“I don’t fucking understand, what happened? Cesare said there would be five dealers.”
Jackie has returned with a glass of champagne for me, for which I’m immensely grateful. I tip my head back and try not to ruin my makeup as I down half of the bubbly liquid.
Closer and closer. I’m migrating towards the group of men in the middle. I’m looking at the neatly set up chips and cards, itching to get my hands on them.
Don’t!
“One of them called in sick.”
“Well, what the fuck are we going to do now? I invested a lot of money in this thing.”
They’re missing a dealer? I can deal. It’s easy.
I’m about to speak up, but something about them seems utterly forbidding. I just want to hang in the background and watch.
“We have players coming in from Jersey. I can’t just tell them that we fucked up.”
“Adriana can deal.” Jackie’s loud voice booms out.
I’m mortified as all of them turn around to stare at us like we’re a bunch of idiots. Holy shit. My heart thumps against my chest as they glare at the source of the interruption.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The voice, coming from a forty-something man, is definitely hostile.
“I’m Jackie, Frank Rizzuto’s brother. And this is Adriana. She’s an expert poker player.”
Ha-ha. No, I’m not.
Their angry faces dissolve into amusement. This girl’s a poker player? It’s their disbelieving faces that make me step forward.
“Yeah, I am. And I can deal for you. It’s no problem.”
They smile at me. Fucking jerks.
“All right, sweetheart,” he says in a complacent tone. “Why don’t you join the rest of the women in the other room?”
The dismissal makes me so angry that I slide into the empty dealer seat and pick up the deck of cards. I got into Columbia, for fuck’s sake.
Don’t you dare talk down to me.
I shuffle them a million different ways; all the ways dealers do at casinos. They approach the table angrily, almost as if they want to pull me off the chair, but I give them a small, polite smile.
“Believe me, I can do this.”
Even I’m surprised at the confidence pouring from my voice. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this. I’m more than capable. I’ve done this a hundred thousand times.
The man who snapped at me crumbles. “What the fuck, why not?”
“Cesare will be pissed.”
“So? What else do we do? We’ll watch the girl for a bit and if she does well, who gives a fuck?”
The forty-year old man looks at me with his eyebrows raised. He strikes me as a man who goes with the flow. Thin-rimmed spectacles sit on his long nose. “You know how to play Blackjack?”
I smile at him. Stupid question.
“All right. My name is Paulie. Just shout if you need anything.”
In the background, I see Jackie watching me with a slight worried look on his face. There’s no time to think about it, because men are filtering into the room now that everything’s ready. Their eyes zero in on me with raised eyebrows, and suddenly there’s a crowd around my table. They want to sit at my table.
My hands shake a little bit, so I keep shuffling. Finally, the seats are organized.
“How you doin’?”
“Good, thank you.” I look up at the man addressing me, another one in his fifties. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain.”
His admiring gaze makes my face hot. None of them seem perturbed that I’m the only female dealer. In fact, the fight over seats at my table suggests otherwise. The game begins and I deal out the cards smoothly, entertaining myself by counting the cards while they fly out of my hands. The first game ends with a win for the house.
I can feel Paulie breathing down my neck as he makes sure I’m not screwing up the game, but he relaxes as game after game goes without incident. The man who smiled at me wins, and he tosses me a chip. Stunned I grab it. A tip? I glance at Paulie, and he nods.
The guys start to loosen up. Cigar smoke furls around the table, choking the air. Half of the crowd from the other room filters in to watch. There are explosions of laughter at other tables, groans, but all of it disappears as I focus on the game.
“YES! Yes, thank you! Here you go, honey.”
Another few chips fly my way. “Thank you, sir.”
The players seem to be from a mixed crowd—ranging from rich businessmen to married, middle-class men who look like they’re on the lam from their wives. The ones surveying the game are a different sort completely. Dark-haired. Olive skinned. Something nags at the back of my head, but I don’t want to confront it yet. My heart thumps wildly in my chest.
This is dangerous. I don’t know why, but it is.
There’s a slight commotion in the other room. I hear voices lift up in greeting and Paulie tenses next to me. He’s gone in a flash.
“Vincent, there was a slight problem.”
I don’t look up, because I’m still focused on the game. It’s none of my business, anyway.
“Who the fuck is she?”
The voice is young and angry, with a heavy Brooklyn accent. It cuts through the calm energy in my table like a knife and the man in front of me flinches. I try to keep focused on the game, but the voices are getting louder and angrier. I hear them walking across the room and finally someone stops next to my chair.
“Who the fuck are you?”
My head rises to the voice to tell him to calm down, to be quiet, but all the words are swallowed down my throat. I’m staring at a pair of eyes as dark as mine. One brief look and I can tell that this guy is gorgeous. He’s older than me, but he vibrates with a deadly, seductive energy. His dark hair falls in front of his eyes with a casual elegance and I look away from his expressive eyes to his neck, eyeing the lean muscles and the sharpness of his clavicle. He’s a lean, and his suit fits him perfectly. I can’t help but notice how yummy he looks in it. He’s hot, that’s for sure, but he’s glaring at me like he hates me. The heat in his eyes throws me.
“Excuse me, sir,” I say in a cold voice. “We’re in the middle of a game.”
One of the men sitting down chuckles and I freeze. Behind him, I see Jackie waving his arms around to get my attention. His face is blanched and he’s shaking his head violently.
Uh-oh.
“I asked you a question,” he snaps. “Who are you and why are you dealing at my card game?”
My card game. I suddenly realize how silent the table has gotten and how everyone in the room is staring at me. Whoever this man is, he’s the authority. Everyone looks at him as if he’s in charge.
“Vincent, it’s okay,” one of the players says. “She’s good.”
Vincent’s face loosens somewhat as Paulie repeats that the dealer called in sick and that I offered to help. He keeps eye-fucking me like I’m up to something.
“I’m Adriana.”
He doesn’t react to my voice. “Who brought this broad here?”
Suddenly, a man seated to the side leans in, smirking. “Who cares? I’d rather look at her than those old fucks you have over there.”
The tension choking the air diffuses as everyone dissolves into laughter. Even Vincent’s eyes lighten and a smile twitches across his stony face. I feel a sudden swoop of heat in my chest, even though the smile isn’t directed at me. I can feel his uneasiness as he circles around the table.
We resume the game, my face burning whenever I glance up and catch the brooding man staring at me. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, he’s hot enough to be on the cover of GQ.
Gorgeous, but a jerk. Life is unfair.
The games go on and on for hours and I’m fighting the urge not to yawn. Maria and Jackie look like they want to go, but I look at Vincent’s stern face and know that I’ll have to ride it out till the end.
“All right, hon. I’m out.”
Chairs scrape the
floor as players start to leave, and they all slide over chips towards me. I don’t know whether I should accept them or not, but something tells me it would be insulting not to.
“Thank you.”
They’re all so polite as they leave, lining up to cash out next to a heavily guarded man with a metal box. I stand up to leave too, feeling more and more uneasy as the room empties of people. Jackie and Maria make a beeline for me.
“Finally,” she says in a hushed voice.
“Let’s just go. Now.” Jackie’s voice is tight.
Vincent is against the wall, talking to a few other men next to him. He pulls his arms back and I catch a glimpse of something black and metallic resting on his hip.
He has a gun. Holy shit.
I walk as quietly as I can with the heels and keep my head down. Our strides quicken as we pass him, but Vincent’s head snaps up like he never missed a thing.
“Hey! I’m not done with you.”
The way he says, “I’m not done with you,” makes my heart freeze in my chest. What exactly does he want to do with me?
He pushes himself off the wall, dark and menacing as he approaches us. He sweeps around me and lightly touches my upper back.
“Go,” he says to Jackie. “I’ll drive her home.”
There’s something forbidding in his gaze, or maybe it’s the way he speaks. It’s as if he expects everyone to do what he says without question.
Poor Jackie is too terrified to argue. His anxious eyes slide to me before meeting his again. “Okay. C’mon, Maria.”
Maria frowns, her face mirroring the feelings in my chest as Jackie grips her arm so tightly that her face looks pained. “Hey!”
Vincent watches them go with a satisfied expression and ushers me to a secluded area of the room.
I watch my friends leave without me. Traitors.
“I—I think I should go, too.”
Swallowing hard, I suppress the urge to run away from him. I can feel his fingers hot against my back, or maybe my skin burns at his touch. He corners me against the wall and I become acutely aware that we’re all alone. The last people in the room are packing up the tables.
Not that I really mind being cornered by him. I’ve never had the full attention of a guy this attractive.
“Relax,” he says. “I just wanted to apologize. I’m sorry for the way I talked to you.”
Well, that wasn’t what I expected.
“Oh. It’s okay.”
My guard’s still up. There’s definitely darkness behind his inky eyes, but I’m not sure what it is.
“When I saw someone I didn’t recognize dealing at one of my games, I was not happy.”
I have no fucking clue what he means by “my games.”
“I—I see.”
His lips pull upwards, revealing deep dimples as he studies me. His hand actually reaches out and his finger strokes my face in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”
He sounds amused, which is probably a good thing.
“Should I?” I’m fixated on how incredible it feels to have his finger touch my cheek. All that heat combined with the energy in his eyes makes me dizzy.
He laughs then, a deep, pleasant rumble. Dark eyes twinkle at me. “No, I guess not. But you will soon enough.”
What does that mean?
“You’re really good at what you do. I was watching you the whole time.”
The compliment, along with his smile, burns me all the way down to my toes. He looks at me like he’s never seen anything quite like me.
“Yeah, I saw.”
“How would you like to work for me?”
Shock reverberates through my body when he says that. Me? You want me to work for you? I’m a little disappointed, somehow. I expected—I hoped that he would ask me out. I babble stupidly until he cuts right through.
“Men like staring at gorgeous broads when they play poker. You’re good and you earned a lot of tips.”
When he looks at me, I can tell the difference. All those years I spent working for Mom, trying to get her back on her feet and completely neglecting my own needs have finally caught up to me. All it took was a dress and some makeup. He looks at me like he wants to lick my body head to toe, and I love it. I’m conflicted. He scares me, but I’m strapped for cash.
“How much?”
I almost regret asking, because he leaves my side to gather the boxed up chips and returns to me, opening them up.
“About five grand. ‘Course, I get a cut. Sixty-forty.”
What?
He gouges the box and hands it back to me. There’s only a small heap left. Three thousand dollars. Even though I desperately need the money, I can’t help but feel angry at the injustice of it.
“That’s not fair!”
For the first time since hours ago, a shadow crosses over his face. “Maddon, you have some balls. It’s a couple nights per week, and if you’re getting tips like this all the time, you’ll be making good money for yourself.”
He’s right. I swallow my anger and back off. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vince—I mean—”
The smile returns to his face. “It’s just Vince. Is that a yes?” His eyes watch me like he already knows the answer. He can see me squirming with it.
“Yes—wait, how do I—” I lower my voice, “I can’t deposit this in the bank, can I?”
I know that what I’m agreeing to is illegal. The phrase, “money laundering” comes to mind. It’s one I’ve only heard of in mob movies. It’s just for this summer. Just to get myself back on my feet.
He chuckles again. “I’ll put you on the payroll.”
Vincent steps back and inclines his head towards the man guarded by two ape-like looking guards. His hand is at the small of my back, but I want more of him wrapped around me, curving around my waist. When’s the last time I’ve had sex? The last time I’ve even been touched like this? A few years? God, it’s like all those parts in my body are waking up again. It’s like there’s a demon inside me, rattling the bars of its cage. He stands to the side and his arm falls away. I’m doused in ice.
“Ralph. Pay her out.”
The man takes the box of chips from me and hands me back two thousand in cash. Jesus. I count it again and stuff it in my clutch. Vince looks at me over his iPhone.
“I need your number to contact you.”
I give it to him, trying to hide the glee in my voice, but he gives no indication that it’s anything but business. The wind leaves my sails.
It’s a long walk to the elevator and all the way there I keep thinking: Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. I try not to think about how uncomfortable I feel alone with him as we descend twelve stories. The thoughts in my head make me feel nervous, like he’ll be able to see inside my head and laugh at the thought of him being attracted to me.
His lean body rests against the wall. “So, where we headed?”
“I live in the dorms at Columbia.”
His eyebrows raise and he grins. “Big shot, eh? What are you studying?”
I rub my arm and shrug. “Just general ed. I might major in math.”
“Nice.”
Translation: he could care less. I glance at the numbers blinking on the wall, my toe tapping the floor. Go faster, dammit.
“How did you learn how to play so well?”
The dark eyes are still watching me, making me feel stripped bare. “I picked it up in high school. Then I learned how to count cards. It’s just second nature now.” I babble on through before I realize my mistake and my palms slip on the wall.
He shakes his gorgeous head, laughing. “You realize people get their fingers broken for that, right?”
A stab of anxiety reminds me to be careful with this man. “I’ve never actually done it at a casino or anything. I would never do that. But as a dealer it’s useful. I can see whether people are cheating.”
The elevator dings and shudders to a stop, but Vince doesn’t move a muscle. “You’re a strange girl
.”
Strange? What the hell does that mean? I get enough crap from my mother, and I don’t need to be insulted by random, hot men. Screw him. I can’t walk fast enough in these damn heels, so Vincent catches up with me easily enough.
The receptionist sees Vincent leaving with me and lifts her head. “Goodnight, Mr. Cesare.”
“Night.”
Doormen open the way out for me and I want to march the six blocks to the nearest subway station, but Vincent slides up against me and grabs my arm. It’s almost painful, the grip on my flesh.
The streets are completely devoid of people. I don’t know how late it is—2am, maybe? There’s no one around. Just Vincent and his inescapable heat, his hand is like a vice around my arm. If I screamed, no one would hear me.
Panicked, I try to lunge away from him but he yanks me back into his chest. I look up at his face half-hidden in the shadows. He has pretty eyes; they’re big and expressive. Right now they’re locked onto mine. He bends down like he wants to kiss me, but his mouth stops somewhere around my ear.
“I only meant that you’re not like most girls your age.” His lips hiss against my ear.
I gasp as I feel his words billowing over my ear. Electricity shoots through his fingers, which still keep me close enough to see the stubble on his chin, to inhale his cologne that wraps around me as if I’ve slept in his bed. Without meaning to, my hand slips inside his jacket pocket and I seize something long and metallic. A pen.
I twist my arm and hide it as he pulls away. My heart is hammering hard—I want to make him pay for how he talked to me. He wears an irritating little smirk on his face like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. His hand slips from my arm and once again palms the small of my back.
I can’t believe that I let him lead me around like this. Normally, I don’t let guys lead me around. Normally, I would find it annoying.
We walk into the garage together and his arms drops away. A black BMW lights up when he digs inside his jacket pocket. During the ride back, my logical brain can only think about two things:
1. I’m afraid of him.
2. I want him.
High Stakes (A Dark Romance) Page 3
