Page 27 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six

C arlo has been super attached. As in, if I move, he moves closer. If I get up and go into the kitchen to grab a drink, he follows. It’s odd, and a little concerning. This has been going on since last night.

After we took Jazzy to her mother’s headstone, we came back home and ordered pizza. Turned the television on and watched a movie. But Carlo has been hovering all morning again.

“What’s going on?” I ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re attached to me like my shadow, Carlo. You’re hovering. Why?”

“Because I want to be near you. You’re my wife, Antonia, and I happen to like your company an awful lot. So, if I’m hovering, it’s because I don’t want to be away from you,” he says.

“That’s… sweet. I think. But like you keep saying, I’m your wife. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need to hover.”

Carlo’s smile widens. “Well, Mrs. Bianchi, get used to me being your shadow, because I like being close to you.” His arm wraps around my back, and he pulls me against his chest. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like being close to him too.

“I don’t mind you being close, as long as it’s because you want to be and not because you think you have to be.”

“Trust me, I want to be wherever you are, Antonia.” He presses his lips against mine.

“Ew, Antonia, boys have germs. Tío E told me that if you kiss boys, you’ll get sick and Uncle Louie said boys are the grossest,” Jazzy announces before her smile quickly fades. “You’re not going to get sick, are you?”

“No, sweetheart, I don’t think I am. Your uncles are idiots,” I tell her before turning to Carlo. “And you need to stop letting them hang around her so much.”

“Why? They’re not wrong. Boys are gross, Jazzy. Best you stay away from them forever,” Carlo adds.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t listen to them. Boys are not that gross . Just a little bit.” I laugh. “Now, you ready to go and have a look around this school?”

“Mhmm, I think so.” Jazzy nods. “But what if they’re mean?”

“Then you punch them right in the mouth to shut them up,” Carlo tells her.

“No, you come home and tell your dad or me, and we will sort them out. I promise no one is ever going to be allowed to be mean to you again.” I hold out a hand, and Jazzy places hers in mine.

I’m not usually a violent person. But when it comes to this sweet, innocent little girl, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to protect her from being hurt. Even if that means I have to go toe-to-toe with a bunch of snot-nosed kids.

After touring the school, which Jazzy seemed to love, we showed her the house Carlo bought and let her pick out her own bedroom.

She chose the one right next to the main, and I could tell Carlo was relieved.

He likes to have her close. She asked when we were moving, and we explained that it needed to be furnished first. She quickly shifted from that topic to wanting ice cream.

So we went back to the penthouse to get her some.

That’s where we are now. Carlo and me. In the kitchen. While Jazzy is playing in the living room. My shadow still hasn’t left my side. He’s being super attentive. Something is definitely up with him. I just don’t know what it is.

“We should do a dinner. With your friends,” I tell him. “We haven’t had them over yet.”

“I’d rather have a dinner party with just you and Jazzy,” Carlo grumbles.

My smile drops. “You don’t want me to host your friends? I don’t have to do it myself. You can get caterers or something.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to host, Antonia? I don’t want my friends taking up your attention, because I want all of it,” he says.

“Okay, sorry. It was a stupid idea.” I shrug. I don’t believe that he just wants my attention. Doubt creeps into the back of my mind again.

I’m not enough.

“It’s not stupid,” Carlo says as he pulls out his phone.

He punches some buttons on the screen before bringing the device to his ear.

“Louie, my wife is hosting a dinner tonight at our place. Charlotte is invited, and I guess you can tag along as her plus-one,” he says, cutting the call and dialing out again.

“Sammie, dinner, our place, tonight. My wife is hosting. Don’t be late.

” Without further explanation, Carlo hangs up and turns to me. “They’ll be here.”

My eyes widen. “I didn’t mean tonight! Oh my god, what are we going to serve them?

Shit. What do I do?” I start looking around the cabinets.

I’m not much of a cook. I was born with a literal silver spoon in my mouth.

I never had to lift a finger in the kitchen.

My father groomed me to be a wife, sure. But a mafia wife, not a housewife.

“Relax. Call down to any one of the restaurants on the lower level, and the chef will prepare something for us. Just choose what you want,” Carlo says.

“Right, I can do that.” I nod my head. “Do you even have silverware, Carlo?” I glance around the kitchen again as I start opening and closing drawers.

“Probably not the kind you’re looking for.” He laughs.

“It’s not funny,” I hiss.

Grabbing my phone off the counter, I call my friends and wait for one of them to answer.

“What’s cooking, good-looking?” Georgia says.

“Nothing and that’s the problem. I have an SOS. I need you and Luna to come to Aces. I’m hosting a dinner party, and I need it to be perfect—oh, and obviously you’re coming,” I tell her.

“Oh, fun. I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes. I just need to finish something,” she says.

“Me, by the way. I’m the something. That’s the second time in as many days that you’ve cock-blocked me, Antonia,” Jasper chimes in.

Carlo raises his brows at me. “Who the fuck is that?” he growls.

“Gotta go, Georgia. Leave the playboy at the frat house,” I tell her. I don’t know why Luna didn’t answer, but I’m sure Georgia will find her and bring her along.

Just like I predicted, forty-five minutes later, Georgia appears in the foyer with Luna in tow. “Oh my god, thank you so much for coming. I don’t know what I’m doing. Why did you even let me do this?” I turn to Carlo.

“You wanted to,” he says. “But we don’t have to. I can call everyone and tell them to fuck off.”

“No, you can’t. They’ll think I couldn’t handle it,” I groan.

“Who the fuck cares what anyone thinks?” Carlo wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s just dinner, babe. You’re overthinking it.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mumble.

“Okay, breathe in and out. What do you need us to do?” Luna asks me.

“I need a dining set and silverware and glasses.”

“Got it. I’ll head out. Any budget?” She glances from me to Carlo.

“No budget. Get whatever she wants,” he says. Pulling his wallet out of his pocket before he hands her a shiny black card.

“Oh, fancy-pants, I like it.” She flicks the piece of plastic between her fingertips.

“Thank you. Just get something classy, not too over the top. But not too cheap either. We don’t want people to think we’re having money problems,” I tell her.

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone is going to think that.” Georgia laughs.

“Hey!” Jazzy comes running down the hall. “Daddy, are we having a party?”

“We are, sweetheart,” Carlo tells her.

“You want to help me and Georgia pick the menu?” I ask.

“Okay. Can we have ice cream and pancakes?” Jazzy replies hopefully.

“You can have whatever you want.” I nod at her before returning my attention to Carlo. “I’m going to take her downstairs to talk to the chef.”

“I’ll come down with you. I have some things to pick up in the office.” He presses the button on the elevator, and we all pile inside.

Luna goes off in the direction of the mall. Georgia, Jazzy, and I head to the restaurant, and Carlo goes to his office.

You know that feeling? The one that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up? That sense that you’re being watched?

I got it the moment I stepped off the elevator. But when I glance around, I don’t see anyone looking our way. We are safe here. Carlo wouldn’t let us wander off without him if we weren’t. And he has men everywhere.

I try to shake off my anxiety, but even after spending half an hour with the chef and selecting the courses for dinner tonight, I can’t stop feeling like I’m being watched.

I message Carlo to let him know I’m taking Georgia and Jazzy back upstairs. He replies, telling me he’ll be up in ten minutes. Then I pocket my phone and press the button for the elevator.

“You know he’s got it bad,” Georgia whispers.

“Who?”

“Carlo.” She smirks. “He’s smitten with you, babycakes.”

“He’s making the best of the situation,” I tell her.

“My daddy told me he loves you a lot, Antonia. And that he did something bad to you once, but now you forgive him and you get to live happily ever after. Like a princess and a prince,” Jazzy adds.

“You’re right. We do get our happily ever after with our very own little Princess Jasmine .” My fingers run through her hair as we step inside the waiting elevator.