Chapter 15 Sophia
O ne of the reasons I’m the best junior journalist at Vogue Elite is that my research is always very thorough. Naturally, when Max assigned me Lorenzo’s project, it was no different. I did a lot—and I mean a lot —of research. Most articles I found about him had one thing in common: everyone agreed Lorenzo was a gambling expert. I didn’t believe it at first.
But now, standing in the corner of Vortex’s casino, watching him play poker, everything falls into place. You can tell he’s in his element. He radiates calmness, his face completely unreadable. The way he moves so effortlessly, looking at his hand without betraying a single emotion, and the way his piercing gaze follows the cards the dealer places, is mesmerizing. One thing is for certain, when Lorenzo Mancini takes a seat at that green table, the game is his.
The game just finished, and the dealer declared Lorenzo the winner, as expected. He stands from his seat and buttons his suit, and my eyes shamelessly follow his every movement. The way he gracefully grabs his chips and hands one to the dealer then tosses the rest into another player’s lap. All I can bring myself to do is focus on Lorenzo’s hard gaze and the way his chiseled jaw clenches as he places one hand on the table and leans closer to the other player. He speaks with tensed shoulders and a look that could kill, sending chills down my spine. He emits danger, making my lower belly feel warm. Only a man like him could pull off this bad-boy vibe.
Once he’s done talking, he straightens and starts scanning the room, and discomfort twists my stomach into a knot. He’s probably looking for his date. Of course, he didn’t come alone. I don’t know why I thought otherwise. Before I can look away, his eyes find mine, sparkling for the briefest moment when they settle on me. That look makes my heart skip a beat, and my hand instinctively moves to my chest, rubbing the unfamiliar ache.
He strides over, flashing me his killer smile. “Hi, Blue .”
A faint smile plays on my lips. “Hi, Ace .”
He frowns, rearing back. “You were watching?”
Watching is an understatement. More like mesmerized by every movement of his, like a damn spell.
I laugh. “Oh, yeah. No wonder people say you’re good. You get lost in the game. It consumes you, doesn’t it?”
He fixes his light-brown eyes on me while I admire every detail of him. The light stubble on his chiseled face, the perfectly styled softness of his hair, and the sharp black suit he wears. His white dress shirt with a few buttons left undone—as per usual—giving me yet another glimpse of his golden chain resting against his tattooed chest. He leans casually against the wall, crossing his arms in a way that makes his suit cling to every hard muscle. My core tightens, the need present in the front of my mind. I’m acutely aware of how incredibly handsome he is. My mind wanders, trying to decipher how far his tattoos extend. Do they reach to his shoulders? Maybe his abdomen? During our one-night stand, we kept most of our clothes on, so I’ve never actually seen his body. I can’t lie to myself—I’m dying of curiosity right now.
“You’ve been asking about me, Bella? 1 ? If you’re curious, all you have to do is come to me, because I can show you everything ,” he says with a devious smile on his face, letting the innuendo hang between us.
I raise an eyebrow, trying to mimic his pose, but he’s so impossibly tall I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “Been there, done that. A 7, remember?” I say with a smug smile.
His shoulders shake with a velvety laugh that’s so infectious, it should be illegal. “You keep saying that, but I don’t believe you.”
I don’t waver at his comment. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being around him, it’s that he has no concept of a filter. And he’s not wrong—Lorenzo is hands down the best one-night stand I’ve ever had, but that’s the last thing I will ever admit. His ego doesn’t need the boost.
I choose to ignore his comment, tilting my head toward the poker table where he had been sitting instead. “What were the stakes?”
He glances at the table for a moment, his jaw tightening as a flicker of something unreadable flashes in his eyes. Then he turns his gaze back to me. “You.”
His comment is like a bucket of ice water, snapping me back to reality. If there’s one thing men have, it’s the fucking audacity. Really. Society has let men get away with entirely too much, making them believe they can step in and do whatever the hell they want.
“I’m not some toy you get to bet for,” I snap.
“Trust me, I did you a favor. You don’t want to get mixed with Julian,” he retorts very matter-of-factly.
“Who I mix myself with is none of your business. You’re not my keeper.”
He scrubs his face, groaning in frustration. “Forgive me for caring about you.”
That word knocks the wind out of me. Men don’t care about me. They mostly want to use me for my body and for a good time. All I am is the pit stop before they meet the woman of their dreams. And that’s fine with me.
Yeah, if you say it enough times, maybe you’ll believe it.
Someone caring for me is a concept I’m not familiar with. How could I be? I’ve never known what that feels like. I mean, my mom cared for me in the best way she knew how. But a man hasn’t cared about me, ever. Not that I need it, though.
“I got involved with you, didn’t I? How much worse can it get?” I fire back.
His gaze locks onto mine, and I can feel the color drain from my face as the realization of what came out of my mouth hits me. This is my pattern: I’m loud, hot-headed, and often speak before thinking. But honestly, what’s an appropriate response to being told I was the prize in a bet?
Before I can open my mouth to say something, maybe to even apologize, he bursts into laughter.
“You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, a knowing smile on his lips.
Confusion creases my face. “You’re not offended?”
“No.” He shakes his head, stepping into my space.
He lightly brushes his knuckles against my cheek, and his cologne, strong as always, captivates me. I fight to hold back a small whimper from the tempting aroma. I straighten up and lift my chin, trying to show him he doesn’t affect me. Fake it ’til you make it and all that.
“I like you just like this. Unfiltered and all.” His voice drops an octave.
“One of these days we’re going to sit down and talk about those boundaries I keep telling you about,” I manage to say, panting slightly. I’m trying my best to ignore the sudden need I feel between my legs. The way his knuckles feel against my cheek makes me wish he was grazing any other part of my body.
He slides his hand into his pocket, taking his warmth away as he casually shrugs. “I don’t think you mean that.”
Yeah, I’m not too sure I mean it either.
“You sure love to keep assuming things,” I point out then turn around to start walking to Aria and Damian’s table. Before I can get too far, he grabs my arm, gripping it softly.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asks.
“None of your concern.”
His eyes gleam with that familiar playful glint as he bites his lip softly and shakes his head. Lorenzo’s gaze is always intense, and when he looks at me like that, my body reacts. It’s completely involuntary—or so I keep telling myself. He places his hand on my waist, guiding me to the table. I try my best to watch my steps, but my body is too entirely focused on his hand, where it’s placed and how it feels. The burning sensation is relentless and charged, and it does nothing to help ease that achy sensation between my legs.
“Saw you playing with Molina. Did you win?” Damian asks.
Lorenzo brings out a chair and nods at it for me to sit. “Of course, I won. I’m quite offended you even had to ask,” he replies with a scoff .
I glare at the chair then at him. “I don’t need you to get a chair for me. I have arms, you know?”
“Like I’ve said before, Bella? 2 , my chivalry will never allow something like that.”
I raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a silent challenge. I’m not sure why I do this. I always try to find a way to spar with him. That’s who I am—I can never make things simple. It’s ironic, given how complicated my life has always been. In a twisted way, I keep returning to those patterns.
“ Blue ,” he warns.
“Stop calling me that. I hate it,” I hiss.
“I like that nickname, it suits you,” Aria chimes in, which wins her a glare from me.
“Sit down,” he says with a bored tone.
I start picking on my nails, already over the situation. “No.”
“Must you make everything so difficult?”
Ouch. I mean, he’s right, but still.
With an eyebrow raised and our eyes locked, I pull out the chair in front of me then slowly and deliberately take a seat.
He darts his tongue out to lick his lips then lets out a humorless laugh. Without saying a word, he sits in the chair he’d originally pulled out for me, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Aria wasn’t wrong when she said you two are the same person,” Damian comments.
We both cross our arms and say at the same time, “We are not.” The movement is so in sync it makes Damian laugh, and that man never—and I mean never —laughs.
Aria hits his arm. “I told you that in confidence.”
“You owed me for the whole Damie thing,” Damian replies with a casual shrug.
I laugh at their bickering. They act like an old married couple already, in the best way possible. My heart tugs at that familiar longing sensation I get every time I’m around them, but I quickly drown it with the drink Aria ordered for me before I arrived at the table.
As we drink and talk, Aria somehow convinces Damian to teach her how to play poker, so they leave the table, leaving me alone with Lorenzo.
“He’s going to lose so much money.” He laughs.
“He’ll do anything to make Aria happy. I think money is the least of his concerns right now,” I say, looking at the happy couple. Aria is confused as Damian animatedly speaks and shows her what each card means and the costs of the chips.
Lorenzo notices me staring at the game. “I can teach you how to play, if you’d like.”
“No, thanks,” I reply, folding my arms.
“You have to let go of this vendetta against me. Otherwise, you’re going to have a terrible time this summer,” he quips.
He does have a point there. I shouldn’t be making things more difficult. If anything, I should try and be grateful he’s willing to work with me on this article. Lorenzo is a very private person. It’s a big deal that he’s letting me do this.
I let out a resigned sigh. “You’re right. But just to clarify, you really annoy me.”
He grins. “If you say so.”
“I do,” I insist, narrowing my eyes at him.
His grin widens. “That’s what I said.”
“You don’t believe me. Why?” I ask, frustration creeping into my voice .
“Never said I didn’t believe you.” There’s something about the tone of his voice that rubs me the wrong way.
“Your tone says otherwise,” I shoot back, crossing my arms tighter.
“ Blue ,” he says, exasperated, running a hand through his hair.
I follow the movement, watching how he brushes his hair with his fingertips, remembering how those same fingers traced my neck and my collarbone in a sensual, exploratory way not that long ago. Call me crazy, but I swear he was about to kiss me that night. And what’s even worse is I was going to let him.
“ Ace ,” I retort, lifting an eyebrow and leaning forward slightly.
His gaze shifts purposefully from my eyes to my mouth then to my cleavage, where it lingers.
“Stop checking me out, Lorenzo. Have some manners,” I snap, my cheeks heating with the way his eyes shamelessly linger there for another beat before looking up.
“Don’t act like you hate it,” he says with a cocky smile.
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve seen better attention from a stray dog.”
He laughs, leaning in and wrapping me in his charming presence. “If you say so,” he says then stands and drops a few hundred dollars on the table. “By the way, I’ll be picking you up tomorrow, bright and early.”
“For what?” I frown.
“For our summer adventure, of course.” He winks. “And Sophia?” He thins his lips, trying to hold back a smile. “Maybe ease up on the resistance? I bet we’ll both have more fun if you don’t fight it,” he says, letting another suggestive comment hang as he walks away.
You’re playing with fire, Sophia .
Yes, I am. And I’m having entirely too much fun, even though I know I shouldn’t.
1 ? Beautiful.
2 ? Beautiful.