Page 29 of A New Days Don

“What makes you think you’ll be able to help me?” She crosses her arms over her chest, those sassy eyes narrowing in on me as if I am her biggest threat.

Because, Mila, I am the mafia, and these people will squeal faster if they know there’s pressure.

But I don’t say that. My usual techniques won’t work in this regard anyway. I doubt she would let me handle the situation if she knew I would torture the information she wants out of them. So, we will do this the hard way.

“Tell me, how has the investigation been going so far? I may have been willing to give you all the information you sought out from me, but don’t expect the same courtesy from anyone else.” Mila bites her lip in response, her gaze drifting, making my chest pound with need and craving.

“Vicek sent us to patrol this neighbourhood. He received an anonymous tip. I can’t leave my post.” She explains, “But I appreciate your concern for our investigation.”

“Las Vegas has over a thousand different hot spots for these sorts of crimes.” I explain, and she nods, clearly already understanding this fact, “This one,” I gesture down the now-empty street, “has officially been cleared by you and your partner.”

“What’s in it for you?” Her brows furrow.

I get to keep you for the evening.

Once again, I can’t say that. Mila is a skittish creature, wary of her surroundings—as she should be. So instead, I settle with, “Call it a sudden willingness to do the right thing.”

When she doesn’t move, I step closer to her, watching as her breath catches and her throat bobs with our proximity. Her heart thrumming against the column of her neck in a rapid, addictive staccato.

“Get in the car, Mila,” I murmur, her pupils blowing wide as she shifts nervously.

“Okay, but only because I have a few more questions to ask you.” When Mila brushes past me, I inhale her soft, dewy scent. A man could get high off of it. A heady smell of a flower garden after heavy rainfall.

As promised, Mila filled the car ride full of questions. Ones pertaining to my club records, most of which I could only answer vaguely. Questions about the reason I was in the house she was searching in the first place, ones I could only answer vaguely. I don’t think she would have been particularly keen to know that I was about to torture and kill the men in that room to get the information I desired in order to find the head of the Colombian Cartel, who is starting to move in on Las Vegas.

I settled on telling her that I was there to speak with an old friend when I discovered their drug trafficking, and she walked down the stairs. She seemed content enough with that answer.

We fall into a comfortable silence beside one another. Mila’s big, blue eyes are taking in the luxury of the interior of my car. Pausing every once in a while, to focus on small details—the stitching on the dashboard, the glow in the footwells, and then to the gear shifter where my hand rests.

Now that I have her in my car, she looks perfect, like belongs here with me. For the first time in a while, I don’t want to arrive at our destination. I want this drive to continue forever, with her here.

My wishes fall on deaf ears as we approach the brightly illuminated sign and opulence of ‘Gli Amanti Litigano.’

Mila eyes the parking lot warily, speed walking towards the back entrance, with me in tow. She doesn’t have to be afraid; she is the safest woman in Las Vegas right now. Her eyes meet mine as I approach her from behind, and the tension on her face relaxes. All I want to do now is grab hold of her and reinforce her safety with me, but that is the last thing I can do. She isn’t mine to hold. Yet.

I unlock the back entrance, and she tries to rush past me while breathlessly asking, “What’s the plan?”

She’s panicking and afraid. I have yet to uncover what the hell terrifies her so much. She doesn’t trust me enough to tell me, yet. She will learn to relinquish that control to me. To tell me everything and let me take some of that burden so she can live more freely.

Until then…

I take hold of her arm, my hand slips naturally between her body and elbow. Mila gasps, her cerulean eyes meeting mine, “Take a breath.”

Her eyes bounce back and forth between mine, as if contemplating it, but she does what I ask. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, her stiff body relaxes, and without thinking, I murmur, “Good girl.”

She soaks in the praise, drinking up the bare minimum like she needs it for survival. Those bright eyes reflect the neon lights of the city so temptingly that it takes everything in me to pull away from her when her glossy lips part. She takes a step back, stumbling a bit before she pats herself down. Her cheeks become flushed, and I follow as the red blooms down her neck.

“What’s the plan?” She inquires more firmly this time. Her face falls into cool disinterest, even though the flush on her face and neck gives away how she really feels.

I hold the door open, allowing Mila to enter the club. The music becomes louder as we make our way down the hallway to my office, “I think you’re right about the dump sites being connected to clubs nearby, but I want to extend that not only to clubs, but to the streets also. There are some popular corners and alleys where some women find their clients.”

I keep Mila in my periphery, her body language telling me all I need to know that she is slowly losing her calm. I guide her into my office, closing the door behind us and muting the thumping bass.

“Okay, so we should go do that now, then.” She insists, looking back toward the office door then around the room, surveying it. I don’t know what she is looking for, but she won’t find a thing in here. My father doesn’t keep our less than legal matters out in the open at any of our clubs or casinos.

“We will, but you can’t go out and talk to sex workers or people on the streets looking like that. Nobody will come within a ten-foot radius of you.” I gesture to her Kevlar and belt.

Mila takes a step back from me, her hand going to her belt as she feels for the taser and gun currently strapped to her, “I’m an officer. I won’t hide my identity.”