by Kelsie Rae
Wild Card
Advantage Play Series Book One
Kelsie Rae
Contents
Ace’s Rules
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Dear Reader
About the Author
Also by Kelsie Rae
Cover Art by Sly Fox Cover Designs
Editing by My Brother’s Editor and Edits in Blue
Proofreading by Stephanie Taylor
September 2019 Edition
Published in the United States of America
Copyright © 2019 by Kelsie Rae
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Blurb
Rule #1: Keep your head down and your eyes up. It makes you invisible. But not stupid.
Ace, a young card shark, has worked her entire life to achieve one goal. Bring Burlone Allegretti to his knees. Being the the head of a mafia family who dabbles in human trafficking, he’s far from innocent, and Ace can't wait to exact her revenge.
As her plan is set in motion, the alluring head of a rival family, Kingston Romano, approaches her with a proposition. One that she’s desperate enough to accept.
Soon, she finds herself in the crosshairs of a war she isn’t prepared to fight. With a target on her back, and intimate feelings she refuses to acknowledge, she'll have to decide if she's all in, or if she'll be taken for all she's worth.
*This book is intended for people 18+
Ace’s Rules
Rule #1: Keep your head down and your eyes up. It makes you invisible but not stupid.
Rule #2: Always be aware of your surroundings.
Rule #3: If something feels fishy, it probably is. Trust your instincts.
Rule #4: Never say never.
Rule #5: Be a machine. Don’t allow distractions. They’ll only break you.
Rule #6: Never reveal your true identity and don’t get personal.
Rule #7: Never leave something of value out in the open.
Rule #8: Don’t discuss private shit in public. It’s bound to screw you over.
Prologue
Kingston
“Take a seat.” I motion to the chair in front of my desk while keeping my face void of any expression.
The pathetic fucker in front of me plops into the chair, and I watch as his beady little eyes dart around the room, desperately searching for anything that might give him a clue as to why he’s been called here.
He’ll find out soon enough.
I let the silence feed his anxiety until a light sheen of sweat collects along his forehead. My mouth twitches at how easy this is going to be.
Looking at his watch, Diece quirks his brow, and the action reminds me that I have more important shit to do than interrogate a rat. Diece is my right-hand man, and if I’m being honest, one of the few men I really trust, especially when I find myself surrounded by traitors like the one in front of me. Diece and I have been friends since we were little. He was groomed for his position as much as I was, though I don’t think either of us is comfortable with our new responsibilities.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows along the top of my desk. The movement makes the rat in question gulp thickly.
“So…uh…B-Boss? There a reason you called me in here?” he stutters, trying––and failing––to look me in the eye.
“Have you ever been in this office before, Vince?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Do you know who this office belongs to?”
“Your father?” It comes out as more of a question than an answer.
I shake my head. “It did belong to my father. Just like it belonged to his father before him and my great-grandfather before that. This office belongs to the head of the Romano family, Vince. So let me ask you again…who does this office belong to?”
With a quick glance in my direction, he mumbles, “It’s yours.”
“A few of your associates have told me you feel differently than that,” I explain before pushing myself up from the seat and walking around the desk. “That I haven’t earned the position. That I’m not strong enough or smart enough to lead the family. That I’m too soft.”
Diece laughs, grabbing Vince’s attention before his neck snaps back toward me.
“W-what?” he asks, feigning confusion, though that same soft stutter makes it clear he understands the shitstorm he has created for himself. With his eyes wide, it’s as if he’s surprised by my audacity to voice such a ludicrous accusation.
“I know. I found it quite surprising, as well. I mean, who did you expect would take over the Romano family after my father died when I’ve been groomed for the position since I was six years old?”
His index finger starts tapping against his upper thigh, and my gaze shoots to Diece. Stepping forward, Diece drops his burly hands onto Vince’s trembling shoulders, making him flinch while simultaneously keeping him in the chair when I know he’s contemplating bolting from the room. He wouldn’t have gotten far, but still.
“I asked you a question, Vince. I suggest you answer it.”
Raising his chin, he looks me straight in the eye, and I know he’s putting on his bravest face. “I don’t know what my associates have told you, but they’re lying.”
I shake my head. “Let me ask you something else, Vince. Were they lying about the fact you’ve been in contact with Burlone Allegretti?”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before Diece leans over him and digs his fingers into Vince’s wrists. Vince starts to struggle when my cold voice freezes him in place. “I suggest you cooperate. I have a few questions, and if you can answer them truthfully, then you have nothing to be afraid of.”
His lower lip quivers, but he stops fighting long enough for Diece to restrain him to the chair with a set of zip ties around his forearms and wrists followed by his ankles around the legs of the seat. Vince might think he’s fooling me by his compliance, but I’m not the idiot he thinks I am.
Once he’s secured, I continue my interrogation as the sweat that’d been collecting around his hairline finally drips down the side of his face before gathering along his chin. Unfortunately, he can’t wipe the moisture away, so it just hangs there, threatening to finally fall while still clinging desperately to the sniveling asswipe it belongs to.
Blinking slowly, I snap my focus back to the traitor in the room.
“Tell me, Vince. Why did you reach out
to Burlone?”
“W-what? I didn’t—”
I cut him off. “Now, now, Vince. We both know you’re lying to me, and I think you’d be wise to change your strategy if you want to get out of this situation in one piece. Answer the question. Truthfully, this time.”
“I’m not—”
“Do you know who I am?” I probe.
“Kingston Romano?”
“Yes. Do you know what I specialize in?”
He gulps. Again. If that’s not a tell, I don’t know what is. Growing frustrated, I reach for the letter opener lying on my desk and run the pad of my thumb along the dull edge before dragging it up to the pointed tip. Yes, this’ll do nicely.
“You specialize in torture,” Vince mumbles, his gaze glued to my hands.
“I specialize in getting answers. How I get them depends on the individual I’m interrogating. Now, you’re trying my patience, Vince. Let me be clear. You won’t be walking out of this office. You said goodbye to that possibility the moment you gave sensitive information to my enemy. However, Diece can carry you out of this office in one piece…or multiple. That’s the only control you have here. And even that decision is given to you because I’m feeling generous.” Again, he eyes the letter opener in my hand warily, and I reply with a dry laugh. “No. This can’t slice through dry bone, but it can still poke you full of holes before I decide to send Diece for my kit that holds the fun stuff. Now, tell me why you betrayed the Romano family.”
When he remains silent, I count to three in my head before lunging forward and driving the letter opener into him an inch below his left collarbone, and he screams in pain. After twisting it clockwise, I tug the weapon back and wipe the crimson blood along his ashen cheek as he sobs like a baby. Satisfied with the war paint I’ve gifted him with, I growl a single word, “Talk.”
Through his sniveling, he starts, “Y-you don’t understand. He approached me. He asked about the warehouses near Harbor Drive. Wanted to know how heavily they’re watched. I-I didn’t mean to say anything—”
“Wrong. You approached him because you weren’t happy when I took my father’s position and wanted to get into Burlone’s good graces. However, only a fool would trust someone from a family other than their own, and Burlone isn’t a fool. That being said, he did take advantage of the situation by asking for information concerning his enemies. What does he want with our warehouses?”
“I don’t know!” he weeps, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Tilting my head to the side, I assess him before nodding, satisfied he’s finally telling the truth.
“And what did you tell him?”
As he squeezes his eyes shut, I can tell he’s going to need a little more persuasion, and I drive the letter opener into his opposite side but in the same spot near his collarbone. Again, he squeals in pain; then the truth begins to spill out of him just like the piss that’s soiled my chair.
I’ll have to get a new one.
Dammit.
By the time I’m finished prying the answers I need out of the little weasel, my shirt is splattered with the traitor’s blood. Looking down at the soiled clothes, my fingers slowly unbutton the white dress shirt at my collar. D’s voice distracts me from inspecting the dead body slumped in my office. It’s a shame he squealed so quickly that I had to put him out of his misery before getting to the fun part.
“Seems you haven’t lost your touch,” he notes. “And the sulfuric acid? That was new.”
I laugh dryly, observing the marks along his skin where it was eaten away by a clear liquid I keep in my liquor cabinet. “I dunno. I’m a little disappointed I didn’t need to pull out my hunting knife.”
He joins in with a deep chuckle. “And that is why your enemies call you Dark King.”
“If only I didn’t have to remind the Romano family,” I sigh before pulling my arms out of the sleeves and dropping the stained shirt onto the lifeless body hunched in the chair. “Have you heard anyone else who’s disappointed in the transition?”
“No. Vince was the only one. You heard him. He wasn’t conspiring with anyone else.”
“Yeah, but not before he passed along valuable information to Burlone,” I argue bitterly.
With a shrug, Diece pulls out his phone and sends a text to someone before looking back at me. “Doesn’t matter how well we do our job, there’s always going to be someone with a stick up their ass. We’ll figure out what Burlone is trying to do with the information about the dock, and when we do, we’ll eradicate the issue like we did with Vince. I just sent a text to Stefan to clean up this mess. We’ve got more important shit to do anyway.”
I nod. “You’re right. I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Not when you’re the head of one of the most powerful mafia families.”
“One of?” I jest with a quirked brow.
“For now.”
Chapter One
Ace
Rule #1: Keep your head down and your eyes up. It makes you invisible but not stupid.
It’s quiet at this time of night. I’d almost consider it peaceful if it weren’t for the homeless guy pretending to sleep on the sidewalk. I can feel him watching me as I take each purposeful step toward my destination. Or maybe I’m just paranoid because I’m carrying around fifteen hundred bucks in my worn, blue backpack, and I feel like every Tom, Dick, and Harry knows about it. Being a twenty-two-year-old female in this part of town always makes you feel like you have a target on your back, but being a twenty-two-year-old girl with a shit-ton of money? That brings on a whole other level of anxiety.
Which leads me to Rule #2: Always be aware of your surroundings. Hence why the creeper is giving me goosebumps.
I grip the nylon straps a little tighter before turning the corner and spotting my destination, Dottie’s.
“Finally,” I mumble under my breath.
Grasping the cold metal handle of the fifties-themed diner’s door, I swing it open and bask in the smell of bacon grease and burnt coffee.
“Hey, Dottie!” I greet the owner as she wipes down the chipped Formica countertop.
Her curly, red-dyed hair doesn’t move an inch as she lifts her chin in my direction. “Hey, doll! Let me finish cleanin’ up this mess, and I’ll be over in a minute.”
I make my way toward a corner booth that’s currently occupied by my best friend, Gigi.
“Man, I’m starving,” I announce as I approach. She grunts her reply while shoving another bite of pancakes into her mouth.
After I slide into my seat, I slip off my backpack then place it between my feet under the table.
Rule #7: Never leave something of value out in the open.
“Sorry ‘bout that, doll. What can I get ya?” Dottie asks in her thick Southern drawl.
I don’t bother opening my menu because I have the whole thing memorized, anyway. “Scrambled eggs. Extra crispy hashbrowns. And…” I tap my finger against my chin. “A side of sausage, please.”
Dottie doesn’t bother to write down my order, either, because I almost always ask for the same thing. “Comin’ right up.”
She turns on her heel to put my order in.
“Really? Scrambled eggs again? We’ve been meeting here for like three months, and you always order the same thing. Don’t you get sick of it?” Gigi’s brow is quirked from questioning.
“Meh. It’s all I ever ate as a kid, so I guess it kinda stuck. They’re cheap and were the only thing my mom could cook, which is ironic because she somehow found a way to screw those up too.”
“So how’d it go?” Gigi talks through her mouthful of food as she tilts her head toward my bag under the table. I scoot my feet together an extra couple of inches, making sure my black ankle boots are deliberately pinning the straps to the floor.
“Not too bad.”
Her lips tilt up in amusement. “Not too bad for you? Or not too bad for the average Joe?”
I snort before reaching for her cup of coffee and bringing it to my
lips. After taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid, I set it back down in front of her. “Not too bad for me,” I clarify. “I’m getting close. Only a few more nights, and I’ll have enough for the buy-in.”
“Ah.” She leans back in her seat and folds her arms. “Then I see it was a relatively good night. Which place did you hit up?”
Shrugging, I lick my lips then casually toss a glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone. “The Charlette.”
A dry laugh escapes her as she shakes her head. “That’s perfect.”
The Charlette is a casino. One that I frequent often. For some reason, Gigi’s amusement is always amplified whenever I count cards there versus a few of the other locations I like to hit up. “I think you should try hitting up the Charlette more often. Just sayin’,” she adds with a grin.
“It isn’t safe to go to the same casino too often. You get flagged by the pit boss pretty damn quick when they notice you’re regularly leaving with a bagful of their money instead of empty-handed.”
“But you never get caught.”
“Rule #4: Never say never.” I rap my knuckles across the table––even though it isn’t wooden––as a silly superstition. But when your life could possibly be on the line, you don’t mess with jinxes. “The only reason I haven’t been caught yet is because I have a solid rotation, a foolproof game plan that helps me get by without any issues, and my rules.”