Count on Love. Melinda Curtis
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any ideas. She’ll grow out of it.” Annie didn’t know which was worse, him teaching her daughter how to gamble or how to wave a fan in front of her nonexistent bosom.
“She’s so…loud.” Her father grinned. “That’s just what that P.I. deserves.”
Annie stopped slicing to study Brett. “I never said he was a P.I.”
“Didn’t you?” he said innocently, spreading margarine over a slice of bread with the intensity of a brain surgeon.
“Dad,” Annie whispered suspiciously, “has he been after you before?” Was Sam after him now?
“Before? No, no. I recognize the name, is all. Heard the scuttlebutt and such.”
Annie went back to cutting zucchini. “What scuttlebutt?” Most likely it was about Sam and a showgirl…or several.
“Everyone knew his dad. He was a P.I., too, but he specialized in tracking teenage runaways here and in Phoenix,” Brett said respectfully, shaking garlic salt on the bread. “I hear his son works a different side of the business.”
Annie’s radar went off and she set the knife down. “You’re scared of him.” Brett, unfortunately, lacked the gene that enabled him to heed fear.
“No.” The word came out squeaky. He cleared his throat and repeated, “No. It’s you I’m worried about, being with him.”
“Why?” But he didn’t answer, and Sam, who was trying to sit up during the second encore of Maddy’s song, didn’t look like a threat, not with his long limbs folded awkwardly on the small couch and his skin still a sickly shade of green. “I was at Tiny House of Cards today.”
“I thought you swore off the habit.” For all the trouble he’d given her earlier, he didn’t seem surprised.
“One-a-penny, two-a-penny, hot cross buns.” Maddy was running through all of her counting nursery rhymes, even though Sam hadn’t opened his eyes.
“Don’t joke, Dad. I had some business with Sam there.”
“So you didn’t go near the tables? You had no trouble resisting the urge to feel the texture of the cards in your hand?” He gave her a knowing smile.
“I left all that behind me.” Bitterness crept into her tone. “You saw to that.” Maddy started another counting song. Annie dropped zucchini into the small pot before adding, “Tiny knew you and…” She lowered her voice. “Me. I think he wanted to throw me out. Have you been telling stories again?”
“Come on, puddin’. Tiny only knows me by reputation.” Brett tried to chuck her on the chin, but Annie ducked out of the way. “Why would I be telling that story?”
“Because you’re the biggest gossip in Las Vegas.”
“Some stories just get passed around. The little girl with pigtails who beat Aldo Patrizio has become something of a myth around here, but your name’s been forgotten. Mine, unfortunately, hasn’t.”
Annie wanted to believe him. She wanted her life to be as normal and boring as everyone else’s in suburbia. But even when she’d been married, Annie hadn’t been able to blend into the woodwork.
“I know you find it hard to believe your old man, but I haven’t told that story in a long time.” He crossed his heart. “Now, how about we get rid of this snooper?”
“No way. I need him.”
And, amazingly, Sam seemed to need her, too.
“IT SHOULD BE ME lying there.” Holding Rosalie’s hand, Aldo sat looking out toward the Strip. The Bellagio fountains were in midperformance.
He gazed down at his wife’s pale, high cheekbones and aquiline nose. Rosalie had been from the neighborhood back in Queens. They’d grown up together. When she’d first arrived in Vegas, she’d sung in a nightclub for slave’s wages and tips, and stayed with someone’s grandmother. Girls like Rosalie were off-limits to young men such as Aldo. You could treat most women fast and loose, except ones from the neighborhood. Italian women got taken care of, with wedding bands.
“I have dreams, Aldo. Someday, I’m gonna own a bakery.”
Aldo couldn’t help laughing. With her sequined
dress nearly showing her goods, she didn’t look like any baker he’d ever seen.
Her dark eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare laugh, Aldo. You can achieve anything in America, but you’ll only keep it if you come by it legitimately.”
“I make money, bella. A lot of money.” Aldo leaned closer, even though it was against the rules, and let his gaze wander down the V of her dress.
“You make dirty money and you know it.” She pushed him back. “I won’t marry anyone that might leave me for prison.”
“Marry?”
“I have dreams, Aldo. I want to share them with someone. If you’re not that someone…” She shrugged. “Well, there are plenty of men in Vegas.”
“There were plenty of men in Queens, too, but you came out here, where there are too many women.” He knew she’d come chasing after him when he’d left, but Aldo was a rising star in the family, and women would do amazing things to get his attention.
Rosalie scoffed. “I have something none of those other women will ever have.” Unexpectedly, she grabbed hold of his tie and pulled him to her. Her kiss—their first—was light and sweet, as if she’d never kissed anyone before. Then she did something with her tongue that told Aldo her experience matched his. All too soon she released him and smoothed his tie without looking him in the eye. “I have the hunger to get what I want. Do you?”
Aldo watched her walk away, mesmerized by the way her evening gown swayed around her curves, barely keeping himself from crawling after her.
Rosalie was the reason he’d severed all ties with the Mafia fifty-odd years ago. Without her, there would have been no Sicilian. Without Rosalie, Aldo would most likely have ended up in a shallow grave in the desert.
Thrill seekers rocketed up the Stratosphere. Aldo could imagine the riders’ screams of fear and joy. So much had changed in Las Vegas since he and Rosalie had gotten married and started the casino. She’d gotten her bakery, all right. And a five-star restaurant.
And then eight months ago they’d been arguing on their way out to dinner. Aldo had held the door for Rosalie and paused to speak to one of his managers. His wife hadn’t waited, and had been hit by a drunk speeding through their lot. She hadn’t woken up since. The police had been unable to find the strunsu who did this to her.
“What would you say about our little Vince?” he asked. “That I should give him another chance?”
But Rosalie didn’t answer. And Vince didn’t seem to want another chance.
“DOES THAT MAN HAVE the flu?” Maddy asked, chasing noodles around her plate with her fork. Amazingly, her off-key songs had been a lifeline for Sam to cling to.
Still, he avoided looking at her. When he’d been sent over to Iraq, he’d been worried about coming back with all his body parts. He hadn’t thought to worry about coming back with his mind intact. It was rare that he let himself be surprised by a child. Sam stayed away from where they tended to be. What few groceries he bought, he picked up at the corner convenience store in the middle of the night. Likewise, he frequented the twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart at midnight, when there was less of a chance of running into terror-inducing children.
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