Page 8 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Seven

I know Antonia was pretending to be asleep.

If I didn’t have to get back to Jazzy, I would have called her out on it.

I might be an asshole—some would say a monster even—but I’m not the kind she needs to be worried about.

I’d never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.

She knows that. And if she doesn’t, she’s forgotten who I am.

Not that it matters. I won’t have to force her, because I know her body better than she does. I know how to have her begging me to touch her. And soon, she will.

Just not tonight. Tonight, I need to prove to Jazzy that she comes first. Because she fucking does. And I do that by staying when she asks me to stay.

I only went to my bedroom to get out of my suit. After changing into a pair of sweats, I covered Antonia with a blanket and walked out.

Jazzy is sitting up waiting for me when I return. “I thought that maybe you were going to stay in your room,” she says in a quiet voice.

“I told you I was coming back. I always keep my word, sweetheart,” I remind her. Picking up the book we were in the middle of reading, I open it to the marked page. “Where were we?”

“The prince found Cinderella and he’s going to rescue her from the evil stepmother,” Jazzy says.

“Right.” I nod my head. “You know that girls don’t really need princes to rescue them, right? Girls can do anything boys can do, Jazzy.”

“I can’t fight monsters, Carlo. I’m too small,” she says.

“Pfft, you’re my kid. You can fight any monster you want. Tomorrow, we’re going to start training. Then, before you know it, those monsters will be more scared of you than you are of them.”

Jazzy looks up at me with those trusting eyes again. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“What if Antonia turns out to be like her ?” she asks.

“Like who?”

“Cinderella’s evil stepmother.” Jazzy points to the character in the book.

“If she turns out to be evil, we can kill her,” I say simply.

Jazzy’s eyes widen. “You can’t do that.”

“You’re right. But she’s not going to be evil. She also isn’t your mother. You have a mother already.”

A sadness passes over my daughter’s face. “My mama isn’t coming back, Carlo. She can’t.”

“Why can’t she?” I press.

“I’m not supposed to say.”

“You know you can tell me anything. It will stay between you and me.”

“What if you die like Cinderella’s daddy, and I get stuck with Antonia as an evil stepmother? You won’t be here to help me,” Jazzy says instead of answering me.

“Remember what I said about helping yourself? You won’t need me and you won’t get stuck with an evil stepmother either.

Ever. I won’t let that happen. Besides, I’m not going anywhere.

But if I did, then Uncle Louie and Aunt Charlotte will look after you.

” I should really put that in a will or something.

I make a mental note to contact my attorney tomorrow and get everything situated for Jazzy if something really did happen to me.

I need to make sure she will always be looked after.

“Okay,” Jazzy says and lies down.

I pull the blankets up to her chin and tuck them in beside her. I’ve loved before. Once. Never in my life did I think I could love someone so much so quickly, though. “Want me to finish the story?”

“Can you tell me a different story?” she asks.

“Sure. Which one?”

“I want the story where the princess grew up and her mama and daddy lived together and they were a happy family.”

I’m speechless. That’s not something I can give her. No matter how much I may want to. I don’t even know her mother. And right now, I don’t want the woman to pop back up, because there isn’t a chance in hell that I’m ever going to give away my daughter.

“How about I tell you about the king who found his princess after missing her for years and years, and they lived happily ever after together… until she grew up into a beautiful, strong, independent woman?”

“Okay.” Jazzy smiles and snuggles into the blankets.

I wake up before Jasmine. My back aches from the floor. I sit up, lean against the wall, and stare at my daughter. She’s so fucking perfect. I don’t understand how the fuck her mother could just leave her.

I see Antonia brush past the open door. She’s still wearing that huge-ass fucking dress. I don’t bother moving, though. I know she’s not going anywhere. She might hate me, but she fears her father more. She’s not going to do anything to jeopardize this marriage by walking out.

A minute later, she stomps past again with a pair of scissors in her hand.

“Whoa, hold up!” I call out, and she stops.

Her head pokes around the doorframe and her eyes land on the child-size lump on the bed before flicking over to me. “Did you sleep here?”

“She has nightmares. She likes knowing I’m close,” I explain, nodding my head towards the scissors. “What are you doing with those?”

“Cutting myself out of this stupid dress,” Antonia groans.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” I push up from the floor and walk to the door. “Turn around,” I tell her.

“You’re not undressing me,” she hisses under her breath.

I raise a brow. “Yes, I am, because I’m not calling your father to explain why you need stitches one day into our marriage. Now, turn around.”

“No.”

I smirk. “My daughter is asleep less than ten feet away from us, Antonia. Trust me when I say nothing is going to happen other than me helping you get out of this dress without cutting yourself to shreds.”

“I hate you,” she says before doing as she’s told.

“I know.” It doesn’t take long to get the buttons undone, and as soon as the fabric is loose enough for her to slip out, Antonia is marching back into my bedroom.

“Carlo?”

I spin around. Jazzy is standing right behind me. “I love you. And Antonia shouldn’t say she hates you. It’s not nice.”

“I love you too, sweetheart, the most in all the world. But Antonia is allowed to feel that way. I deserve it. I did something that wasn’t very nice to her once.”

“But you’re the nicest person I know,” Jazzy says. “What did you do?”

“It’s complicated. How about pancakes?” I quickly change the subject.

“With bananas?”

“Anything you want.” I take hold of my daughter’s hand and lead her into the kitchen.

Once I’ve added all the ingredients to the bowl, I hand it to Jazzy to stir. Then I pick up my phone and call my attorney, because I need to get this will thing together before Antonia does actually kill me.

“Carlo, I hear congratulations are in order,” Matteo Valentino, my attorney and I guess my friend, answers.

“Thanks. I need my will updated,” I tell him.

“You know there are estate attorneys for that sort of thing,” he says.

“Don’t be an ass. Can you do it or not?” I grunt.

“Fine, but I’m charging you double. What do you need? Maybe send an email, or we can meet if you want to fly out to New York.”

“Yeah, I can’t do that. It’s easy anyway. I want everything left to my daughter, Jasmine. And I want it stipulated that if anything were to happen to me, Louie and his wife would gain custody of her or whatever it’s called. I want to make sure she’s looked after.”

“Daughter? As in flesh and blood? When did that happen? You just got married yesterday?” Matteo responds with a barrage of questions.

“She showed up a few weeks ago. Six years old, smart, beautiful. But with my DNA, you shouldn’t expect anything less.” I wink at Jazzy, who is staring at me.

“Right, you sure she’s yours?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Okay, send me her full legal name, date of birth, and so on… and I’ll sort it out. You sure you don’t want to leave anything to your new wife?”

“She doesn’t need my money,” I tell him.

“Probably not,” he says. “But it’s the right thing to do.”

“Let me get back to you.” I cut the call and put the phone down. I glance over to Jazzy and take the bowl from her hands. “How’s it looking?”

“Good. What’s a will?” she asks me.

“You don’t miss anything, do you?” I laugh. “It’s a document that states what happens with all my money and shit if I die.”

“But you said you’re not going to die!” she screams.

“I’m not planning on it, kid.” I walk around the counter, wrap my hands around her back, and hold her tight.

“I don’t want you to die too,” she sobs into my chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m perfectly healthy. I’m not going anywhere. It’s just a precaution,” I tell her.

Antonia walks into the kitchen. Her eyes go wide and then her expression softens.

“Let’s make those pancakes.” I kiss the top of Jazzy’s head.

“Okay,” she says quietly. When I pull away, she spots Antonia and scrunches up her face. “I don’t think you should get any pancakes because you weren’t very nice to my daddy.”

I smirk. I shouldn’t, but it’s kinda cool to know the kid has my back. “We talked about this, sweetheart, remember? I wasn’t nice to Antonia first.”

“Still, she should say sorry, right, Carlo?” Jazzy asks me.

“She should.” I smile at Antonia, who is now glaring at me.