked her wrist and tried to step back, but he continued to hold her as though he had every right. Her temper, a legendary and unshakable part of her personality, according to mama, began to surface. She wanted to shout at the rude man, but swallowed her annoyance and gave him a gritted, "Excuse me."

Maria couldn't make a scene. She had strict instructions on how she was to behave, none of which included brawling in a high-end hotel bar.

"No." The voice was deep and confident. Even with that single word she could tell he had an accent.

"No?" she repeated in surprise and arched a brow. She tilted her head back, way back, to look up at her captor.

"No, you are not excused," he said, a glint of feral amusement lighting his amber eyes.

Maria couldn't speak for a moment. She was caught in the snare of his gaze, held fast by what she read there. Or maybe it was what she didn't read.

Maria was good at understanding people, at watching their expressions, their movements and their tone. She almost always knew what they were thinking. It was a survival instinct she'd honed over years. She didn't know what this man was thinking and his eyes, bottomless, soulless, empty, gave her nothing.

She knew exactly who he was. Her mark, Niccolo DeLuca. Italian mobster, titan, enemy to the man who held her brother's life in his hands. The man she was in no way, shape or form going to sleep with, no matter what Franco Delgado said to her. She'd find a different way to compromise the Italian, but she wasn't going to give up her body to the evil she sensed stirring deep within this man.

"Let go of my hand," she said in a low voice so no one else could hear. Delgado had spies everywhere. He'd hammered the importance of this meeting, of her job, into her skull until she wanted to scream. It would only make sense that he would have her watched, make sure she didn't screw up his precious operation.

Which was exactly what she was doing. Instead of flirting with her mark she was demanding that he release her hand and seconds away from letting her temper fly. But honestly, who walked up to a complete stranger and grabbed them like they owned them? A mobster she supposed, but Maria wasn't about to let anyone pull that kind of bullshit with her. She didn't grow up fending off her hometown boys only to fall into the hands of the first man who grabbed her inappropriately.

"We're going somewhere to talk," he said imperiously.

She stared at him. Was he for real? That was supposed to be her line, only said with a sexy drawl and followed up by drugging his drink and making him think they'd f****d when in reality she'd only crawled all over him for the sake of the surveillance cameras. He was making it too easy. Why was he making her job easy, she wondered suspiciously?

She wasn't about to wander off with a man who was going off script and not showing any signs of succumbing to her overt brand of sexuality. "I don't think so," she said, tugging her arm and looking around. If Delgado did have thugs in the bar, now would be a nice time for them to step in. Of course, their job wasn't to rescue her, so she might actually be on her own.

"I do think so," he drawled, taking a firmer hold of her arm and pulling her into the circle of his chest, where he turned in one smooth move and headed for the exit.

"No, I'm good actually." She tried to twist away from him. "I was just about to meet someone..."

"Me," he supplied, striding toward the elevator. She had to run to keep up with him, her four-inch silver strappy stilettos tripping her up. He slid an arm around her waist, holding her tight against his side, stopping her from either falling or escaping.

He hit the button on the elevator while she looked around the area, still hoping for help. She finally saw someone she recognized, Ronson, Delgado's number one thug. She tried lifting a hand to signal him, tell him she was in trouble. He shook his head and melted back into the shadows. Damn it. She never liked that guy. He was a cold-blooded bully that never warmed up to her. He'd been the one to pick her and Ruiz up when they first arrived in Vegas, looking for work and the man they were supposed to meet, Franco Delgado.

The elevator doors closed on her last hope of escape. Fear flooded her, warming her from the inside out and staining her cheeks with a blush. Then the anger kicked in, like it always did when she was afraid. She jerked her arm and finally managed to pull it away from her captor, but she stumbled back in the process, tottering in her heels. She reached out and put a hand on the glass panel interior of the elevator to stop herself from falling.

"What the f**k, man, hands off the merchandise," she snapped, straightening and smoothing her hands down the white dress that had been carefully selected for her to wear that evening. A classic spaghetti strap with a Marilyn Monroe skirt, innocent, but deceptively sexy. Exactly the way Franco Delgado wanted her. Exactly the way he hoped Niccolo DeLuca would want her.

"Merchandise," Nic snorted with humour, then stopped, almost as if realizing he was finding humour in what she said and surprised at his reaction.

"It's a figure of speech," she said acidly. "As in, no touching without permission."

"I see." His eyes flickered down her body and then raised to meet hers. She detected a fractional warming in that cold gaze. f**k, did that mean he was actually interested? She couldn't really tell, the man's impenetrable face could give a wall made of ice a run for its money.

The whole package that made Niccolo DeLuca was completely terrifying and off-putting. He was so tall she had to crane her neck up to properly see his face. His body was leanly muscled, from what she could tell through his beautifully cut Italian suit. Or she assumed it was Italian, since he was. His hair was so dark it was almost black, but a few shades lighter than hers. It curled against his collar, as though he needed a haircut. The length gave the perfection surrounding the man an almost human quality. His skin was the same, tanned, but not as dark as Maria's. His thick eyebrows were lowered over piercing brown eyes in what she suspected was a perpetual frown. She could see tattoos on his hands and on his neck, just over the top of his collar, giving his already terrifying visage even more of an edge. The man projected ruthless strength, impatience, and the kind of privilege only people born to money could seem to rock.

"I'll be getting off now." She reached for the buttons, prepared to push any or all of them if it got her out of the Italian's presence. His deadly aura was creeping her out.

He took hold of her fingers in a swift move that had her gasping. His grip was tight enough to hold her but not hurt her. She tugged uselessly against him, but he wouldn't let her go.

"No, Maria," he said quietly, the aura of death intensifying. "We have some things to discuss."

Her heart pounded a frantic beat when he said her name, revealing he knew exactly who she was. Then she rolled her eyes at herself. Of course he knew who she was. He walked right up to her in the bar, grabbed her and was now dragging her off to god knows where.

"I... I'm good," she said with a forced smile. "Really, nothing to discuss. You're not really my type."

He snorted. "Consider your words, woman," he said darkly. "You will only compound your crimes by insulting me to my face."

Oh oh, Maria was in deep s**t with this guy. She never 'considered her words'. Her mama had constantly accused her of having a runaway tongue in desperate need of taming. Or cutting out. But mama only said that when she was extra frustrated with Maria's constant lip. Maybe this was Franco's plan all along, take video footage of the Italian killing Maria due to her saying something she shouldn't to a badass mobster and then blackmailing him with it.

"Okay," she said softly, trying to think her way out of this situation. "If you know who I am, then you know I'm not really part of this. An innocent bystander really." Okay, she was pushing the truth with her role in all this, but if it got her out of being murdered then awesome.

Those amber eyes pinned her to the spot more effectively than his hand. "I don't care how small your part is, Maria. The fact that you are the bait in a trap meant to embarrass and extort me seals your fate."

"Extort?" she repeated weakly. Oh s**t, this was bad. She had no idea what the particulars of this plot were, only her role in it.

"Yes," he said grimly, facing forward again as the elevator came to a halt on the executive floor where the fancy suites were.

"I can explain," she said breathlessly when he hauled her off the elevator and pulled her down the hall toward the end suite.

He unlocked the door to his room and pushed it open. Shoving her inside, he said, "You'll have all night to explain to me, Maria. You aren't going anywhere."