11. Teo
11
TEO
T he shock on her face almost makes the endeavor worth it.
I shouldn’t be here. I absolutely should not be here, right in the heart of enemy territory, putting far too much weight on the fact it’s a public space and that Leon is still reportedly out of town. The Prince’s Guild may very well gun me down anyway.
Dante tried to warn me. Now he waits outside with a dozen other men, waiting for me to fuck this up completely.
“You seem surprised to see me,” I muse as casually as I can, placing my chips in front of me if only to do something with my hands.
If only to stop the rest of them from wondering if she’s wearing any underwear today.
To her credit, Isabella only takes a second to collect herself. “The only thing that surprises me is your lack of self-preservation. I thought dons were supposed to be smarter than that.”
Her eyes dart to my left hand pointedly. I glance down at the bandage of cleanly wrapped gauze and flex my fingers a little.
It had been a miracle that she hadn’t broken anything, really. However, the stitches had hurt badly. Stretching my fingers probably doesn’t make it any better, but I can’t really help it when she’s around.
It’s like a kind of tic or an itch. Something inside of me just wants to reach out and grab, take, claim.
The same sensation has had me following her around all day.
“You think I’d walk in here without backup?” I ask.
She purses her lips. They are maroon today to match that sinful red dress of hers. It’s as if she wore it just to mess with my head.
“I think you’re presumptuous,” she retorts.
“How so?”
“You think you can walk around with free reign just because my brother isn’t in the city?”
I throw her an easy smirk. “Are you offering me a collar?”
Her eyes narrow as if to see through my bravado. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Before I can respond, the croupier is knocking on the table briskly. “Buy-in is a grand.”
Lazily, I throw in my chip, along with everyone else, noting my competitors with calculated indifference. Old money patriarchs, foreign businessmen, and a kid who looks like he has more money than sense.
I don’t miss the way they all glance over to our side of the table. I’m not conceited enough to think they’re looking at me.
It’s enough to put me right back on edge.
Good, the voice of reason shouts at me. You need to be more cautious.
I turn back to see Isabella, who is worrying about her own chip between her fingers.
“You’re hesitating again,” I murmur, just low enough for her to hear.
The sound makes her jump slightly, and I’m rewarded with a cruel glare before she throws her chip into the middle of the table.
The dealer, ever the professional, begins to work his magic. I lift up my two cards, their familiar weight in my hand should be comforting, but it’s not the cards I’m thinking about.
It’s her.
More specifically, her perfume —something expensive and dangerous that she’d worn the last time we’d met. It had lingered on my skin even after I showered. The phantom scent that had followed me around these last few days is now alive and reinforced once more.
“I suppose you intend to beat me,” Isabella says, suddenly far closer than she was before.
“Perhaps,” I reply. “If there’s more than money on the line.”
Her chocolate eyes flash to mine. “You already know what I want.”
My gaze drops to her maroon lips. How easy it would be to smudge her lipstick off?
“Do I?”
She hums that same tantalizing way I’ve been dreaming of. “Full of yourself.”
“I will stop looking for your mother,” I declare suddenly.
She clicks her tongue. “I don’t trust you.”
We turn just in time to watch as the dealer lays the flop onto the felt: king of hearts, ten of spades, seven of diamonds.
My heart doesn’t jump, but it beats a little harder. I glance at my cards again—ace of spades, jack of hearts. A straight is within reach.
I look up to see Isabella glancing at her own cards. Her face is impossible to read as she looks over at me again.
“I suppose this is where you expect me to say I’ll give you my mother’s location if you win?”
I shrug. “I guess it depends on how good your hand is, doesn’t it?”
For a moment, it’s as if no one else exists but us. It’s like she’s staring into my very soul as she weighs the offer before her. Her mother’s life hangs in the balance between us.
This isn’t just a game. This is war, and neither of us can afford to lose.
But it’s a war to be won without bloodshed, without risking her brother or her men.
I watch as this realization seems to dawn on her. With a flick of her golden hair, she props her chin on her hand and leans in closer.
“You have yourself a deal, Vitale.”
One of the graying, old-money patriarchs across the table is the first to act. His cold, calculating eyes sweep across the board before he checks.
It’s my turn. I tap the felt lightly. “Check.”
Beside me, she’s silent for a beat longer than necessary. She wants me to feel that pause, to feel the weight of her decision. Then, with a light tap of her manicured fingers on the table, she checks as well.
The dealer burns a card and flips the turn: nine of hearts. I’m one card away from a straight. I’ve seen worse odds.
Her elbow brushes mine lightly, a casual movement as she adjusts in her chair, but I know it’s intentional. She’s reminding me she’s here, that I can’t ignore her. I don’t look at her, though. That’s what she wants.
The patriarch pushes his chips into the pot. “Twenty thousand.”
I slide my chips in to match without hesitation. “Call.”
The heat from her gaze is unmistakable now. She’s staring at me, studying my face, but I don’t flinch. Her fingers toy with her stack of chips, the clink too rhythmic to be casual. She’s thinking. Calculating. Trying to unnerve me.
“Raise,” she says, her voice dripping with the same ice-cold certainty that gets under my skin. “Forty thousand.”
She raises the stakes without even a hint of hesitation, and her elbow brushes mine again as she leans forward slightly to toss her chips into the pot.
I can feel the tension radiating off her. It’s like electricity simmering over the top of her skin that lashes out at me whenever we touch.
I take a breath, keeping my expression neutral. There’s a chance she’s bluffing—she’s capable of that. But I’m not folding. Not to her.
“Call,” I say evenly.
The dealer burns the last card and flips over the river: queen of spades. My pulse quickens. I’ve got the straight. Ace, jack, queen, king.
She doesn’t move at first. She just stares at the cards in front of us.
Then she casually pushes all her chips forward, the pile growing into a mountain. At least half a million, if not more.
“All in,” she says, almost bored, though I know better. There’s a fire in those words, a challenge.
My mind races. She’s putting everything on the line, and it’s either a power play, or she has something equally deadly in her hand. I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She’s too calm, too composed. It’s infuriating.
“I call.” The words slip out before I can second-guess myself, and my chips join hers in the center of the table.
Around us, there’s an intake of breath. Even the croupier stares with wide eyes at the million dollars that now sit before us in plastic chips.
She finally turns her head toward me, and I meet her eyes. There’s no amusement there, just cold calculation.
She flips over her cards—king of spades, king of clubs. A set of kings. Strong. Deadly, even.
But not enough.
I reveal my hand, letting the cards spread across the felt.
“Straight,” I say, the word rolling off my tongue with satisfaction.
For the first time since we started playing, I catch the faintest flicker of something in her eyes. Fear, perhaps.
She doesn’t let it show for long, though. That mask of hers is back in place before anyone else can notice. She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her posture deceptively casual.
“You didn’t specify how many rounds,” she finally announces, stubborn and almost childlike.
“I didn’t take you for a sore loser.”
Her eyes flash dangerously. “You know nothing of loss.”
Her chair scrapes back just as the dealer slides the mountain of chips toward me, and I feel the victory, the weight of it, in every fiber of my being.
I can’t let her back out of our deal.
I stand up a moment later, flicking a plastic chip to the dealer. “Have this ordered for me?”
He catches it and nods once. If he says anything at all, I don’t hear it. He’s already shooting through the room after the blonde in the red dress.
It’s not hard to spot her moving through the crowd with the elegance of a dancer, turning heads wherever she goes.
That feral part of me wants to lash out at every man who deems himself worthy enough to look at her.
I bury it as I chase her, watching her as she slips behind a discrete-looking staff door. I follow, not more than a few paces behind.
But when I step into the corridor that lies beyond it, there is no one in sight.
Cautiously, I step forward, unnerved by the sudden lack of sound, as if the door behind me was some kind of portal to another world.
I barely make it a few steps when something yanks me back, pulling me into some kind of maintenance closet, and then…
“Mmph,” I groan as those sinful lips force themselves onto mine.
It’s a desperate, clawing kind of kiss, one that has her pressing her entire body into mine, raking her hands through my hair, along my face.
Those goddamn nails. The scratches she left down my back last time weren’t enough. I need her to tear through my skin.
It’s frantic and messy and oh-so glorious. I’ve been thinking about this, missing this for two whole days.
It’s enough to make a man go mad. Well, I suppose I already did a little.
It’s just a shame I’m not going to fall for it again.
I wait until she tries to wrap her legs around me before truly revealing my winning hand.
She freezes at the feeling of my blade at her throat.
“What was it you were saying about déjà vu?” I whisper to her as she jerks backward.
God, she looks delicious when her lipstick smudges like that.
“You can’t kill me here,” she hisses back. Her eyes are wide in alarm.
I tut. “It would be inconvenient, I suppose. I imagine it won’t be long until someone notices you’re missing and ends your people after us. You’re my only ticket out of here.”
“So, we have an understanding.”
“Only if you give me what I rightfully won.”
She glares back at me defiantly. “Never.”
“What was that about honor among thieves?”
“You would have never given up either.”
“I guess you’ll never know now.” I brush a stray hair away from her eyes. I’m being gentle, considering the circumstances. “I might not be able to kill you here. But there are other places that are far less protected.”
She swallows hard. “You wouldn’t be able to touch me.”
“Is that so? Why don’t you tell that to your little boyfriend at the gym? I heard he took a nasty tumble.”
It’s not surprise on her face; it’s something far darker. Clever girl, she already figured it out.
“You don’t scare me,” she whispers.
“Oh, I think I do,” I say, leaning back. Dante is already yelling in my ear to get the hell out, a warning that has already more than expired.
There’s just never enough time.
“Do me a favor and stay right here,” I continue as I swing the door back open. “I’d hate to ruin those pretty little hands of yours.”
She looks as if she might retaliate, so I surge forward, slamming my knife into the wall behind her left ear, nicking the hanging flesh as it buries itself into the wood.
For one heartbeat, I watch as a bead of blood forms on her earlobe. Without thinking, I dip down to lick it up.
“Teo. NOW.”
I pull away and begin to run, leaving her frozen in shock.
I’m only half hoping that she might follow.