His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

by Kylie Kent

Sammie manages Wild Card, Louie runs the Royal Flush, and I’m here at Aces High.

“I’m Jasmine, but you can call me Jazzy. My mama says you’re my daddy.”

He’s also the father of the only woman I’ve ever wanted to keep. Of course, that’s a closely-guarded secret only that same daughter and I know about.

My heart is racing. Someone from our organization, or someone from another family. There is no option here. Like fuck am I going to sit back and watch the woman I’ve loved from a distance be marry’d off to anyone who isn’t me.

I can’t fucking wait for Antonia to find out who she’s being offered to on a silver platter. I can already picture her reaction—and let’s just say she won’t take too kindly to the idea. No doubt she’s going to try to kill me.

“He doesn’t matter, and he doesn’t exist,” I say. As in, the one guy I loved. Carlo Bianchi. Forever known as “he” because we don’t ever utter his name. I thought he loved me once, until he showed me that I meant absolutely nothing to him.

“We’re creating an alliance between two organizations. But you didn’t ask that. You asked what I get, and what I get is you,” he says it like it’s something he actually wants. “And you expect me to believe that you want me?” I almost giggle at the thought. “I don’t give a fuck if you believe it or not, Antonia. It’s the truth.”

“Carlo has your name on him,” Jazzy says, pointing to her father’s bare torso. “No, he doesn’t,” I’m quick to reply, raking my eyes over his body. And then I see it. Antonia. Written in script. It’s small and mixed in with the rest of the black-and-white ink that covers his skin. But it is my name. “Why?” I ask him. “Lots of people tattoo the names of people they love onto their bodies. It’s not a big deal,” he says.

“Also, if you don’t like them, I’ll tell them they have to like you anyway, because you’re my daddy’s wife,” she says so matter-of-factly. “And all the uncles do what I say.” She whispers that bit like it’s a big secret.

love you.” I don’t need her to say it back. I know she loves me. She always has. For good or bad, the kind of love we have doesn’t just go away. “I love you,” she replies. Her words are barely a whisper, but they’re there. Out in the open. And so are the tears that slide down her cheeks. “Please don’t break me again, Carlo.” I wipe the wetness away. “I promise you I will never break you again. It’s you and me now, Antonia. It’s our turn to choose us.”