Chapter 17 Gabriella
I’m excited to be leaving the villa and going somewhere, anywhere for a change of scenery.
We leave the villa and head straight to the airstrip where Luca’s private jet waits, gleaming under the late-afternoon sun. Paolo handles the details while Luca guides me up the steps, his hand steady at the small of my back. Inside, the cabin is a cocoon of soft leather seats and polished wood.
The engines roar to life, and soon Rome shrinks beneath us, all domes and terracotta roofs, before giving way to patchwork countryside. I sink into the seat, staring out the oval window as vineyards and villages pass far below.
The flight should feel freeing, but Luca keeps watching me. Not in his usual, indulgent way, this gaze is assessing. "You're quiet today," he observes.
"I was wondering about the meeting.” I turn to face him. "You haven't told me much about what kind of business you're conducting today."
“The less you know about my business, the better off you’ll be. Most wives aren’t concerned with business.”
The casual dismissal irks me, but I don’t show it. "Maybe this wife is different."
"Maybe she is."
There's something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully. He's studying my face with an intensity that makes me nervous.
"Is there something wrong?" I ask.
"Not at all. Should there be?"
I frown at him. "That's not an answer. Are you worried about the meeting?"
“No.”
The conversation hangs between us in the hum of the engines until Paolo appears to tell us we’re descending into Milan. Lights glitter below, the city spread out like a jeweled net against the darkening sky.
The landing is smooth, efficient. Within minutes we’re in a sleek black car, Paolo driving us through the outskirts of Milan.
The city shifts quickly from elegant boulevards to an industrial district that’s seen better decades.
Graffiti-stained walls, broken windows, streets empty except for the occasional stray cat.
"We’re here," Paolo announces, pulling up in front of what looks like an abandoned warehouse.
"This is where you're conducting business?" I ask, staring at the crumbling facade.
"Not exactly,” he says.
Luca helps me out of the car, his hand warm and steady on my elbow as we navigate the uneven pavement in my ridiculous heels. Paolo leads us to a service entrance that looks like it hasn't been used since the Cold War.
But when he knocks in a specific pattern, the door opens immediately.
The man who greets us is massive and serious. He nods respectfully to Luca, then glances at me with the type of assessment that makes my skin crawl, and steps aside to let us pass.
"Welcome to Milan," Luca murmurs in my ear as we step inside.
What I see inside takes my breath away. We're standing at the top of a staircase that descends into what can only be described as a fever dream of wealth. The underground space has been transformed into a high-end casino.
Crystal chandeliers hang from a ceiling that's been painted to look like a starry night sky. The walls are covered in deep red velvet, and the lighting is low and warm, casting everything in a golden glow.
There are gaming tables scattered throughout the space, surrounded by men in suits. Servers in elegant black dresses weave between tables carrying trays of champagne and whiskey.
"Impressive," I say.
"Wait until you meet the players," Luca says, his hand moving to the small of my back as he guides me down the stairs.
The crowd parts slightly as we move through the space, and I sense eyes tracking our progress. Not hostile, exactly, but calculating. These are people who make their living reading others, and they're all trying to figure out what Luca Romano's new wife brings to the equation.
We approach a private area at the back where five men are seated around a poker table, chips and money scattered across green felt.
"Luca," says one of them, rising slightly in his chair.
He's younger than the others, maybe mid-thirties, with the style of sleek good looks that probably make ordinary women do stupid things.
There's a tiger tattoo peeking out from his shirt cuff, and his accent marks him as Milanese old money.
"And the beautiful bride. You're even lovelier than the wedding photos suggested. "
"Dante," Luca acknowledges. "My wife, Sofia."
"Enchanted." Dante takes my hand and kisses it, his lips lingering long enough to be suggestive without being outright disrespectful. "I was sorry to miss the wedding. Business in Hong Kong."
"Of course," I say politely, trying to channel Sofia's careful manners while wondering what kind of business Dante conducts in Hong Kong.
The other men are introduced with names I recognize from overheard conversations and Rosa's gossip about family allies. They're all charming and watching me with the kind of interest that makes me want to check that my dress hasn't suddenly become transparent.
Dante pulls out a chair for me at a small table nearby, positioned so I can observe the game but not participate. "The ladies usually watch from here," Dante explains with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Much more comfortable."
Much more segregated, he means.
I sit gracefully, and cross my ankles like Sofia would. I’m prepared to be bored out of my mind while the men conduct whatever business requires this much theatrical setup.
They're playing poker. High stakes, from the looks of the chips already on the table.
The conversation flows between hands, business disguised as casual chat.
Port operations, shipping schedules, territorial disputes that sound like discussions about restaurant preferences but carry the weight of potential violence.
I watch the cards, track the betting patterns, note who bluffs and who doesn't. It's automatic, like breathing.
I've played poker in dive bars all over the world.
Usually illegal games where the buy-in was whatever you had in your pockets and the penalties for cheating were significantly more permanent than just losing money.
Fifteen minutes in, I know exactly how each man plays. Dante is aggressive but readable. He touches his watch when he's bluffing. The man to his left drums his fingers when he's nervous. The one across from Luca has a tell so obvious I'm surprised he's still got money left to lose.
And Luca himself plays like he approaches everything else. Carefully with the patience of someone who knows that the best victories are worth waiting for.
Thirty minutes into the game, Luca's phone buzzes. He glances at it, frowns, and stands.
"I need to take this," he says, already moving away from the table. "Business that can't wait."
"We'll wait for you," Dante offers, but Luca shakes his head.
"Could be a while. Go on without me."
"Is your wife staying? Does she want to play your hand?" Dante asks, glancing over at me with renewed interest.
"She doesn't play," Luca says, hesitating.
The dismissal stings. Of course, Sofia doesn't play poker. Sofia probably thinks poker is vulgar.
"Maybe I want to try," I say before I can stop myself.
The men chuckle like I've said something cute and adorable. Dante grins, showing teeth that are too white and too perfect. "Let her sit in, Luca. We could use some fresh meat."
The condescension in his voice makes me want to take him for every euro he's got.
“One hand," Luca says finally. "Just until I get back. Don’t lose the villa."
"One hand," I agree sweetly.
I slide into Luca's still-warm chair, and Dante pushes his chips toward the center. "Friendly stakes for the lady," he says. "Just for fun."
The "friendly" stakes are a thousand euros to start. These men have a very different definition of fun than most people.
The cards are dealt. I pick up my hand without any visible reaction, even though I'm holding a decent straight draw. Around the table, I can read the tells like an open book - Dante's touching his watch, which means he's got nothing. The man to my left is drumming his fingers, so he's nervous.
The betting starts conservatively. When it comes to me, I glance uncertainly around the table, then quietly push chips forward. No dramatic gestures, no excitement. Just Sofia being polite and trying not to make a fuss.
"Are you sure about that bet, darling?" Dante asks condescendingly.
I nod softly, not meeting his eyes. "I think so, if it’s okay."
The flop gives me my straight.
Dante bets big, probably trying to intimidate the newcomer. Two others fold, leaving three of us in the hand.
When the betting comes around again, I hesitate, appearing genuinely uncertain. Then I quietly push more chips forward, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll... I'll raise. If that's all right."
Dante's eyebrows go up. The third player folds immediately. Dante regards me for several seconds, probably trying to read the quiet wife who just made a substantial raise without any visible confidence.
He calls.
The turn and river don't help him. When I quietly reveal my straight, there's a moment of stunned silence around the table.
"Well," Dante says slowly. "Beginner's luck, I suppose."
I gather the chips with careful, modest movements. "I'm sorry. I hope I’m following the rules?"
"Perfectly fine," he says, but his tone has shifted. "Would you like to play another hand?"
I glance around nervously, as if seeking permission. "Luca said only one hand. I shouldn't take too much of your time. I’d better stop before he comes back."
"One more," Dante insists. He thinks he got unlucky against a timid amateur. "Luca won’t mind. Higher stakes this time. Make it interesting."
We agree to play the next hand with a five-thousand-euro minimum to sit in. Serious money, even for these men.
I'm dealt pocket queens. Excellent starting hand.
That's when I sense movement. Luca is standing directly behind my chair now, close enough to see exactly what cards I'm holding.
I wait for the betting to come around, then quietly push chips forward. No fanfare, no confidence. Just Sofia trying not to cause trouble.
"You're sure about this, Mrs. Romano?" one of the other players asks gently. "These stakes are quite high."
I feel Luca watching every move, seeing every card.
The flop comes Queen, Seven, Two. I now have three queens.
Dante bets aggressively. The others call. When it comes to me, I blow out a long breath, then quietly push a substantial raise forward.
"Is this too much?" I say in barely a whisper.
The men exchange glances. A timid woman who keeps making strong bets is either incredibly lucky or playing them all for fools.
Dante calls. So does one other player.
The turn is a blank. The river is another blank.
When I reveal my three queens, the silence stretches longer this time.
"Incredible luck," Dante says, but his smile is strained now.
I've just won nearly fifteen thousand euros in two hands, acting like I barely understand what's happening.
"I think that's enough for tonight," comes Luca's voice from behind me, quiet and controlled. “We should get going. I’m sorry, fellas. Urgent business calls.”
"But I was just getting the hang of it," I say quickly, gathering the chips with modest efficiency.
"Another time," he says firmly.
A time I know will never come.
"I'm sorry if I kept you from your business,” I say sweetly to the men. “This was...fun. Thank you for letting me play."
The men exchange glances. "Well played," Dante says, his smile cool now.
After the obligatory goodbyes and promises to see each other soon, Luca leads me out of the casino and into the Milan night. His car is waiting, Paolo behind the wheel, and we slide into the back seat in silence.
For the first few minutes, no one speaks. Then Luca hits the button that raises the partition between us and Paolo.
"You just outplayed one of the most dangerous men in Northern Italy," he says quietly.
I blink innocently. "Do you mean Dante? He seems very charming. It’s only a game."
He leans closer. "You think this is a game?"
The question hangs between us in the back of the car. Outside, Milan passes by in a blur of lights and late-night energy.
I smile, slow and sweet. "Isn't it?"
Tonight, Luca saw a woman who can read a poker table and isn't afraid to take risks. The fact that he can clearly now see the real me bleeding through the carefully constructed lie, should terrify me.
Instead, it makes me want to show him more.
For better or worse, this game between us is almost over.