Page 14 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Thirteen

A ntonia walked into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her. I laugh. That lock won’t keep me out if I wanted to get in. But I let her have the space she needs. I know her mind is fucking with her right now.

We needed that, though. I needed to remind her just how good we are together. How good we could be together again. I use the guest bedroom shower, and after changing into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, I walk out and find Antonia standing in the empty room.

After everything that happened between us, I’d emptied it completely. I couldn’t keep the furniture. I haven’t really been back in here until this past week. And just to use the bathroom.

“Why is it empty?” she asks me.

My eyes roam up and down her body. She’s changed into a pair of cut-off shorts and a tank top. Fuck me, my cock is hard again.

“I was going to redecorate and never got around to it.” I walk past her. I don’t like being in here. It reminds me of the hurt I saw on her face that day. And even though it was for her own good, I hated doing it.

I turn into my office, sit behind the desk, and start up my computer.

“Why?” Antonia follows behind me. Making herself at home as she heads to the wet bar.

I watch as she then pours two glasses of Cinque.

It’s the best whiskey money can buy. I import it from Australia.

We’ve done some business with the De Bellis brothers on occasion.

Mostly we just import their whiskey, though.

Antonia walks over to my desk and drops one of the glasses in front of me. “Thanks,” I say, picking it up.

“To short marriages.” She toasts before swallowing the contents of her glass.

“To long lives and longer marriages,” I counter-toast.

She scrunches up her nose. “Why haven’t you redecorated your whore room?”

“My whore room?” I question.

“The guest room.” She sits on the chair in front of my desk. “You know, I’ve always wondered why that room. Why would you take someone into that room and not your own? I mean, we fucked plenty of times in this penthouse, everywhere, but never in a guest room.”

“You want me to fuck you in a guest room, Antonia?” I ask her. Because I will. Maybe if I do, it’ll override all the bad memories.

“No. I want to know why you’d cheat on me in the first place. And why in that room?”

“I didn’t,” I admit. I shouldn’t be telling her this. I should be going along with the lie. It’s not like she’s going to believe me anyway.

“What?”

“I didn’t cheat on you. You saw what you were supposed to see, Antonia. I needed you to stay away from me, and that… Well, it worked.” I shrug. It hurt a bit that she didn’t get mad. She didn’t try to fight for us. She simply walked away.

“Okay, sure.” She laughs.

“You don’t have to believe me.” I return my attention to the computer and start typing. What Jazzy said in Louie’s office is bugging me. I need to find her mother, or what happened to her at the very least.

“What are you doing?” Antonia asks.

I look over at her. Why is she even in here? We haven’t talked—not really—since she moved in. And now she wants to chat like we’re old friends? I decide not to question it. Maybe it’s a breakthrough of sorts.

“Looking for Jasmine’s mother,” I tell her.

“Do you really not know who your daughter’s mother is?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be looking for her, Antonia.” I sigh.

“Jeez, fine. What do you know about her?” she says.

“Her name, according to Jazzy’s school files, is Penelope Eve Morrison.

She’s twenty-five, lived in a trailer. She had my daughter living in a fucking trailer, Antonia.

All these years, she knew where I was. Why wouldn’t she come to me for help?

” I’ve been racking my brain for the answer to that ever since Jazzy showed up on my doorstep.

“You’re not always that approachable.” Antonia laughs. “So, you were with her, this Penelope woman, when you were both teens?”

“I did a lot of stupid shit as a kid. I never thought I’d knock someone up, though. I was careful.”

“Clearly not that careful.” She snorts. “Okay, so… did you love her?”

I look at my wife, giving her my full attention. “I’ve loved one woman in my entire life, Antonia. We both know who that is.”

She swallows. “What are you going to do when you find her? Jazzy’s mom?”

“I don’t know. I’m doing this for Jazzy, not me. Personally, I couldn’t give a fuck if the woman ever shows up again. I’m not giving my daughter back.”

“Good,” Antonia says. “Look, I’m obviously not mothering material, but I don’t think any mother in their right mind would just abandon a kid. To a mobster of all people.”

“What makes you think you’re not mothering material?” I haven’t thought about having kids with her, but Antonia would make a great mother.

“You don’t even trust me to get your daughter a drink, Carlo,” she says.

“That’s not about you,” I tell her.

“Really? And where is she now? Jazzy?”

“With Sammie. He took her for ice cream,” I say.

“So, Sammie, Louie, even Emmanuel can look after her. But me you don’t trust?” Antonia asks.

I didn’t know that was bothering her. I didn’t even think she cared, to be honest.

“I don’t want you to think I married you because I wanted a live-in babysitter.

That’s why I didn’t leave Jazzy with you.

It’s why I don’t want you doing stuff for her,” I admit.

There’s also the part of me that needs to prove to myself and everyone else that I’ve got this. That I am enough for her.

“She’s lucky to have you for a father. If I had a father like you, I wouldn’t be in the predicament I’m in now.”

“What predicament is that, Antonia?” I press.

“The one where I’m stuck married to someone I don’t love.” She stands and walks towards the door.

Well, fuck me, if that didn’t hurt.

“You always were a shitty liar.”

Her hand pauses on the knob before she opens the door and walks out.

An hour later, I hear the elevator doors ding and little footsteps running through the foyer. “Carlo, are you home?” Jazzy’s voice calls out.

“I’m here,” I call back as I head towards the living area. I didn’t have any luck finding her mother. Whoever this Penelope is, she’s a fucking ghost.

“Lailani is coming to dinner at Uncle Louie’s, and Tío E said he’s got a surprise for me,” Jazzy announces.

“Really, a surprise, huh?” I ask Jazzy while looking up at Sammie, who just lifts a shoulder.

“Jazz, remember, even if you can’t say it, we both know I’m the best uncle, right?” he reminds her.

I never would have thought I’d see the day my three best friends were fighting for the top uncle spot. But here we are.

“I don’t know, Uncle Sammie. We’ll have to wait and see what Tío E’s surprise is first,” Jazzy says and then she’s sprinting down the hall. “I’m going to my room!”

“What’s the surprise and is it age appropriate?” I ask Sammie.

“I got no idea what he’s up to. But knowing that fucker, it’s over the top, not even remotely age appropriate, and probably not something a kid wants anyway,” he says. “I’m not worried in the slightest.”

“Right. So, Lailani, huh? Coming to dinner. That’s a big step. You sure you’re ready for that level of commitment?” I nudge him.

“Fuck off. Your daughter invited her. What was I supposed to do? Say she can’t come?” he grunts.

“Yeah. Why not?”

The sound of heels clinking down the hallway has us both turning our heads.

Antonia is dressed in a tight-as-fuck red skirt, a see-through red top with a red lace bra underneath it, and black leather boots that end at her ankles.

Her lips are bright red and her hair hangs in loose waves over her shoulder.

“Oh, hey, I’m heading out. Catch you later,” she says, trying to walk around me.

My arm snakes over, taking hold of her waist. “Wait up a second. Where the fuck are you going dressed like that?”

“Like what?” She pushes off me.

“Like you’re going to try to make twenty dollars on the street corner,” I tell her.

“You did not just call me a whore, Carlo!” she gasps.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Right, well, I see you’ve got everything under control here. I’ll see you at dinner. Good luck, Antonia.” Sammie walks back to the elevator and stabs a finger on the button.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, Carlo, but you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do,” Antonia hisses at me.

“Actually I do. I’m your husband, remember?” I remind her.

“How could I forget? That doesn’t mean you’re my keeper. Move,” she says.

Sammie steps into the elevator, chuckling under his breath. Asshole.

“No.” I fold my arms over my chest. No fucking way is she leaving this house dressed like a hooker, an expensive hooker but a hooker nonetheless.

“Oh, you look pretty, Antonia. Can you paint my lips like that?” Jazzy says, appearing out of nowhere.

“Absolutely not,” I tell her.

“Why not?” She pouts. “She looks pretty. Don’t you think, Carlo?”

“She does, but that kind of makeup is for grown-ups. Maybe when you’re fifty, you can wear it,” I say.

“But Antonia’s not fifty,” Jazzy argues.

“I have a pink gloss. You want to try that, Jazzy?” Antonia offers.

“Yes please. Can I wear it to dinner tonight? Maybe I can find a red dress and we can be matching?” my daughter suggests.

“Or what if I find a pink dress to match one of yours?” Antonia asks, and Jazzy’s face lights up. She’s so excited at the prospect of them matching. “Wait… What dinner?” Antonia turns to me.

“We’re having dinner at Louie and Charlotte’s. You should go and find that pink dress, babe.” I smirk. I might be losing the fight with Jazzy over the lip gloss shit, but I did win the fight with Antonia about the red dress and she doesn’t even realize it yet.

“I hate you,” she mouths at me before looking to Jazzy. “You wanna help me pick one?”

“Yes.” Jazzy reaches up, takes hold of Antonia’s hand, and starts pulling her down the hallway towards the bedroom.

I watch them leave. I want to follow. I should follow. Then Antonia’s words repeat in my head. She thinks I don’t trust her with my daughter. I need to let her do this without hovering. Maybe if she sees I trust her completely, she’ll start to trust me again too.

And pigs might actually fly. I look out the window at the Vegas skyline. Sure enough, it’s clear of pigs.