Page 34 of Caruso (Vegas Mafia #3)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Tommaso

I ’m not sure I thought this through. Taylor is like a virus that seeps into your bloodstream uninvited and unannounced, that I thought I was immune to.

As we sit and wait, I can tell she is nervous, and for some reason, so am I — nervous of her leaving, which was the goal after all. I was hoping this Jason guy would be her salvation. To take her off our hands and leave us where life makes sense, at least for now.

Instead, I’m discovering I would probably shoot the fucker dead before letting him take her hand and lead her away from me—from us.

I love how she checks her sass around me. It’s obvious she’s guarded, and I’m guessing I have Matteo to thank for that.

It’s not long before our waiter arrives and takes our order. Coffee and pastries for me, water and fruit for Taylor .

She eats like a bird and has the figure of one. I prefer my women curvy, ones that don’t appear to need a square meal inside them. I’m a lover of food and would appreciate a companion with the same proclivities. I will have to work on that. If she stays. If she chooses to remain here.

I’m aware it’s her choice, and that is the correct way. Imprisoning women goes against everything we believe, and she will be no different. If she goes, we lose; if she stays, we win, and I wonder how one car ride has changed my perception of that.

She shifts a little closer, and my body tenses as my leg touches against hers. I chose this seat for a good view of the restaurant, not to be close to her. It has its advantages, though, because I’m not averse to her proximity, and she leans in and whispers, “What if he doesn’t remember me?”

“Then he must have had a fall and knocked his head.”

She chuckles softly, and it spears me directly in the heart.

Out of interest and to fill in the awkward gaps in the conversation, I say deeply, “Tell me about him.”

She sighs, her hands clasping the water glass as she whispers, “He is older than me—I kind of make a habit of that, I guess.”

My mouth twitches, but I remain impassive, and she shrugs. “We used to meet behind the barn in Scooter Barlow’s field. He taught me how to fight; I owe him a lot for that. It helped get me out of difficult situations and gave me the confidence to defend myself should the need arise.”

“He taught you well.”

I’ll credit him that because it’s a given that Taylor has the ability to defend herself to the point of murder.

I’m curious about her attitude to that; she appears so cold, indifferent even.

“I told Jason everything. About my mom, stepfather and what happened there.”

“What happened there?” I close my eyes to calm my rage because picturing Taylor in that environment is not sitting well with me.

“The other kids had no time for me. I wasn’t able to keep up with the latest fashions, parties on birthdays, clubs, etc. I was left to my own devices most of the time and was merely the scruffy kid from the rough side of town. Nobody wanted me as their friend.” She sighs. “Until Jason.”

“Why did he take an interest in you?”

“I don’t know. He felt sorry for me, I guess, and he was as much an outcast as I was.

His father was a drunk and used to beat the shit out of him most days.

When Jason learned to fight back, the beatings stopped, and verbal abuse took over.

That’s why he taught me, I guess. So the beatings would stop, and to a degree they did. ”

I clench my fist, wishing like hell Carl Bridge were still alive so I could kill him again in a far more long drawn out and painful way.

“We never spoke much, just fought really, but I appreciated his interest, and I suppose I built it up to be far greater than it was. When he wasn’t there anymore, it was even more obvious that I had nobody.

Mom was dead, Jason was referred to as dead and all I had to look forward to was taking Mom’s place in Carl’s bed. ”

“So you ran.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

I nod, wondering why it took her so long.

“Anyway–” She sighs. “I made it out eventually, and until I met you, I was still running from that life. It appears that I attract trouble.”

“In what way?”

“Men mainly.”

My blood starts to boil.

“I’ve worked at many jobs over the past four years in Vegas. Bars, shops and stores, other housekeeping jobs. I was even a receptionist at a tattoo shop. They all ended the same way.”

“Which way?”

“The boss would hit on me or one of the senior staff. They would attempt to force me down a more lucrative path—for them, anyway. Most of them wanted extra favors as if it were their right because they paid my wages. They couldn’t understand why I said no.”

“And then you met us, and we forced you down the same path.”

I remind her what this is, and she shrugs. “It’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I want to be here, and I wanted Matteo to be the one to take my virginity. ”

I swear my vision blurs as I imagine his hands on her and she sighs. “You should know I slept with Giorgio too.”

“Slept?” I raise my eyes, and she giggles.

“Sex then. It happened yesterday, and I’m not apologizing for that. I’m not ashamed, and I told Matteo as soon as I could.”

“I’m not judging you, princess. You make your own choices in life and must live with the consequences of them.”

“But you do judge me, Tommaso. I see it in your eyes. You believe I’m the latest whore to capture your brother’s attention and can’t wait for the thrill to cease.”

I turn away because she’s not exactly wrong, but my perception of her is changing.

As our food arrives, so does our reason for being here, and as Taylor glances toward the group hanging by the door, she clutches my arm and whispers, “Oh my God, it’s Jason!”

We watch them head inside the restaurant, and as they take a larger table in the center, Taylor can’t drag her eyes away from one man in particular.

Jason, if it’s the guy I think it is, is a few years older than Taylor, built and covered in tattoos. He looks to be a fighter for sure. His broken nose and a scar running down his left cheek tell me that, and yet, for all his fierceness, his companions appear to be fresh out of Wall Street.

“What shall I do?”

Taylor can’t tear her eyes away from him, and my voice sounds lower, huskier than usual as I say gruffly, “Go to him.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitates, and I grasp her hand and say firmly, “Have no fear, princess. You are a match for any man or woman who breathes and have every right to be here. Go and own your past and force him to remember you. I will be watching; you’re not on your own.”

She turns to me, and as I stare into her huge gray eyes, I lose my mind. They are swimming with fear mixed with gratitude and determination. So many emotions are scrambling around her right now, and yet she stares at me with an inner peace I sure could use right now.

She nods, taking a deep breath before smiling, blinding me with a surprising urge to hold on and never let her go.

“Wish me luck.”

Her voice is light but dripping with doubts, and after one last smile, I stand and allow her to vacate the booth before sitting back down, the space strangely empty now she has gone.