“Yes, Princess?”
“Can we please go back to the car? Please?”
“We haven’t eaten yet.”
“Yes, but I don’t want anyone to see... to see...” She’s tugging at the back of her skirt, darting nervous looks all around.
“To see you in your ruffled panties with your naughty bottom still pink from all your spankings today?” I supply, loving how guilty she looks when her eyes snap back to mine. Her blush deepens. “What happens when naughty little girls disobey Daddy, then run away?”
She looks desperately at the floor so she wouldn’t have to see the mocking sternness in my expression. I love her mannerisms. Everything she does—from her frustrated huff to the slight bounce as she only just stops herself from stomping her foot—is everything I hunger for in the women I choose to keep.
Catching her chin, I make her meet my eyes. She doesn’t fight it, but she’s beyond embarrassed. Her hands are flat at her sides, smoothing the skirt down flat, hoping neither her panties nor her bright pink skin will show.
“What happens?” I press, and she gives in.
“I have to wear weird clothes in public.”
I’ve made my point, but I’m not about to let her get away with that kind of answer.
“Is that the way we’re supposed to answer?”
“Daddy,” she whimpers, a rush of real tears filling her eyes. “Please... please don’t make me say it... not here. Please?”
“How do we say it, Princess,” I repeat. “Remember, little girls who are naughty in public can expect to be taken into the grownup Daddies’ bathroom, and I don’t think you’d like what happens once we get there.”
Her breathing is faster than normal, her face flushed, and her fingers fidget non-stop with the hem of her skirt.
“No, Daddy,” she yields in whisper-soft defeat. With a sigh, she dutifully repeats, “Very naughty little girls have to wear very little girl clothes until I’m sorry enough to change my behavior.”
“I know you were being playful, and I enjoyed it, but I don’t want to have to chase you down because you don’t feel like obeying.”
Shoulders slumping, she raises her gaze to mine, but before I can chuck her fondly under the chin, her gaze darts past me, and her eyes grow huge.
I snap around, already grabbing her arm to shove her safely behind me, even before I spot Alviero stalking through the busy casino straight for us. My joking mood vanishes, as does the casino noise all around us. Suddenly, the scars on Clara are very much on my mind, as well as every derogatory thing he called her on our last phone call. To walk up to me now is not the smartest choice he’s made today, but Alviero keeps coming. With a manilla envelope in his hand and hell in his dark eyes, he walks right up to stand in front of me—a little too close, breathing a little too hard. I’m not impressed. He’s lost this round. I own his ass.
Clara’s small hands clutch my back. I can feel her shaking, but she has nothing to be afraid of. Alviero won’t so much as put a finger on her. If he tries, I’ll beat him down to nothing right here in the middle of the casino.
Alviero doesn’t even try. He barely looks at her. All his animosity is reserved for me as he slaps the manilla envelope against my chest. I barely catch it before he lets go and drops it.
“And this is?” I ask.
“What you asked for,” he growls through clenched teeth. “The shares I own in the Crown transferred to my daughter inhername. You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll leave her with you. You’re not married to her. You’ve got no say—”
Wordlessly, I hold up my hand, showing him the wedding ring. Clara wears one as well. Getting married by Elvis in a little white chapel is by far more memorable than the canned vows we were forced to repeat. I don’t know about my now legally wedded wife, but I don’t remember a word of it.
“That isn’t real.” Alviero is turning colors, his face darkening into an ugly ruddy red.
“Actually, it is,” I inform him. “Admittedly, the license was a little more expensive than I thought, especially since I got it without her present and before she willingly agreed to make me the happiest man on earth. But it’s her signature on the certificate, and we both said I do in front of a legitimately ordained Elvis impersonator. I’ve lived here my whole life, and now I can say I’ve had the complete Vegas experience.”
“I promised her to Miguel! They invested money in the casino in exchange for her!”
“So did I. You accepted my terms, took my down payment, shook my hands, and immediately made another deal—”
“A better deal!” he spat.
“With Morales. That’s not how business works.”
“I’ll get your money back to you by—”
