Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
We didn’t have much time to freshen up in our presidential suite at the top of the Palazzo, but at least I could clean myself from our activities in the car. Nestore wanted me to wear an elegant white ruched chiffon dress that made me feel like I’d been transported here straight from the Roman Empire. The golden sandals with three-inch heels only heightened that feeling.
Nestore waited in the living area of our suite, in black jeans and combat boots, with a black knife and gun holster on his chest. His fur coat was draped over the backrest of the sofa. He fumbled with something in his hands. His eyes took in every inch of me, his expression filled with appreciation, giving me a warm feeling in my belly.
“You look like the Empress of California, dove.”
I froze at the endearment that he hadn’t used for me since I’d run. My smile felt shaky, and the hard twist of his mouth told me he hadn’t meant to let it slip.
He shoved to his feet and stalked over to me. Despite my heels, he still towered over me by a head. When he stopped in front of me, I caught sight of the thing in his hands. A gold leaf crown hairband inspired by the ornaments that empresses in ancient Rome used to wear.
He lifted it above my head. “This is missing. I had it made for you.” He put it down on my hair and arranged it until he gave a nod. “That’s it.”
I touched the material. “Is it gold?”
“Of course,” Nestore said, touching my chin. “Only gold and diamonds for you.”
I swallowed. “Do you want to punish me or worship me?”
“Both. Always both, Amelia.”
He dipped his head and kissed me. It was sweet, gentle, and over too soon. “We should go. I don’t want to make Remo wait.”
He held out his hand, scarred palm upward. I put my hands in his, and together, we walked out. The steak house was on the ground floor, and on our way down, everyone we passed gawked at us. I couldn’t imagine that dressed-up people were such a novelty in Las Vegas, but maybe even in Sin City we stood out from others.
We passed the casino with its hum of excited voices on our way to the steakhouse. The moment we stepped inside, the scent of seared beef and truffle butter carried into my nose and made my stomach rumble. With the excitement of the day, I’d hardly eaten anything. A hostess dressed in a royal-blue cocktail dress greeted us and motioned us to follow her. The tables were draped in white linen, and golden rimmed wineglasses gleamed in the light of chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
We were led to the very back of the restaurant, past guests who tried not to stare too openly at us—and failed. I kept my head high and focused on Nestore’s unimpressed expression. Remo and Nino sat at one of the few tables that weren’t at a window. They probably worried about someone shooting them. Their reign was still young, and like Nestore, their list of enemies was long.
The hostess gave me a small smile but avoided Nestore’s eyes. Remo and Nino stood. Neither tried to touch us, and only gave us brief nods, which I appreciated. Nestore and I sat across from them. Relief washed over me that Nino sat across from me. His gaze passed me by with utter disinterest while Remo regarded me like a ticking time bomb. Our server appeared at our table and took our drink order.
I scanned the menu in front of me. It didn’t have any prices, which confused me. “Why are there no prices?”
“Women don’t get the menu with prices,” Nino said.
“Oh.” My eyes caught on a wagyu ribeye. It sounded absolutely delicious. A bottle of red wine and one with San Pellegrino appeared on our table. The moment the server poured me wine, I took a sip, glad for the alcohol to soothe my nerves. If I were around Remo all the time, I’d probably have to figure out a new method to calm myself.
Remo raised his glass. “Someone’s thirsty.”
I flushed, but didn’t apologize. He was very aware of his nerve-wracking aura, and he enjoyed unsettling people, so he couldn’t blame me if I needed a little pick-me-up. I raised my glass, then took another sip. “It’s very good wine.”
“One would hope so, considering the bottle costs five hundred dollars,” Nino drawled.
My eyebrows shot up.
Remo chuckled. “We own the West.”
“Not too long ago, we had to do boxing matches in dingy Bratva bars to earn enough money for food and the clothes on our backs,” Nino said, turning the bottle around to read the label.
Remo nodded. “We’re still fighting, but more comfortably.”
“Our enemies are dying out,” Nestore said, putting the wine glass back down without taking a sip.