Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
He appears at my elbow an hour later. “Tell me.”
I jump at the voice so close to my ear, then curse inwardly for startling. “Tell you what I saw?” I turn to face him, unnerved by how close he’s standing to me.
“Mmm hmm. Your full report.” He has this way of looking at me—with appreciation and warmth, but also the promise of something I know I should avoid.
I lick my lips. “Well, I’m not sure what you want to hear about. I didn’t see anything big.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw a cocktail waitress keep a chip when a customer dropped it. I saw a dealer slip a five dollar chip in his pocket that wasn’t a tip, I saw a couple college kids attempting to count cards and failing.”
“Which dealer?” All the friendliness has left Stefano’s face, like stealing from the casino—even just five dollars—is an offense punishable by death.
A shiver runs down my spine when I realize how accurate that assessment might be. And I’m supposed to throw the guy under the bus.
I blink, hesitating for a moment.
Stefano’s eyes don’t leave my face, the intensity of his gaze ratcheting up.
“Andrew,” I murmur, because I’m not sure how to get out of this without giving a name. I probably shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.
“I’ll tell you what I saw.” Ease has returned to his face.
“What?” I manage to say.
“I saw you rebuff six different men and attract the attention of nearly three dozen more. I saw a woman who knows how to handle herself with confidence and who pays attention.” He reaches out and puts a finger under my chin. I jerk away. He smirks again. “I like making you blush.”
“You don’t make me blush,” I snap. It’s an idiotic comeback since my blushes are impossible to hide. I sense one spreading across my chest and up my neck right now.
He at least has the decency to drop it. He takes my elbow. “Time to get you upstairs, bella. Let’s go.”
If anyone else took my elbow in such a bossy, controlling way, I would punch him. But it’s Stefano—a sex god in a thousand dollar suit—and his deft direction actually feels right. He’s like one of those ballroom dancers who can conduct a partner anywhere and everywhere simply with subtle changes in pressure of his hand at her back. I don’t pull away because I enjoy the sensation of being guided by him.
And that is just ten kinds of wrong, right there.
He takes me in the elevator to a private, key-card access only floor and lets me into a guest suite. It’s been set up for gambling. The bedroom door is closed and a horseshoe shaped table sits in the middle of the room with slim high top leather padded chairs around it. No chair for me. I take my spot behind the table and check the rolly cart holding my chips and five decks of cards still in their wrappers.
“Same rules as downstairs. Only thing different will be the minimum and upper bids, capiche?”
I nod at Stefano’s clipped instructions.
He produces a water bottle, which he places beside me. “This is for you. Leo will be here the entire time. If any of them give you trouble, just signal him.”
“Where will you be?” I don’t know why I ask. It’s stupid. It’s not like I’m afraid without him.
Maybe I am, just a little.
“I have to run shit. With Nico gone, there are fires to put out. Don’t worry, no one’s going to touch you. If they do, I’ll have Leo break their fingers.”
#
Corey
Mr. Donahue. That’s how the guy is introduced, and I get an off vibe from him right away. For one thing, he’s late. I’ve been dealing poker for two hours with three other guys who showed up tonight and they’re not pleased with letting someone new into the game.
Two of them cash out. The third—Mr. Smith—stays but that’s because he’s down three hundred grand. He’s probably hoping to win something off Donahue.
“Where’s Nico Tacone?” Donahue demands once he’s sitting and his chips are in front of him.
“Mr. Tacone isn’t here tonight,” I say smoothly, dealing the cards.
Donahue looks pissed. “Why not? He invited me personally. I was told I’d be playing poker with him.”
My eyes narrow slightly. I doubt that’s true. I flick a glance to Leo, at the door. He’s not normal casino security or management. He’s an import from Chicago. Part of the Family, if you know what I mean. I’ve worked at the Bellissimo long enough to know the insiders.
Leo’s upper lip curls like he wants to shove his fist in the guy’s mouth, but he just gives me a small shrug.
“I don’t know who told you that, Mr. Donahue, but it won’t be happening. It’s your bet.”
The guy looks pissed off, but he plays.