8. Milan #2
That was illogical and served no purpose, though I opened my mouth to say yes, but Matteo spoke faster. “No help.”
She let out an emphasized sigh, one that deflated her entire body and knocked her thigh into mine. I did not remove her.
“Okay.” Sicily shimmied her shoulders. “But when I do win, I’m gonna be so annoying about it.”
She was already succeeding at being annoying.
Matteo fanned the cards obnoxiously, but I watched the angle of his hand where nobody else did. They were busy drinking and conversing about nonsense with my wife, but I saw the intention there. He slid a card from the bottom to the top, never taking his eyes off Sicily.
Cheating in poker was a social disgrace for the Bonafedes, so why was he risking it in front of the man who could become his boss by the end of the game?
I frowned deeply as Matteo palmed the Queen of Hearts and slipped it underneath the burn card before dealing to my wife.
Sleight of hand in her favor.
We locked eyes across the table, a smirk turning on his cheeks. His expression was confusing, but I could read the facts; he was cheating.
I inhaled once, and then a second time, as Sicily eyed her cards like it was a tarot reading. She was impossible to read emotionally, but I found myself confident that the look on her face was confusion.
When the flop hit the table, I felt my body grow rigid as she squealed in my ear.
The sound was almost reminiscent of her scream, but there was no blood, and she was grinning.
I closed my eyes, only opening them when Adriano reached over to squeeze my wrist once, discreet in his reparation of my nervous system as always.
“I have one of those!” she called.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as I sighed. “Sicily.”
“What?”
Judging her behavior this early into the game suggested I was on track to lose a significant sum of money and the Bonafede alliance.
She pointed one finger at her cards as if I could not see them. “Sevens are lucky, right?”
Tommaso stared at her, his jaw agape. I did not blame him for his expression. The mute Consigliere began to chuckle, but I was focused on the Don’s son. He was staring at her with wide eyes, barely noticing his own cards, and she was staring back, unblinking.
My jaw ached, and I realized I was clenching it, grinding my teeth even.
Matteo leaned forward, and I felt an unfamiliar lurch in my chest cavity as his fingers barely brushed hers and appeared to adjust the pot. Even Adriano saw the second Queen being removed from his sleeve and appear in her hand.
He was not discreet for somebody who was supposed to be the strategy king of New York.
“You see that?” Adriano muttered under his breath, not taking his focus away from his cards.
“Yes,” I replied quietly, turning away from my wife. “Did they engage in sexual contact before our marriage?”
My Consigliere snorted. “No, Milan. Which fucker is idiotic enough to date a girl not promised to him?”
I did not mention dating, but I did not correct him.
It was crucial that I discovered more of this relationship; I had given Sicily permission to seek sexual gratification outside of our marriage, but Matteo was not on the approved list, and this was therefore infidelity.
That was strictly off-limits. I had seen the damage it caused.
“Keep your head, asshole,” Adriano mumbled. “Don’t assume they’re fucking when she hasn’t given you any indication of that.”
The betting began the moment I turned my body back toward Sicily, our knees colliding again, my arm resting around the back of her seat. I had observed that was what people did to ensure other males knew that a female was his wife.
Sicily gave me an unreadable glance over her shoulder, refusing to settle into my arm. “You’re touching me?”
“So is everybody else,” I muttered, not paying attention to what Tommaso raised.
Adriano called, and in some evident display of disapproval, Sicily shoved her entire stack forward.
One-hundred thousand dollars.
It was pocket change for me, but by analyzing her behavior, I could tell she thought this was damaging, and she was doing it to be troublesome.
“I raise…all of it?” she said sheepishly.
“That’s an all-in, principessa. That’s how I like to play.” Matteo’s voice was low, but his smirk was sharp. Disrespectful.
I matched to interrupt him. “Call.”
Matteo folded immediately.
Adriano’s limbs stiffened beside me.
The fourth card was meaningless. Two of Clubs. It changed nothing, yet Sicily was staring at it like it would have all the answers. She did not understand what that meant.
There were two sevens and two queens on the board. She had the third queen and a nonsense card. She had a full house. It was unbeatable.
Tommaso folded dramatically, lighting a cigarette and pouring another drink swiftly after.
The mute Consigliere folded too.
Adriano laid two eights. Useless.
I revealed a King and an Ace, which were high, but not high enough.
It was when Sicily threw her cards onto the table, like I imagined one would play that nonsensical game UNO that my brothers and Adriano had enjoyed when we were younger, that silence fell over the table.
The creaking of the boat and the sloshing of the waves were the only sounds audible.
Sicily leaned closer after a few moments, folding herself near to my body. She was warm. It was not unpleasant, though I noted that she did not appear to be comfortable in her win, alone in her experience, even if that was winning.
“Did I lose?” she whispered.
“You have a full house,” I replied, looking down at her.
“Is that losing?”
My lips twitched at the corners. “No.”
“Congratulations, Mrs. Lucca.” Tommaso smiled, but not as widely as before. “And congratulations, Mr. Lucca, or should I say, Capo dei Capi.”
She had won my leadership.
She had also cheated.
Adriano reached over, and I noticed my hands wringing. This situation was too abnormal, and I did not know how to recalibrate my mind, so I stood abruptly, repositioned my sunglasses onto my face, and moved toward the exit of the yacht without another word.
Sharp heels clicked against the wooden floorboards, and I groaned under my breath as my wife’s high-pitched, screeching voice came into my ears. “Milan! Milan, wait!” I stopped but did not turn until she was in front of me, gripping my arm like she had been permitted to touch me.
“Are you mad?” she asked, panting from her short run.
“I do not possess the ability to experience anger.”
“Okay…” She frowned, still trying to catch her breath. “So why are you looking at me like you hate me worse than you did at the altar?”
My brow furrowed uncomfortably against my glasses. I did not look at her like that.
I had not given permission for myself to say but did anyway, “I require you to inform me of your sexual partners.”
Her eyes grew exceptionally wide. “What?”
“Matteo Bonafede was not included in the choice for you to seek sexual favors from.”
“Sexual favors?” she squeaked like an aggravated bird, crossing her sparkly arms. “What do you think I am, a prostitute?”
Her emotions toward the subject had made it clear that she was not a prostitute, and I refused to add to those rumors. In fact, I found the very notion of her being considered a prostitute offensive.
“He called you principessa. Twice. He cheated for you.”
There was a beat of silence, a moment where I felt the urge to talk to overcome this quietude, but then her brows folded into a deep scowl, and I was aware that speaking would only heighten this negative emotional reaction.
Sicily’s lips turned up in a sharp smile as she said casually, “Maybe we are fucking. All day and night, Milan. Maybe…” She stepped closer, her scent causing my nostrils to flare. “I don’t give a fuck about your rules and who your choices for my sexual favors are.”
I snatched the glasses from my nose. The sheer audacity of this woman required eye contact so that she understood I was not tolerant of this behavior. I expected her to be afraid, but she simply remained scowling and existing in a way that caused me detriment.
I stepped away instantly. I had to get away, far away from this anomaly.