“Next time, bella, you tell me what you like.”
Would there be a next time? Did he want to get involved when he still had the Scozzari engagement hanging over his head? The only possible future they had was one in which Mia became his goomah—mistress.
Nico felt a curious tightening in his chest at the thought of putting Mia through what his mother had been through. Yes, there was love, but there was also a lot of jealousy, sadness, and pain. And what if they had a son? Would he really want a child to bear the stigma he had borne, growing up a bastard in a culture where marriage was a sacred bond? Nothing had come easy for Nico. He’d had to fight for what little respect he earned. And everything he achieved had come with a price.
“This place is amazing.” Mia gestured to the photographs on the walls nearest them—classic prints of the heyday of Las Vegas, showgirls in the fifties, the Rat Pack in the sixties, Sinatra, Liberace, and the classic hotels—the Flamingo and the Riviera.
“Those were the days,” Nico said, grateful for her attempt to smooth over what could have been an abrupt end to the evening. “Big names. Best acts. The hotels were all trying to outdo each other. Money flowed. The Mafia ran the show.”
“You really do like the oldies. Is this restaurant yours?”
“I have a part-interest.”
She laughed, the shadows fading from her face. “Soon to be a full interest, I expect. I know how those part-interests work. It would be a shame if it burned down.”
“It won’t. I protect everything that is mine.” He cupped her jaw, brushed his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “Everything.”
Mia studied him for a long moment, and then she tipped her head, rubbing her cheek against his palm.
Forgiven.
He felt something uncurl inside him, and liquid warmth flooded his body, spreading out to his fingers and toes.
“So you’re a history buff?”
“Just Vegas.” Nico reluctantly released her when a waiter came to refill their water glasses. “The idea of creating something out of nothing, this incredible city in the middle of the desert … I would have liked to be part of it.” He hesitated, reluctant to share more, but no one had ever shown much interest in his secret passion. “My father would have hated all this. He was a very practical man. Very traditional. Very committed to the family and the business. He was very New York. Being sent here to set up the Las Vegas faction was a punishment to him. He said the only good thing that came out of it was that he met my mother.”
“His goomah?”
“Yeah.” He sipped the ice water, felt a cool rush through his veins. “It was hard on her. They loved each other, but there was never a chance he would marry her. Her family had nothing to offer. And, of course, Cosa Nostra marriages are forever, so there was no possibility of divorce once he married my stepmother.” He downed the rest of the glass, trying to take the edge off the bitter memories with the icy burn. “I built the casino in my mother’s memory. She was Vegas—a dancer in one of the shows; she loved to sing and dance, gamble and party. I run it clean. Respectable. For her. If I could do that for the family, I would.”
“You want the family to be respectable?”
“What bastard wouldn’t?”
“Nico…” She moved close to him, stroked her fingers through his hair in a soothing gesture that did much to ease a pain he had never realized he carried in his heart.
“Love isn’t worth the pain,” he said.
“Love created you.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, as she whispered in his ear. “A dangerously delicious, sexy, handsome mob boss.”
If love felt anything like how he was feeling right now, he would be able to take on Tony and the family and the Falzones and even the fucking Sicilians with one hand tied behind his back. He would be able to fly to the fucking moon, dive to the bottom of the ocean, catch a star and bring it back to the earth. Would he feel this way for his Sicilian bride? He’d always been resigned to a loveless marriage, but then he’d never had a taste of what he might be missing.
A growl of pleasure rumbled in his chest. “That’s Mr. Mob Boss, to you.”
She gave him a seductive look through the curtain of her lashes. “I hear mob bosses like to seduce geeky hackers.”
He slid his hand under the tablecloth to stroke the bare skin below her skirt. “I thought you were the one seducing me,” he murmured. “Coming to my casino wearing those fucking hot socks, and this dress that just begs a man to take it off, dancing like you’re fucking, letting another man touch you … You had to know I couldn’t stay away.”
“That makes two of us.”
For a long moment he didn’t move. If he’d had any doubts about her reason for showing up at the casino tonight, he had none now.
She reached over, loosened his tie. “Why the suit?”
“The suit goes with the business.”