by Kelsie Rae
With furrowed brows, the concierge gives me a look of disinterest. “Which tournament, exactly?” His tone is dull, bordering on annoyed.
Pulling my shoulders back, I stand to my full height and look him straight in the eye. I’m not going to let some stranger push me around just because he’s standing in the way of me fulfilling my dreams. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m stronger than that.
“The high-stakes poker tournament. I’d like to register,” I state clearly.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,”—he’s not sorry—“I think you’re confused. The buy-in is fifty thousand dollars.”
“Yes, I understand that.” Without meaning to, I catch myself mimicking his tone as if I’m speaking with a toddler. By the way his eyes narrow, I don’t think he appreciates it.
“We don’t take credit card payments.”
In an attempt to keep my patience, I pinch the bridge of my nose then I grit out, “I understand that.”
“Then how, exactly, do you plan on paying the registration fee?”
Pulling out a thick envelope that’s nearly bursting from my backpack, I put it on the counter and push it a few inches toward him and his polished fingers. “In cash.” The sweetest smile I can muster nearly splits my face in two as I secretly pray he chokes on the sugar I’m throwing at him.
With pursed lips, a very disapproving concierge named Phillip reaches for the envelope and takes his time counting the hundred dollar bills. To be fair, it is a lot of cash, so I don’t blame him for double-checking the amount. My sneaker-clad feet tap against the tile as I push my hands into my back pockets and look around the premises. When my eyes land on a very intrigued Jack, they narrow in suspicion.
What the hell are you doing here, Jack?
“Seems we have everything accounted for.” Phillip breaks my little staring contest with my fellow card counter, and my head whips back around. “And what name would you like to play under? Aliases are accepted. However, if you end up winning,” he says the word as if it leaves a sour taste in his mouth, pursing his lips before continuing, “then we’ll need you to fill out a few forms.”
“Can I fill them out right now?”
Again, there are those pursed lips. “Of course.”
Turning around, he sorts through a stack of papers before handing me the necessary ones.
“Why, thank you, Phillip.”
His mouth goes from puckered to a flat line that vaguely looks like a smile if I squint my eyes and tilt my head to the side.
“Of course,” he offers.
I fill out the forms in record time, triple-checking I’ve written the information that matches my fake ID before handing them back over to Phillip. There’s not a chance in hell I’d write my real name on this thing. Gigi might be right about Burlone not remembering my mom, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to put a spotlight on the fact we’re related––or that my participation in the tournament is not a complete coincidence.
Taking the completed papers from my sweaty palms, Phillip does a quick scan to confirm my competency at filling out a few forms before giving me his back, clearly dismissing me.
Wow.
I turn around and take a step toward the exit when I’m stopped by a familiar voice.
“Hey, you.”
Tossing a look over my shoulder, I nearly roll my eyes. “Hey, stalker.”
Jack gasps in faux shock before dramatically clutching his chest. “Ouch. That hurts, Ace.”
“Sure it does,” I tease. “What are you doing here?”
“Making the rounds, like always.” He shrugs. “What are you doing here?”
“Making the rounds, like always.”
Scratching his chin, he shakes his head. “You sure about that? I didn’t see you at the tables, but I did see you talking to the concierge.”
With a smirk, I quip, “See what I mean? Stalker.”
“Whatever. You saw me at the blackjack tables, not hiding in the shadows. It’s not my fault you stick out like a sore thumb, and I noticed you were here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sorry, Ace,” Jack apologizes. “But a pretty girl like you was never meant to blend in.”
I’m taken aback by his compliment, recognizing that Kingston used the same one to describe me the first night we met. Chewing my lower lip––it’s a bad habit––I let the awkward silence swallow us both. Only the constant buzz of slot machines breaks it.
“Anyway…” he changes the subject, sensing my discomfort. “Why were you talking to the concierge?”
“No reason,” I bluff.
He doesn’t believe me. “You gonna play?”
“Play what?” Batting my lashes up at him, I go for innocence, yet he sees right through me.
“Don’t play dumb, Ace. It doesn’t suit you.”
Breathing a sigh, I push Rule #6 aside. “Yeah. I’m gonna play.”
I can’t believe I just admitted that out loud. Telling Gigi is one thing, but talking about it with a casual acquaintance makes the truth more real. I just signed up to play in a tournament against Burlone. I just put fifty thousand dollars of hard-earned cash on the table in order to compete against the man who stars in my nightmares. What the hell am I doing?
“And you know what you’re doing?” Jack’s expression is filled with concern as he waits for my reply while making me want to laugh at the fact that he just read my mind.
Sobering, I reply, “Yeah. I know what I’m doing.”
Or at least I sure as hell hope so.
With a nod, he offers, “If you ever need anything, just let me know, okay?”
Lifting my thumb, I chew on the fingernail and glance around the room before I give Jack my attention again. “Yeah. Thanks. I should probably get going though….”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you around, Ace.”
“See ya, stalker,” I razz, causing him to laugh at my attempt to lighten the mood.
Shaking his head, he turns back toward the blackjack tables for another round while I head to the parking lot with the intention of going home.
I’ve had enough casinos for one night.
Chapter Eighteen
Kingston
My phone rings, pulling me out of the chaotic jumble of export documents sitting on the top of my desk.
With my focus on a mass of numbers, I answer it. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Boss. You got a sec?” It’s Diece.
“Not really. What is it?” My tone is sharp. To the point. I’ve got shit to do.
“Lou just gave me an updated registration list for the tournament.” Lou is a fucking computer guru. If I need something that can be found on the internet, he finds it.
Tugging on the tie around my neck that feels like a noose more than an accessory, I ask, “And?”
“As far as I can see, there aren’t any traffickers other than Burlone who are planning on participating, which means he’s only trying to cover his own ass with this stunt and not anyone else’s.”
“Good,” I grunt. “So there’s no one of interest who’s registered so far?”
With a subtle clearing of his throat, an uncomfortable Diece continues, “A few rich boys from the South, a bigshot entrepreneur from the East, a professional poker player who thinks he stands a chance against Burlone from the West, and….” His voice trails off, piquing my curiosity.
“And?” I sit back in my chair, giving the conversation at hand my full attention.
“And your little spy. Is there a reason she registered an hour ago?”
With flared nostrils, I try to maintain a semblance of control. “Can you repeat that, D?” My white knuckles squeeze the phone in my hand, threatening to break it.
“Yeah. Acely Mezzerich registered for the poker tournament an hour ago at Sin. She used an alias, Macey Johnson. But the fake name wouldn’t hold up for more than five minutes for anyone who was looking. She must’ve bought the fake ID from an inexperienced junkie, though I doubt she c
ould afford a good one. Anyway, I had Lou pull up the security tapes, and sure enough, it’s your girl. By your reaction, I assume you didn’t know she was planning on participating?”
A low growl rumbles in my chest as I grit out, “No. Seems my little wild card and I need to have a chat.”
With a click, I disconnect the call.
Chapter Nineteen
Ace
With a pep in my step, I round the corner and duck under the chain-link fence before tossing a few twenties at Eddie.
“Yer in a good mood today.” His voice is slurred, making me pause.
“Eddie, did you have something to drink?” With a tilted head, I assess him. He’s nothing more than a crumpled mess on the pavement. His jaw is slack, and his eyes are glassy.
Shit.
“Just a bit, Ace. Just a bit.”
“Where’d you get it from, Eddie?” Squatting down, I gently press on his shoulder in hopes of encouraging him to lay down. Thankfully, he obliges, resting his head against an old backpack with his personal stuff tucked inside of it.
Eddie gives me a grin, showcasing his stained teeth. “The liquor store, Ace. The man at the counter said they were overstocked, so he gived me a discount. Ain’t that so great of him?”
I see three giant bottles of alcohol nestled between his things as if they’re his most prized possessions, and the sight makes me want to cry. I’m always careful to give him just enough cash to buy him a burger here or there, but not enough to give him the opportunity to save it for a rainy day because I always knew how he’d prefer to spend it. Looking down at the bottles of alcohol, it confirms my theory.
Stupid discounts. Stupid addictions. Stupid vices.
“Ya look sad, Ace. Here, have a drink. It’ll turn that frown upside down in no time.” Raising his arm, he offers a nearly empty bottle, and I take it before setting it back onto the asphalt.
“Oh, Eddie.” The defeat weighs heavily on my shoulders as I grab his threadbare blanket and toss it over him. “Get some rest, okay?”
“Okay, Ace. Night, Ace. That really is a weird name, Ace.”
A strangled chuckle slips past my defenses as I watch him drift off to sleep.
Wiping a tear from beneath my eye, I release a sigh then search his things for any more alcohol. When I find two bottles of bourbon and one of whiskey, I confiscate them with a heavy heart.
My body feels like I’ve gained an extra fifty pounds as I carry the bottles up to my apartment. Dammit, Eddie! Why do you have to ruin your life like this? My grip tightens around the bottles, my feet pounding up the stairs until I reach my floor. After I enter my tiny apartment, I head straight for the sink and pour the liquor down the drain. The potent stench of alcohol burns my nostrils as I watch it disappear.
When I’m done, it takes me a second to notice the cold, disconnected presence behind me.
“Finished?” a harsh voice barks, making me flinch.
Spinning around, my mouth open in shock, I clutch the empty bottle to my chest when I find a scrutinizing Kingston staring daggers at me.
“Shit, Kingston. You scared the crap out of me!”
“Didn’t take you for an alcoholic.” He turns his glare to the bottle in my hand before bringing it back to my puzzled expression.
“I’m not. If I were, do you think I’d be pouring it down the drain?”
“Maybe you found a moment of strength,” he offers, pushing himself up from the worn couch in the corner and stalking closer.
“I have many weaknesses, but alcohol isn’t one of them,” I reply bitterly.
“Truth,” he acknowledges with a lift of his chin before clenching it in frustration and crowding me against the wall. “In a way, I was hoping you were inebriated tonight. That was the only possible explanation I could come up with to explain why you did what you did.”
I pull back, my spine straightening. “Excuse me? Did what exactly?”
I’m not in the mood for this right now. Not after I found Eddie wasted when I was so sure he was getting better. I don’t think I can handle a lecture, and I really don’t think I can handle having a mob boss mad at me, either.
His eyes heat with fire, showing me he’s beyond pissed right now. In the blink of an eye, he puts one hand on each side of my face, caging me in before slamming his palm against the wall behind me. “I gave you one fucking rule, Ace. One rule.”
“What are you talking about?” I whisper, losing a bit of my earlier frustration and replacing it with defeat. Apparently, I failed again, though I don’t even know how.
As I peek up at Kingston, a tremble races down my spine because the beast in front of me is terrifying. He’s nothing short of a nightmare. But the part that really freaks me out is that I don’t want to wake up from this particular dream. If I focus on Kingston, I’m able to put my own issues on the back burner and forget about all of my problems. Seeing him like this makes me want to understand and soothe the monster in front of me who’s clawing to get out, though the fact that I’m not scared out of my mind makes me question my own sanity. It’s obvious he’s pissed, and that rage is completely centered on me and my mistake.
“I told you to stay under the radar. I told you to keep your head down. And what do you do?” he growls. “You sign up for the fucking tournament.” His anger is palpable. I can touch it. Taste it. Feel it seeping into my pores.
My lower lip trembles. “You don’t understand—”
“You’re wrong,” he spits, cutting me off. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Ace. You don’t know what he does to random women on the street, let alone someone who pisses him off. He kidnaps. He rapes. He beats. He maims. He twists them up like a dirty dishrag, squeezing whatever the fuck he wants from them before tossing them aside, usually to another asshole who buys them from him and does the exact same thing. And that’s if you cooperate. If you don’t? He shoots heroin into your veins to make you more compliant, but only after he’s beaten you within an inch of your life.”
A breath catches in my lungs, making me feel like I can’t breathe. Like he’s sucked all the air from the room, keeping it hostage until he sees fit to gift me with some.
“Is that what you want, Ace?” He leans forward until I can feel his cool, minty breath on my cheeks. “Do you want that kind of future? Do you want to be on his fucking radar? Because, if you participate in that tournament, you will be.” His jaw tightens until I’m sure he’ll crack a molar as he grits his teeth. “I think you already are.”
Panic blossoms in my chest, taking over any rational thought. “What do you mean I’m already on his radar?”
“You think he doesn’t check the roster for the tournament whenever someone signs up? That he doesn’t do background checks on every motherfucker who shows interest? You screwed up, Ace. You screwed up big time.”
“I’m being careful,” I start.
He scoffs. “Not careful enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What the hell do you think it’s supposed to mean?” His brows pinch in frustration, trying to understand why I would put myself in this position. With staggered breathing, he tries to get ahold of himself.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I admit, “I wanted to have a chance to make him hurt.” My voice is nothing but a whisper, nearly getting lost in the heavy silence that follows it.
“And how exactly were you planning on doing that?”
In a daze, my fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, rolling the starched fabric back and forth between the tips of my fingers until I realize what I’m doing. Eyes widening, I look down to see my hands playing with the material. The action catches his attention. With flared nostrils, a mesmerized Kingston watches my fidgeting hands before bringing his gaze back to mine, shocking us both by allowing my inappropriate touch.
“Tell me, Ace.” His tone surprises me. If I didn’t know any better, I might even consider it to be gentle. But that can’t be right. This is Kingston Romano. He’s never looked mor
e the part of a badass mob boss than he does right now. There’s a fire in his eyes and a crisp suit covering his muscular frame. The combination screams power, making me feel like an insignificant little blip on his radar.
“Tell me,” he repeats, reminding me of his request.
Breathing deep, I push forward. “If you know my history like you say you do, then you know he took my mom. That he likely did all those things you just explicitly mentioned to her. And that he left me alone and without a mom for my teenage years, only to be raised by a bunch of assholes in the foster care system who only cared about their monthly paycheck.” I swallow, dropping my gaze to his mouth because I’m a coward and don’t have the courage to hold his stare as I finish. “The only way I could figure out how to exact an ounce of revenge on that sonofabitch was to wound his pride before I stole some of his pocket change and disappeared into thin air. That was my plan.”
Kingston’s arms drop to his sides, releasing me from my prison. But he doesn’t step back, and his menacing presence is still enough to cage me against the wall behind me. “You’re brave, Ace, but it won’t work. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Burlone has never lost a game of poker. Sure, a hand here and there, but that’s it. He always comes back.”
If only he knew that I’ve done my research. That I know every tiny detail about the guy. I’m not stupid, and I’ve taken every precaution I can to succeed.
“No offense, Kingston, but I know exactly who I’m dealing with. He’s never played against me.”
“Truth,” Kingston admits. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you just put a big ass target on your back. And that’s the last thing you want with a guy like him. The alias you gave the concierge was shit. My guy was able to see through it in about five minutes. He created something a little more solid for Macey Johnson’s background, but you need to be careful.”
The thinly-veiled concern in his voice makes me pause. No one cares about me. Sure, there are Dottie and Gigi, but even they don’t know the details of what I’ve been through, and why my walls were built in the first place.