“We have whales coming in from Wall Street,” he continues. “I can’t tell them we fucked up.”
“Adriana can deal.” Jackie’s loud voice booms out. “I’m Jackie, Frank Rizzuto’s brother. And this is Adriana. She’s an expert poker player.”
No, I’m not.
The group of hardened men glare at the interruption. My heart pounds at the menace dripping from them. As soon as they realize he’s talking about me, their anger fades into amusement.
Their disbelief makes me step forward. “Yeah, I am. I can deal for you. It’s no problem.”
They smile at me. Jerks.
“Sure.” A man in a navy suit rolls his eyes, his tone infuriatingly complacent. “Why don’t you join the women in the other room?”
I slide into an empty dealer seat and grab a deck of cards. I got into Columbia, asshole. Don’t you dare talk down to me.
I give them a small, polite smile. "I can do this."
Even I’m surprised at the confidence pouring from my voice.
Navy Suit crumbles. “Why not?”
“Cesare will be pissed.”
“We’ll watch the girl. If she sucks, we’ll take her out.” The forty-year-old looks at me with his eyebrows raised. He strikes me as a man who goes with the flow. Thin-rimmed spectacles sit on his long nose. “You know how to play Blackjack?”
I smile at him. “Of course.”
“My name is Paulie. Shout at me if you need anything.”
Behind him, Jackie frowns at me, but there’s no time to talk. Men filter into the room as dealers settle into their places. Suddenly, there's a crowd around my table.
My hands tremble as I shuffle cards.
A man in his fifties sits across from me. His admiring gaze makes my face hot. None of them seem perturbed that I'm the only female dealer. The fight over seats at my table suggests otherwise. The game begins, and I deal, entertaining myself by counting cards. The first game ends with a win for the house.
Paulie breathes down my neck as he makes sure I'm not screwing up the game, relaxing as the games progress without incident. The man who smiled at me wins, and he tosses me a chip.
Stunned, I grab it. A tip?
The guys start to loosen up. Cigar smoke furls around the table, choking the air. A crowd from the other room filters in to watch. There are explosions of laughter at other tables, groans, but all of it disappears as I focus on the game.
“Yes!” A man fists the table, sending chips sliding down his stack. “Here you go, honey.”
More chips fly my way. “Thank you, sir.”
The players seem to be from a mixed crowd, ranging from wealthy businessmen to married, middle-class men who look like they're on the lam from their wives. The guys watching the game are different. Dark-haired. Olive-skinned. Italian.
My heart thumps wildly.
Is this what I think it is?
A slight commotion erupts in the other room. Voices lift in greeting. Paulie tenses, his jaw clicking shut. He's gone in a flash.
“Vincent,” he says, greeting a man who just arrived. “There was a slight problem.”
“Who the fuck is she?”
His voice is darker than shadows, and it punctures the happy bubble surrounding my table. A wealthy businessman flinches as the sharp, Brooklyn accent grows louder. They walk across the room. Someone grabs the back of my chair and leans uncomfortably close.
“Who are you?”
I want to tell him to calm down, but I swallow my words the moment I meet his gaze. He wears darkness like his suit, which wraps his lean figure in a perfectly tailored cut. He's the youngest man in the group, but older than me, and though I’ve talked back to plenty of guys his age something tells me not to cross this one.
Unfortunately, I’m still incapable of speech. His eyes hold me hostage as I take in his unnaturally handsome features. His raven hair falls into his gaze, breaking the ferocity burning there, and I have the strangest impulse to push it back. I glance down. Olive skin peeks from his button-up shirt. He looks perfect. God made suits so that men like him could wear them.
“We’re in the middle of a game, sir.”
Someone laughs, but the sound is quickly stifled. Warmth vanishes from the room as I realize I’ve made a mistake.
“I asked you a question,” the man snaps. “Who are you and why are you dealing at my card game?”
My card game. Whoever this man is, he’s the authority. Everyone looks at him as if he’s in charge.
“Vincent, it’s okay,” Paulie says, exasperated. “She’s doing a good job.”
Vincent relaxes as Paulie repeats that the dealer called in sick and that I offered to help. Vincent eye-fucks me as though I’m up to something.
“I’m Adriana.”
He doesn’t react to my voice. “Who brought this girl here?”
“Who cares?” A player at my table shrugs. “I’d rather look at her than those old bastards.”
The tension choking the air diffuses as everyone dissolves into laughter. Even Vincent lightens up. A smile twitches across his stony face. Butterflies in my stomach take flight, even though the smile isn't directed at me.
We resume the game, my face burning whenever I glimpse Vincent’s stare.
The games continue for hours. I fight the urge to yawn. Maria and Jackie look like they want to go, but Vincent's stern expression tells me I'll have to ride it out till the end. As players leave, they toss chips to me. Should I accept them? It’d probably be insulting not to.
They cash out next to a heavily guarded man with a metal box. I stand up to go as the room empties of people. Jackie and Maria make a beeline for me.
“Finally,” she says in a hushed voice.
"Let's go.” Jackie's voice is tight. “Now.”
Vincent lounges against the wall, talking to men beside him. He stretches, and his jacket rides up his flat stomach. Metal gleams from his belt, curving into his hip.
A gun. Holy shit.
I walk quickly, keeping my head down. We pass Vincent, his head snapping toward us.
“Hey!” he booms. “I’m not done with you.”
Jesus. What does want from me?
Vincent pushes himself off the wall and approaches us, so menacing that even Maria is at a loss for words.
“We—we were headed out,” Jackie explains. “We have class tomorrow.”
“Go,” Vincent says to Jackie. “I’ll drive her home.”
Poor Jackie is too terrified to argue. His anxious eyes slide to me before meeting Maria’s. “C’mon.”
Maria frowns, her face mirroring my panic as Jackie grips her arm so tightly that her face looks pained. “Hey!”
Vincent watches them go, satisfied. He sweeps around me and touches my upper back. Then he ushers me to a secluded area of the room.
I watch my friends leave without me. Traitors.
“I—I think I should go, too.”
Swallowing hard, I suppress the urge to run away from him. I can feel his fingers hot against my back, or maybe my skin burns at his touch. He corners me against the wall, and I’m aware that we're alone. The last people in the room are packing up the tables.
Not that I mind being cornered by Vincent. I've never had the undivided attention of a man this handsome.
“Relax. I just wanted to apologize,” he says. “Sorry for the way I talked to you.”
Well, that’s not what I expected. “Oh. It’s okay.”
“When I saw someone I didn’t recognize dealing at one of my games, I was not happy.”
“I—I see.”
A smile staggers across his face, carving dimples into his cheek. He reaches out, his finger stroking my face in a surprisingly tender gesture.
"You have no idea who I am, do you?"
“Should I?”
His touch feels incredible. All that heat combined with his seductive energy makes me dizzy.
He laughs, a deep, pleasant rumble. “No, I guess not. But you will soon enough. Yo
u're good at what you do. I watched you the whole time."
The compliment, along with his smile, burns me all the way down to my toes. He looks at me like he’s never seen anything quite like me.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“You should work for me,” he says.
Shock reverberates through my body, and then disappointment. I expected—I hoped that he would ask me out.
“Well, I’m not—I mean I’ve never—”
“You’ve opened my eyes. My players want something gorgeous to look at during games. That’s you, Adriana."
He looks at me as though he’d love to lick my body head to toe. I’ve never experienced this before. I’m astonished. All it took was a dress and some makeup.
I love it, but he scares me. “How much will you pay me?”
I almost regret asking, because he leaves my side to gather the boxed chips and returns to me.
“Whatever you make in tips after my cut. Sixty-forty.”
He gouges the box and hands the rest to me. A small heap remains. Three thousand dollars. I desperately need the money, but maybe I can negotiate a better deal.
“That seems hardly fair.”
A shadow darkens his face. “Maddon, you have some balls.”
“I want at least seventy.”
“Sixty-forty,” he growls. “Games are twice a week. You'll make good money."
He’s right. I swallow my anger and back off. “I’m sorry, Mister—?”
“—Cesare, but call me Vince. Is that a yes?” He grins as though he already knows my answer.
“Yes—wait, how do I—” I lower my voice, “I can’t deposit this in the bank, can I?”
I know this is extremely illegal, but it's only for this summer. Just to get back on my feet.
“I’ll help you with that.”
Vincent inclines his head toward the man guarded by two ape-like looking guards. He pushes the small of my back, but I want more of him wrapped around me.
When's the last time I've had sex? A few years? God, it's like all those parts in my body are waking up again.
Vincent’s arm falls away. “Ralph. Pay her out.”
The man takes the box of chips from me and hands me several thousand in cash. I count it again and stuff it in my clutch.
Vince looks at me over his iPhone. “I need your number to contact you.”
I give it to him, trying to hide my glee, but nothing indicates it's anything but business. The wind leaves my sails.
As he escorts me to the elevator, I clench my fists and ignore my discomfort. My attraction to him blazes like a five-story fire. He’ll notice. He’ll laugh at me.
He crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “So, where we headed?”
“I live in the dorms at Columbia.”
"Big shot, eh? What are you studying?"
“Not sure.” I rub my arm and shrug. “I might major in math.”
“Nice.”
Translation: he couldn’t care less. I glance at the numbers blinking on the wall, my toe tapping the floor. Go faster, dammit.
“How did you learn how to play?” He’s still watching me, making me feel stripped bare.
“I picked it up in high school. Then I learned how to count cards. It’s second nature now.”
He shakes his gorgeous head, laughing. “You realize people get their fingers broken for that, right?”
A stab of anxiety reminds me to be careful with this man. “I’ve never actually done it at a casino or anything. I would never do that, but as a dealer it’s useful. I can tell when people are cheating.”
The elevator dings and shudders to a stop, but Vince doesn’t move a muscle. “You’re a strange girl.”
Strange? What does that mean? I get enough crap from my mother, and I don't need to be insulted by hot men.
The receptionist sees Vincent leaving with me and lifts her head. “Goodnight, Mr. Cesare.”
“Night.”
Doormen open the way out for me, and I want to march the six blocks to the nearest subway station, but Vincent slides up against me and grabs my arm. It's almost painful, the grip on my flesh.
The streets are completely devoid of people. I don't know how late it is—2 am, maybe? There's no one around. Just Vincent and his inescapable heat. His hand is a vice around my arm. If I screamed, no one would hear me.
Panicked, I try to lunge away from him, but he yanks me into his chest. I look up at his face half-hidden in the shadows. He has pretty eyes; they're big and expressive. Right now they're locked onto mine. He bends down like he wants to kiss me, but his mouth stops somewhere around my ear.
“You’re not like most girls your age.”
I gasp as his words hiss my ear. Electricity shoots through his fingers, which still keep me close enough to see the stubble on his chin, to inhale his cologne that wraps around me as if I've slept in his bed. Without meaning to, my hand slips inside his jacket pocket, and I seize something long— a pen.
I twist my arm and hide it as he pulls away. My heart is hammering hard—I want to make him pay for how he talked to me. His smirk widens as though he knows the effect he has on me. His hand slips from my arm and palms my back.
We walk into the garage, and his arm drops away. A black BMW lights up when he digs inside his jacket pocket. During the ride back, I think of two things:
1. I’m afraid of him.
2. I want him.
I’m always so careful to avoid people who might hurt me, so why am I interested in a man who radiates power?
I can’t figure it out.
He stops in front of my dorm building. “It was nice meeting you, Adriana.”
“You, too.”
He nods, his mouth fixed in a neutral expression, and I take that as my cue to leave. How anticlimactic. I climb out of the sleek car with a little difficulty and start walking back to my dorms, my mind buzzing with everything that happened.
“Adriana?”
He’s still parked there, watching me.
“Yeah?” I stoop to look at him through the window.
"Don't be afraid to show more skin." He smiles as if it's just a suggestion. "You'll get bigger tips. I guarantee it."
Are you saying that you want other guys staring at my tits?
Maybe he’s right. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He winks at me and throttles the car, leaving me dumbfounded.
What the hell did I sign up for?
###
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Acknowledgments
Once upon a time, when I was young and naive, I fell for a man similar to Crash. He was a bad boy who smoked clove cigarettes and wore steel-toed boots with his heavy-metal band shirts. He took me to pool halls because I couldn't go to bars.
He was my first everything. He could be extremely passionate, sweet, and romantic. And at the drop of a hat—jealous, violent, enraged.
I don't regret dating him, but I'm very glad I got out of that relationship. I think most of us have experienced someone like my ex, which made writing this so uncomfortable. It has made me confront his disturbing behavior.
For that reason, this has been the most challenging book I've ever written. But I'm relieved I saw this through. It took many drafts until I settled on this version. Finding the right voice for Michael took forever.
Thank you, Winter and Sosie, for listening to my many messages about this book. You helped tremendously. Kelley Harvey, as always, your editing is top-notch. Thank you, Christine LaPorte, Kevin McGrath, and my wonderful readers in the Bad Boy Addicts group.
I love you! Thank you for being so supportive. I couldn't do this without you.
Also by Vanessa Waltz
Sinners of Boston
Arranged
Taken
Contemporary Romance
The Cinderella Arrangement
The Roommate Arrangement
The Secret Arrangement
The Guarded Heart *as Blair
LeBlanc
Vittorio Crime Family
High Stakes (Vittorio Crime Family #1)
Double Blind (Vittorio Crime Family #2)
End Game (Vittorio Crime Family #3)
His Witness (Vittorio Crime Family #4)
Cravotta Crime Family
Married to the Bad Boy (Cravotta Crime Family #1)
Knocked Up by the Bad Boy (Cravotta Crime Family #2)
Tied Down (Cravotta Crime Family #2.5)
Property of the Bad Boy (Cravotta Crime Family #3)
Owned by the Bad Boy (Cravotta Crime Family #4)
Bad Boy Empire
Hitman’s Bride
His Secret Baby
Romantic Comedy
The Mechanic (Fair Oaks #1)
The Detective (Fair Oaks #2)
Jingle Balls
The D
Royal Romance
Dirty Prince
About the Author
Vanessa Waltz loves to write steamy romances. She lives in the Bay Area with two crazy cats. To be the first to know about her new releases, please join her newsletter (no spam, ever).
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Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 24