Chapter 1 #3
Mr. Mysterious flicks his fingers at me and Mickey turns, ordering me with his eyes to do as I’m told.
I stand, eyes on Mickey as I circle the table to Mr. Mysterious and set the watch on the table beside him.
I can feel his eyes on me, the attention sending not entirely unpleasant tingles down my spine.
It’s dark in this corner of the room, probably by design to protect the anonymity of the players.
Even close up, I still can’t see his face, just the silhouette of a sharp jaw and broad shoulders.
His fingers trace the outline of the watch, but I can still feel his eyes on me.
I glance over at Mickey who looks about ready to jump out of his skin.
All I can think is this is the man I’m going to marry, the father of my future children—this weak-willed daddy’s boy with nothing to offer but family money and connections.
Movement near the hem of my dress snaps my attention back to Mr. Mysterious. “Watch your hands, pal,” I spit.
“This one has teeth,” he says, addressing the table and Mickey specifically.
“She does, but so do I,” Mickey retorts, gesturing for me to join him on his side of the table. “Do we have a deal or what?”
“I don’t want the watch. I’ve got six of them collecting dust in the back of a drawer somewhere.” Mickey deflates until Mr. Mysterious offers another option. “Perhaps we can come to another arrangement.”
Mickey leans across the table. “Name it.”
Mr. Mysterious taps his knuckles on the table. “Her,” he says with a clear confident voice, nodding toward me.
“Excuse me,” I reply in disbelief.
Without a second thought Mickey agrees, “Done.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I shriek.
Mickey jumps from his seat and drags me toward the door. “Relax, Pris. I’ve got everything under control. I have an unbeatable hand. Trust me, let me play this last hand and you and I will walk out here a hundred grand richer.”
I stick a finger in his face. “If you think for one second that you can just hand me over to some strange man—”
“No, baby, of course not. You belong to me and only me. ‘Till death do us part,” he soothes on the verge of begging.
“I do not belong to you,” I snap back.
He tugs me against his chest. “You will. After tomorrow we will belong to each other.” He presses a kiss to the end of my nose, laying it on pretty thick, but I’m not falling for it. “Come on, sweetheart. We can’t lose.”
“What’s it going to be Giordano?” Mr. Mysterious calls out. “You in or out?”
He presses a kiss to my cheek and leaves me standing against the wall.
Mickey takes his seat, and I head for the bar, ordering a whiskey neat, tossing it back as Mickey unveils his hand—a straight flush.
One after another, players toss their cards conceding the win to my idiot fiancé until only Mr. Mysterious remains.
All eyes turn to the dark corner and Mr. Mysterious moves into the light finally revealing his face, and oh what a beautiful face it is.
Clean shaven, strong, sculpted cheek bones, full lips, and a jaw line that could have been carved by Renaissance masters.
It’s a tragedy that a man this gorgeous hides himself away in the darkest corner of the room.
Mr. Mysterious meets my eyes across the room as he lays his cards on the table. A Royal Flush. Mickey slumps in defeat.
“Better luck next time,” he says, rising from the table. He speaks softly to a large gentleman standing sentinel behind him. The man nods and packs up Mysterious’s winnings, while the man himself slips out through a side door.
Seething, I head for the elevator. I have no money and no plan, but I’m going to get the hell out of the God forsaken desert if it kills me. Mickey skids to a stop beside me just outside the casino floor.
“Pris, stop,” he pleads, reaching for my elbow.
“Don’t touch me,” I growl. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
He holds up his hands and takes a small step back. I shoulder past him, heading for the elevator.
“Please, baby. I can fix this.”
I whirl on him, nostrils flaring. “Fix what, Mickey? You gambled me away in a poker game. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I had a straight flush. It was a sure thing.”
“A sure thing? Are you serious?”
“Babe, relax. I’ll talk to Roman. Get Dad to send some money and everything will be fine.”
“Oh, I know you will. I don’t know what kind of sick game you are playing here but I want no part in it.”
I turn, walking as fast as my heels can carry me, with Mickey trailing behind. “Priscilla, be reasonable, it was just a game. Let’s go have some dinner, maybe see a show, and in the morning, I’ll take care of this little hiccup then we can get married.”
“Married? I don’t think so. I’m going home. You deal with whoever you need to deal with, but I’m done.”
“Done?” he asks. “You are done when I say you’re done.
” He grips my arm with bruising strength and my temper flares to life.
I rear back, slapping him hard across the face.
His head snaps to the side violently, and slowly, he turns back to face me with an unsettling grin.
Fear grips my heart, but no way am I backing down from this miserable bastard.
A throat clears to my left and Mickey turns to see a very large, very tall man standing beside us. “Miss Castelano, Mr. Roman has asked me to escort you to his office.”
Mickey looks up at the mountain of a man. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Two security guards step up behind The Mountain. “Mr. Giordano, these gentlemen are to escort you off the premises. Your belongings have been collected from your room, and the valet has brought your car around front.”
“No way. We are booked for the whole weekend. We are getting married tomorrow.”
“No, we certainly are not,” I add, folding my arms over my chest.
“Pris, give it a rest.” Mickey snaps.
I grit my teeth and turn to The Mountain. “Mr. Roman wants to see me, then fine. I’ll handle this myself.”
“What? Pris! No! You don’t know who you’re dealing with. You can’t go in there alone,” Mickey pleads.
I turn to Mickey with a wicked grin. “Watch me.”
With a nod to The Mountain, I follow the wall of man to the elevators, while security tosses Mickey out on his ass.
As the elevator rises, so do my nerves. This is a bad idea.
I was so angry at Mickey that I didn’t stop to think this through.
Now, I’m trapped in the elevator with my ominous escort, on my way to see the mysterious hotelier who won me in a damn poker game.
Nothing about this situation makes any sense and I am starting to sweat.
The elevator doors open, and I hesitate, considering making a run for it, but by the look on The Mountain’s face, I knew I wouldn’t get very far. With a deep breath, I step out of the elevator. Guess it’s time to face the music.
My escort leads me down a long hallway toward a set of solid wood doors. He holds it open, and I enter the office space with panic rising sour in my throat. A petite dark-skinned woman sits at a desk just inside, beside another set of doors.
“Good evening, Miss Castellano,” she greets me. “Mr. Roman will see you now.”
“Th—thank you,” I stutter, as The Mountain opens another door.
The interior office is a wide-open space with a large window overlooking the Vegas strip taking up an entire wall.
A dark green velvet couch sits opposite a large mahogany desk, and behind it, sits Mr. Mysterious himself.
He is even more striking than he was downstairs.
Thick dark hair perfectly combed, chiseled jaw, but the thing I notice above all else is his eyes.
A remarkable shade of blue and somehow familiar.
The light in the poker room didn’t do them any justice, but here in his office, they pierce through me like a hot knife through butter.
I’ll give him this, he is a gorgeous man. He knows it too. The man oozes confidence, and all of his attention is focused on me. I feel like I’ve just walked into a hungry lion’s den with and I’m the big juicy steak.
He dismisses The Mountain with a nod before returning his intense gaze back to me. Behind me, the door clicks shut, and I flinch, closing my eyes to get a hold of myself before addressing him.
“Have a seat, Miss Castellano,” he says, his voice rich and deep and oh-so-seductive.
“I think I’ll stand,” I object.
“Suit yourself.”
He stands from his desk, his long legs carrying him to where I’m poised ready to bolt.
The closer he gets the more I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes.
The man towers over my five-foot six-inch frame.
He grins down at me, tucking his hands in his pockets, those incredible eyes never leaving mine.
My skin tingles from his closeness, even though he hasn’t actually touched me.
“It seems you have me at a disadvantage,” I manage to choke out.
“Do I now? How so?”
I swallow and take a step back. “You know my name, but we haven’t been introduced.”
He chuckles. “Of course. James Roman.”
“Priscilla Castellano,” I say, offering him my hand.
He takes my hand, gently raising it to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. My body shivers at his touch and the curl at the edge of his lips tells me he noticed.
I pull my hand from his grasp and square my shoulders, ready to dash whatever plan this guy has for me.
“I’m here to discuss the arrangement you made with my fiancé.
You see, I am neither for sale nor rent and Mickey never has and never will speak for me.
So, I’m sorry but he will just have to find another way to settle his debt. ”
“Former,” he corrects. I frown, which only seems to amuse him. “I hear the two of you had quite the spirited parting downstairs.”
I straighten my back and lift my chin. “That is none of your concern. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll collect my things and be out of your hair.”
“I took the liberty of having your things moved to the penthouse.”
“Excuse me?”