Overture (North Security, #1)(60)

“Well, it’s a bad idea. Your father is never gonna let you leave.”

Deep inside, I turn cold. I know that’s true. Of course it is. Giovanni doesn’t have the money or the resources to take us away from here. And even if he did, why would he want to?

I hate myself for even suggesting it. How desperate can I look?

Shaking inside, I stand up and grab the bottle of Jack Daniels. It’s heavier than I would have expected, but I carry it over to a wet bar still stocked with decanters and wine glasses. No liquor though. There used to be huge parties here. When my mother died, they stopped.

We’re supposed to have a party in a few days, though, to celebrate my sister’s engagement. I’m not even allowed to go. I’ll just be able to see the fireworks from the window.

Without a word Giovanni joins me, his heat both comforting and stark. He takes the glass from my shaking hand. He opens the bottle and pours the deep amber liquid inside. Then takes another cup for himself, twice as full.

“Why do you get more?” I protest, mostly because I like teasing him.

His expression is amused. “I’m bigger than you.”

He is bigger. Taller and broader, though still skinny. His hands are bigger than mine too. They hold the glass with confidence, whereas I almost drop mine.

I take a sip before I can second-guess myself. “Oh my God.”

It burns my throat, battery acid scalding me all the way down.

His lips firm, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Good stuff?”

“Oh, shut up.” Then it doesn’t matter because I’m laughing too. That stuff is awful.

He grins and takes a drink—more like a gulp. And he doesn’t cough or wince after. “You get used to it.”

“How much do I have to drink to get used to it?”

“More than you should.”

I take another sip. It burns again, but I have to say, not as bad. It still doesn’t taste good, but I’m determined to drink it anyway. This pool house is the only place where I can break the rules, where I can experience things. The pool house is the only place I even feel alive.

“Let’s try mine,” I say. My voice already sounds rougher from the alcohol.

He holds up the cigar. “Did you bring a lighter?”

“Oh, crap.”

His eyes crinkle in that way I love. It makes my chest feel full, like there’s no room for air. “It doesn’t matter,” he says.

“But I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.”

He takes another drink. It looks so natural when he does it. “What bargain?”

“To do bad things,” I say seriously. When your life is as controlled as mine, you need to plan these things. Tonight is supposed to be the night.

He looks down, a strange smile on his face. “Let’s start with the whiskey. If that’s not enough, we can knock over a bank or something.”

I smack his arm. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Never.” His eyes meet mine, and I see that he’s not laughing at all. “I’d rob a bank if you wanted me to.”

My stomach twists at his solemn tone. “I’d rather you stay safe,” I whisper.

He reaches a hand toward me like he’s going to cup my face, only half an inch away he freezes. I can almost feel the heat of him, and I remain very still, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

He shoves his empty glass onto the bar and walks away.

I let out a breath. What is that about? Lately we keep having these moments where it seems, like he’s going to touch me. But he never does. I want to touch him too, but I don’t. I wouldn’t know where to start. I can’t even imagine how he’d feel. Would he be like the whiskey, leaving a trail of fire? I’m scared to find out.

He’s on the couch, so I join him there. Not touching, just sitting beside him.

“Gio, I’m worried about Honor.”

He doesn’t look at me. “She’s strong. She can take care of herself.”

“Yeah, but Byron is a jerk.” And even she can’t fight the tides. That’s what men like Byron are. Tsunamis. Hurricanes. Natural disasters.

“Your dad wants someone who can take over. That’s pretty much guaranteed to be an asshole.”

He’s not saying anything I don’t know, but it’s still frustrating. It’s too dark to see his expression. I can only see the shape of him beside me, his neck and shoulders limned by moonlight. “This isn’t the eighteenth century. This is Las Vegas.”

“Marriage isn’t about that. Not here.”

It’s about making alliances. It’s about money. “He should make you the next one in line.”

At least Gio has been around for years. His dad is trusted here, even if he’s not high ranking. This Byron guy hasn’t even been in Las Vegas very long. And he’s a cop. I learned from an early age not to trust cops—even dirty ones.

Gio shakes his head. “No, thanks.”

“Why not? You’d be good at it.” I can tell he’s biting his tongue. “What?”

“Good at killing people?” he asks softly.

I flinch. Most of the time we skirt around what exactly my father does. And technically Gio is a part of that. I’ve never asked him if he’s killed someone. For all I know, he already has robbed a bank. He’s still in high school, so they’re keeping him light. But once he graduates high school, they’ll want to induct him. I’d almost rather he did leave then. Even though it would kill me to see him go.