Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Dante
Bianca is good at poker.
Really good.
I watch her take another pot from Rafe with a perfectly executed bluff, and something in my chest tightens. Pride, maybe. Or something more dangerous.
"She's cleaning us out," Enzo mutters, throwing down his cards in disgust.
"She's a natural," Luca observes, studying her with the same analytical gaze he uses for business deals. "Where'd you learn to read people like that, Bianca?"
"Teaching seven-year-olds." She stacks her chips with a small smile. "You'd be surprised how much they lie about who started the fight."
Rafe laughs. "I'm starting to think Dante brought a ringer."
"I didn't know she could play," I admit. And it's true. This is one more thing about Bianca Mancini that surprises me.
One more reason I can't quite get her out of my head.
"Bathroom break," Matteo announces, standing. He catches my eye. "Dante, help me grab more drinks."
It's not a request.
I follow him into the kitchen, where he pulls out two bottles of water—one for me, one for him.
"She's good," he says without preamble.
"At poker?"
"At everything." He leans against the counter. "Sharp, quick, doesn't back down. The guys like her. Alessia actually likes her, which is rare. And you—" He pauses. "You're different when she's around."
"I'm not different."
"Dante." His voice is firm. "I've known you for fifteen years. You're different."
I don't respond, because he's right and we both know it.
"You smile more," he continues. "Not the fake political smile I hate so much. Real ones. You touch her constantly—hand on her back, her thigh, like you can't help yourself. And when Rafe made that joke about her dress, you looked like you wanted to put him through the window."
"He was out of line—"
"He makes those jokes all the time. You never care." Matteo studies me. "But this time you cared."
I drain my water, buying time. "What's your point?"
"My point is that this plan of yours? Using her to avoid Caterina?
It's actually brilliant." He sets down his bottle.
"No one knows Bianca. She's not connected to any families.
There's no scandal attached to her name that could blow back on you.
And if things don't work out, if you need to end it quietly, she disappears back to her life and no one's the wiser. "
"That's the idea."
"It's clean. Strategic. Exactly the kind of move I'd expect from you." He crosses his arms. "But here's the thing—you're not treating this like strategy anymore. You're treating it like it's real."
"It has to look real—"
"I'm not talking about appearances. I'm talking about you." His eyes are sharp. "You're getting attached, Dante. And attachment is a liability we can't afford right now. Not with the Corsetti situation still active. Not with Giulio pushing the Bellandi alliance."
"I'm not attached."
"You're lying. To me, maybe. Definitely to yourself." He moves closer. "Look, I get it. She's smart, she's beautiful, she fires back when you push. That's rare in our world. But you need to remember what this is—a temporary arrangement to solve a temporary problem."
"I know what it is."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you're starting to forget.
" He softens slightly. "I'm not trying to be an ass.
I'm trying to protect you. If you get too deep with her and it falls apart, it won't just hurt you.
It could affect your position. Giulio could use it against you.
Caterina could exploit it. Hell, even the guys might start questioning your judgment. "
"They won't."
"They might. If they think you're compromised." He picks up his water again. "Just... be careful. Keep your head clear. Remember why you're doing this."
"To avoid marrying Caterina Bellandi."
"Exactly. Not to fall for the girl you bought to avoid marrying Caterina Bellandi."
The words hit harder than they should.
Because he's right.
I am getting attached.
I am treating this like it's real.
But the problem is I have no idea how to stop.
"The plan's solid," Matteo says, clapping my shoulder. "Just stick to it. Use her for the party, convince Giulio and Caterina, and then figure out the next steps. Don't let it get messy."
"It won't."
"Good." He heads back toward the living room. "Now come on. I want to win back what she took from me."
I follow, but his words echo in my head. Attachment is a liability.
I know that. I've always known that.
So why can't I seem to care?
Back at the table, the game continues. Bianca wins two more hands, and I can see the respect growing in the guys' eyes. Even Enzo, who's notoriously hard to impress, nods approvingly when she takes a particularly large pot.
"Last hand," Matteo announces around midnight. "Bianca and Dante, you're tied for the lead. Winner takes all."
I look at Bianca. She's flushed from the wine, her eyes bright with competition, that guarded expression she usually wears softened by the evening's success.
She looks happy.
When have I ever seen her happy?
"What do you say?" I lean closer. "One more round?"
"With stakes?"
"Always." An idea forms. "If I win, you wear whatever I pick for the next two weeks. No arguments."
"And if I win?"
"You get to ask me for one thing. Anything. And I have to say yes."
The table goes quiet.
"That's a dangerous bet," Matteo says, echoing my earlier thoughts. "She could ask for her freedom."
"She could," I agree, my eyes never leaving Bianca's. "But she won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because she knows I'd give it to her if she really wanted it." The truth of it surprises me. "The question is whether she wants it."
Her eyes widen slightly. She didn't expect honesty.
Neither did I.
"Deal the cards," she says finally.
Matteo deals. I look at my hand.
Three aces. A king. A ten.
Strong, but not unbeatable.
Bianca's face reveals nothing, but I can read the tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers tap once against her cards. The tiny tell she doesn't know she has.
She's got a good hand. Maybe great.
We bet. We raise. The pot grows.
I draw two cards. Get the fourth ace and another king.
Four of a kind.
Unbeatable by almost anything.
Across from me, Bianca draws one card. Just one.
Which means she's either bluffing or she's got four to a straight or flush.
I watch her reaction when she looks at her new card. The barely perceptible relaxation in her jaw. The slight curve of her lip she immediately suppresses.
She got what she needed.
Full house, probably. Maybe even a straight flush if she's incredibly lucky.
Either way, she thinks she's won.
And I could crush her. Four aces beat everything except a straight flush, and the odds of that are astronomical.
But then I think about Matteo's warning. About keeping this strategic. About not getting attached.
About the fact that if I win, I maintain control. Keep the upper hand. Ensure she knows exactly where the power lies. And I think about the look on her face when she was winning. The genuine joy. The moment of freedom in a situation where she has so little.
The decision takes less than a second.
I shift my position slightly, adjust my cards. Make it look like I'm considering my options when I've already decided.
"All in," I say.
She doesn't hesitate. "Call."
We lay down our cards.
She has a full house. Queens over tens.
Exactly what I thought.
I lay down my hand slowly. Three aces. The king. The ten.
Not four of a kind.
I held back the fourth ace. Slipped it between two other cards in a move so smooth even Luca doesn't catch it.
The table erupts.
"Holy shit!" Rafe shouts. "She beat him! Bianca beat Dante!"
Enzo is shaking his head in disbelief. Luca is studying the cards like they might reveal secrets. Matteo is watching me with narrowed eyes.
He knows.
Of course, he knows. He knows me too well not to see it.
But he doesn't say anything. Just raises his glass in a silent toast.
"I won," Bianca says, and there's such genuine surprise in her voice it makes my chest ache. "I actually won."
"You did." I gather the cards, not meeting her eyes. "Congratulations."
"This means I can ask you for anything."
"Anything," I confirm. "One request. No refusal."
She's staring at me like she's trying to figure out if this is real. If she actually just beat me at my own game.
"I need to think about it," she says finally.
"Take your time." I stand, needing space, needing distance from the lie I just told. "It's late. We should go."
Goodbyes are said. Alessia hugs Bianca—actually hugs her—and whispers something that makes Bianca smile. The guys clap me on the back, making jokes about being dethroned.
Only Matteo pulls me aside at the door.
"You let her win," he says quietly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." His voice is low enough that only I can hear. "Four aces, Dante. I saw the flash when you dealt yourself the last card. You had four aces and you held one back."
"You're imagining things."
"I'm not. And you know what that means?" He grips my shoulder. "It means you're already too far gone. Because a man doesn't throw a game—doesn't give up control like that—unless he's trying to give her something she needs more than he needs to win."
"Matteo—"
"I'm not judging. I'm observing." He releases me. "Just remember what I said. Be careful. This could end badly if you're not."
"I know what I'm doing."
"I hope so." He steps back. "Because that woman in there? She's starting to matter to you. And people who matter become targets."
In the elevator down, Bianca is quiet. Happy, but quiet. Like she's holding onto the win, savoring it.
I let her have it.
Because Matteo's right about one thing—I did give her something she needed. A win. A moment of power in a situation where she has so little.
And if that makes me compromised, if that makes me attached, if that makes me a liability?
I'm starting not to care.
The elevator doors open, and Tony's waiting with the car.
"Ready to go home?" I ask.
"Home," she repeats, like she's testing the word. "Is that what it is now?"
"For tonight, at least."
She slides into the back seat, and I follow.
And I don't tell her that I let her win.
Don't tell her that I gave her power over me because seeing her happy was worth more than maintaining control.
Don't tell her that Matteo's warnings are probably right and I'm headed for disaster.
Because some truths are better left unspoken.
At least for now.