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CHAPTER 12

VINCENT

I ’ve never felt so comfortable. I risk becoming accustomed to this feeling and Isla’s company. But that would be a distraction, a weakness—one that I can’t afford. I’ve already relented to my desire to keep her here with me. Now I need to be careful that I don’t need to have her by my side. I refuse to let myself care about anyone that much again. I won’t let anyone close enough to my heart to allow it to bleed. My actions stem from control and self-reproach. There is no room inside of me for anything else.

My assumption proved incorrect. But Isla is quickly threatening to change that. She weakens me in a way that I didn’t think possible, bringing me to my knees on new levels. She has power over me, regardless of whether she realizes it.

Other people can see it too, and that’s not good. It’s caused my relationship with Alonzo to grow increasingly unstable. He sees me growing attached to Isla, and the tension that he puts off in response to that is palpable. It’s a dangerous thing to have men like my underboss questioning my power. I must maintain complete loyalty, even fear, among my men. This prevents enemies, such as Angelo Barone, from exploiting their thirst for revenge. Hell, I have enemies on all sides, like that crooked cop Marco told me was snooping around the penthouse right before the attack. I need to determine which enemy was responsible and whose forces I eliminated. And when I do, I’ll make them pay.

Lying in my bed, Isla asleep in the guestroom, I contemplate how to find out who started the penthouse strike. I could press a few of the more innocent levers, the ones most likely to bend—people like Angelo’s wife, Natalia. I’ve heard she’s growing increasingly displeased with her husband. Or even someone like my underboss’s daughter, Serena. That girl practically throws herself at my feet every time she gets the chance to be around me. I can manipulate such lustful ambition to make her my unnoticed covert spy. Granted, Alonzo would recoil at the idea of me using his daughter like that, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Even Madame Durant might be worth paying a visit to. She has arms in various dealings around Vegas like an elegant octopus dipping into other people’s business.

With numerous gears spinning in my mind and countless tabs open in my brain, I contemplate whom to approach and whom to dispatch my men to confront regarding the penthouse break-in. However, Isla’s scream interrupts my train of thought. Instantly, I jump from my bed, grab the gun off the top of my nightstand, and race to her room.

As soon as I push the door open and see her tossing and turning in her bed, I rush toward her. I sit down on the bed beside her and pull her up into my arms as her eyes open. Cold sweat matts her hair against her forehead, and I brush it away while calming her.

“Shh,” I say as I hold her against my chest. Her breathing is ragged, and I can feel her heart pounding against me. “You were having a nightmare. You’re okay.”

For what feels like several long minutes, Isla just sits there with her hands pressed against my bare chest until her breathing calms. She then slowly rises, gazing at me in the dimly lit room. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she apologizes. “I don’t normally have nightmares. I can’t even remember the last bad dream I had.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I was already awake. I don’t sleep much.” The truth is, I practically never sleep. I’m always vigilant and prepared. It’s hard to do that when you’re asleep. Plus, my brain is always buzzing with things. “What was your nightmare about?”

Isla shakes her head and looks away. “My past. Things that aren’t any good to talk about.”

I almost ask her to elaborate on that. Her blend of fragility and courage suggests a significant past. I’d be curious to know what that is. But when I go to open my mouth and ask her, I’m immediately caught off guard by the touch of her fingertips against my chest.

“How did you get all of these?” she asks as she runs her fingers across the many scars that mark my body. “Are they all from fights, or people that you’ve killed?”

“Most of them are,” I say. My muscles tense beneath her hand.

“ Tell me .”

Isla’s gentle curiosity excites me. Her willingness to hear about my past violent acts as she sits here in the dark with me intrigues me.

“Start with this one,” she says as she touches a scar that stretches horizontally just below my ribcage.

“That one was from a knife that someone pulled while I was collecting a debt,” I say, diluting down the details.

“Don’t you have men to do that for you?”

“Yes, but that particular debt was personal. ”

“I see,” she says before moving her fingers to another part of my body. “And what about this one?”

“That was a gunshot wound that I got in the middle of a crossfire between the cops and a rather unruly patron at my casino.”

“Whose side were you on?” she asks. “The cops or the patron?”

“ Neither .”

“I see,” she continues, lifting her hand to touch the scar beneath my collarbone. “And this one?”

I don’t answer right away. I’ve never really talked to anyone about that night. Those who were there know what happened, and no one speaks of it anymore.

“That was from the night my sister was killed,” I say after a long silence.

“I’m so sorry,” Isla says. Even in the dark, I can see the outline of her delicate frown. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

The word “had” reminds me of my little sister as a mere memory from the past, still piercing me like a venomous wasp. And for the first time since that night, I find myself talking about what happened.

To Isla, I describe the failed hit, the emotions I felt watching my sister perish, the helplessness, and the guilt at having failed her. And perhaps most surprising—I tell her about the war that has waged inside of me ever since.

“That is why you want to control everything,” she says with a sort of gentle assurance that I never thought anyone else could understand. “That’s why you stepped into the role of monster , so that you would never feel that sort of pain again. And— so no one would hurt someone you care about again .”

“I don’t care about anyone anymore,” I say, knowing as soon as the words pass my lips that it’s a lie.

But Isla doesn’t challenge me on that. Instead, she scoots over in her bed. “Sleep here with me tonight,” she says, to my surprise. “ Please .”

“I don’t think that’s?—”

“ Please ,” she repeats. “I’d feel safer if you were here beside me.”

I let out a small, sarcastic laugh. “You’d feel safer bringing the monster into bed with you?”

“Yes,” she says as she tugs my shoulder to lie down beside her. “You can scare all my other nightmares away and protect me against the other monsters in my nightmares.”

Despite my better judgment, I lie down beside her. I’m careful not to touch her, knowing what might happen and what kinds of temptations might swell within me if I do. No touching, just breathing, and just lying here beside her at her request as if she has some sort of magic spell over me.

I can hear her soft breathing as she nestles her head against her pillow, satisfied that I’ve agreed to stay here beside her.

“You must have some sort of masochistic wish,” I tease her quietly. “To tempt fate by bringing the man who almost killed you and then captured you so close to you while you sleep.”

Instead of saying anything in return, Isla reaches her hand out toward me. She touches the side of my arm, then drags her fingers down my forearm and past my wrist until she finds my hand. She threads her fingers with mine and wraps her small hand inside my palm, holding on tightly as if she’s afraid that I’ll leave once she closes her eyes.

I don’t leave. Even when I hear her breathing slow and steady into a rhythmic sleep. I stay right there in bed beside her, and I don’t let go of Isla’s hand.