Chapter 5
Sal stared at the woman who was asleep on the bed. He’d taken her shoes off, but nothing else. His fingers itched to touch her hair, to run his hands through the silky locks. But he refrained. He wouldn’t violate her like that.
Her long, slender legs stretched as she slept, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she shifted.
Sal knew she’d have one hell of a headache in the morning.
She was too thin to be drinking that many shots of scotch.
She needed to gain at least ten pounds, he thought grimly, before forcing himself to turn away from the enticing image of her curled up against the pillows.
Walking into the great room, he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. The fury that had been simmering all night finally broke the surface.
“Find out who in the organization is talking to Bianchi!” he snarled at Tony.
Tony’s face was carved from stone as he snapped a sharp nod. “On it, boss.” He motioned to the guards, his voice a low growl. “You heard him. Front and center.”
Within moments, the suite’s living room was filled with Sal’s personal guard—six men, loyal, battle-tested, and deadly. They gathered in a loose half-circle, watching Tony with sharp eyes.
“There’s a leak,” Tony said without preamble.
“The princess claims Bianchi has someone feeding him intel from our side. We’re gonna assume she’s not drunk enough to make that up.
” His gaze hardened, sweeping over each man.
“Until I say otherwise, we treat this like gospel. We’ve got a rat in the house. ”
Murmurs rippled through the group. One of the men, Nico, cursed under his breath. Another, Rocco, leaned forward, fists tight. “You think it’s one of us?”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “No one in this group would dare align with Bianchi. We all know how inept he is and I trust each of you completely.” He waited while the line of men nodded, but their stance didn’t relax.
“Question is—who?” His voice was cold steel.
“And until I find out, nobody breathes without me knowing about it.”
Sal stood silently in the doorway, watching the exchange. He didn’t interrupt. Tony had his job, and Sal trusted him to do it. But his presence alone was enough to silence the whispers.
“Two of you,” Tony barked, jerking his chin toward Nico and Vito, “head down to the casino floor. Keep eyes on Enrico Bianchi. Make sure he doesn’t walk unless we control his destination. I want him parked at a table where I can see him bleeding chips until I put some things in motion.”
The two men nodded and disappeared.
Tony turned back to Sal. “Boss, the old man’s been at the craps table for several hours. He’s losing, but not enough to keep him distracted. What do you want me to do?”
Sal’s grin was sharp, humorless. “Send in a few women. The kind he can’t resist. He won’t care about the dice if he’s got a pair of legs on his lap. Keep him busy, keep him stupid. And make sure those women know not to leave his side.”
Tony inclined his head. “Done.” He glanced back at the remaining guards. “The rest of you, eyes open. Phones checked, calls traced, money followed. Someone’s selling us out, and we’re gonna find out who.” His gaze swept the room like a blade. “And when I do…” He didn’t need to finish.
Sal watched his men move with military precision, the tension in the room humming like a live wire. Then he glanced back at the bedroom door where the sleeping beauty lay oblivious to the storm she’d just unleashed.
A rat in his house.
And Enrico Bianchi at the tables.
The night was far from over.