Vinn’s hawk-like gaze zeroed on his son as he settled in a chair. “Where’s Vincent?”
“Mom has him.”
He pulled me onto his lap, and a delicious shudder heated my body. Wrapped in his arms was my favorite place. My heart hammered as I scanned the coast.
“I’m not seeing a lot of places we could get away with being naked.”
“Use your imagination, sweetheart.” He pressed his mouth into my ear, jolting my skin. “I’ve already scouted an area and left supplies.”
“Supplies?”
“A couple towels…and toys. We’ll have fun, provided nobody finds my stash.”
“Oh my God, Vinny.” A wicked laugh tore from my throat as I pictured two teenagers stumbling upon a bag of lube and vibrators. “You’re insane.”
“It’s not the worst we’ve done.”
My cheeks flared as he scooped up my hand and kissed the knuckle with the wedding ring. I’d hired a jeweler to craft a rose gold band with scalloped seashells among the diamonds.
He caressed the jagged line before finding the necklace. Guilt nagged at me when he locked eyes on it and sighed. I removed it and bundled it into his fist.
I’d released the old Vinny ages ago. It took a while to admit I'd never really known him. I’d worshipped a fantasy, not a real, flawed human being.
“I give you permission to throw it in the sea.”
He chuckled. “You have no idea how often I’ve fantasized about that.”
“Do it.”
He played with it, fingers rotating the shell.
“Nah,” he murmured after a long silence. “I only hated it because I thought you loved someone else. It reminds me of the man I was, the hope, the lightness in my chest before everything went dark. I don't ever want to become that asshole again.”
Slowly, he slipped the chain around my head.
He tenderly traced my jaw, the fire spreading into my heart. “Keep it, Li. I like that you never gave up on me. But I think I have you beaten on the obsession front.”
A ridiculous grin staggered across my face.
He winked at me, grabbing a wallet from his pocket. He opened it, retrieving a torn, yellowed piece of paper. A wrinkle ran along its edge. He stared at it for a moment and handed it to me.
I took it, recognizing my handwriting.
Love,
Liana
“What’s this?” I flipped it, but there was nothing. “My signature? Where’d you get it?”
His gaze dropped as he smiled. “I tore it off one of your letters.”
The ripped up letter I’d found stuffed in his shoebox swam to my mind.
I gasped, that long-ago mystery sliding into place.
“I've had it in there forever,” he admitted, pink in the cheeks. “I wanted your love with me everywhere I went. Cheesy, I know.”
My feelings warred. I could’ve socked him in the shoulder for hiding such a sweet gesture from me, and sobbed for the teenage Liana who’d spent years writhing in angst over this man. Emotion thickened my throat. I couldn’t speak, but Vinn seemed to understand.
“I love you more than you know.”
“I love you, Vinny.”
He wiped the tear tracking my cheek. “Take a nap. I’ll look after the boys.”
I yawned, nodding agreement as he shifted our positions. I watched him through heavily lidded eyes as orange sunbeams sparkled on waves. Vinn kneeled beside Josh, who’d smashed his fist through Luke’s sandcastle. He redirected Josh’s attention to a sleeping Michael, who lay on a towel.
“Let’s bury him alive,” Vinn whispered to Josh. “You start at the feet. I’ll do the hands.”
“Okay!”
Father and son heaped sand over my unsuspecting brother, who hadn’t yet noticed the attempt on his life. Vinn upped the ante by squirting lotion into his hand. He wrote FUCK on Michael’s back in big white letters, laughing when Carmela swiped through the profanity.
“What you doing, baby?” Michael stirred, jerking away from Vinn. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Vinn said breezily. “Carmela ruined an amazing practical joke.”
“Vinn made a joke?” Michael turned on his side, upsetting the sand burying his ankles. “Am I in a parallel universe?”
Vinn dumped a cup of ice water on Michael’s neck.
“Vaffanculo!”
The children shrieked with laughter as Michael sprang upright. Vinn sprinted into the ocean. Michael gave chase, tackling him. Both fell with a wide splash. Vinn was far from the dream-like perfection I’d worshipped.
And I didn’t care.
I loved him, flaws and all.
# # #
Thank you for reading Faked! Please leave a review if you enjoyed the story! I read every single comment about my books.
Anthony’s story is coming! Every burning question will be answered in my upcoming series, Villains of Boston.
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Or keep scrolling for two chapters of High Stakes!
High Stakes
Maria hogs the full-length mirror as she breaks in her new dress, a tight, pink number that hugs her curves. Her long, black hair cascades down her back.
I wince at my reflection partially hidden behind her. The wrinkled jeans and faded t-shirt aren’t doing my figure any favors. My wardrobe is hopelessly outdated. I haven't bought so much as a sock in years.
Her gaze meets mine in the mirror. “You’re wearing that?”
“I know.” My face burns. "I don't have anything else."
I look awful. There's no way they’ll let me into a high-stakes poker game.
"Fuck it. I'll stay here."
“Don’t be stupid,” she says. “Just pick something from my closet.”
She marches to her side and opens the doors to her collection sorted by color. Her thin arm rifles through its contents, picking out a black body-con dress with a lace peekaboo.
She grins at my reluctance. “Try this.”
I take it and feel the stretchy material before removing my clothes and wearing the dress. The fabric is thick, almost like a bandage. It’s tight around my chest and stomach. I can’t zip the back. Maria helps me, gasping when she steps back.
“Look at how gorgeous you are!”
A woman with messy, dark brown hair stands in front of the mirror in a black dress that accentuates her every curve. I turn, and the girl turns as well, exposing the lace diving to the small of my back. The sweetheart silhouette barely covers my boobs. The woman in the mirror blushes violently.
“Maria! This is way too much!”
“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect!” Maria retrieves a pair of strappy black pumps. “Put these on.”
“It’s so tight.” I spread my hands over my stomach. The dress is flattering; it smoothes out any bumps I would have. God, maybe I am attractive.
My feet slide into the pumps, and I wobble. It's lucky that we have the same shoe size. She squeals with delight.
“Maria, I don’t know if this is me.”
"You're right. It's not you. That's why it looks so amazing."
I throw dirty socks at her head but she avoids the collision, grinning.
“Please, Adriana. Let me take care of everything.”
Her brown eyes are sparkling with excitement. Giddiness rolls from her body. She likes this sort of thing. I like to linger in the background, but this dress demands attention. It is loud.
She flies to her vanity, making me sit as she applies makeup. Eyeliner. Lipstick. I ask her not to give me too much, but she ignores me. She attacks my hair with a brush and spritzes my hair with thermal protector. She takes out her straightener and goes through every strand.
Finally, she lets me get up to look at myself in the mirror. My jaw drops, because the girl in the mirror is not me. She’s the woman I've always admired, the girl who knows how to show off her beauty. I have flawless hair and skin. To my surprise, the
re's not much makeup, but what little there is makes a huge difference. My eyes pop.
Maria utters another squeal and grabs my hand.
My throat closes up. “Maria, you’re amazing. Thank you.”
"I wonder if we should put your hair up. You have such delicate features. No, I don't want to overdo it." She glances at her phone and shrieks. “Shit! We were supposed to be downstairs ten minutes ago. I got so caught up in everything.”
I tear my eyes from the mirror and grab my clutch. Maria leaves the dorm, and I try to match Maria’s frantic pace. Jackie’s car waits by the curb. He steps out to open the door.
His dark eyes pass over me, not recognizing me at first. “Whoa.”
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Maria gushes. “Thanks to yours truly.”
Jackie’s face goes pink as he nods. I’ve never seen him so shy. I slide into the backseat with Maria as her crazed energy fills the car.
“I’m so pumped.”
I watch the bright streets of Manhattan, my heart flying with happiness. I feel young and alive, for the first time in a long while.
Tonight will be great.
Jackie presses the button for the twelfth floor. His quiet voice cuts through our chatter.
“So, I probably should mention that this card game we’re going to is not exactly—ah—legal.”
Maria looks shocked, but I shrug.
"Don't mention this to anyone else, okay? My brother said we could come, but he doesn't want any other outsiders."
His brother? I didn’t know much about Jackie’s brother, other than the fact that he was older than Jackie.
“Uh, ok.”
Maria and I exchange looks. Illegal card games? What am I getting myself into?
It’s too late to turn back now. The elevator pings and the doors slide open. We can already hear it before we see it. Somewhere down this hall is a party. Dozens of people's muffled voices and laughter reach us.
“They bought the rooms down the hallway so there wouldn’t be complaints.”
A well-dressed couple approaches the bouncer guarding a door. He checks their IDs before letting them in. The door opens, and I catch a glimpse of people dressed to the nines.
The bouncer is intimidating. He’s fat than muscle, but one swipe of his ham-like fists could knock us back to last month.
“Name,” he barks.
“Jackie Rizzuto. Brother of Frank Rizzuto.”
He looks at the ridiculously small notepad in his hands and nods. His eyes rove over Maria and I. Boulder-man gives me a small smile as he backs up and opens the door for us.
It’s a massive suite with tables of appetizers, alcohol, and desserts. I can see two rooms in the suite, and the one we’re currently standing in is packed with men in suits and women in cocktail dresses. Everyone is much older than us, but that doesn’t stop Maria from bouncing to the nearest table.
“Look!”
It's a kleptomaniac's paradise. There's a three-level tier filled with chocolate truffles and petit fours. I want to scoop it all into my purse. She grabs a few and bites into one of them, making an ecstatic moan. There's little baked tarts, smoked salmon, glasses, and glasses of champagne. A man standing in front of a white booth makes drinks. Around all of the tables laden with food are guards standing around the perimeter. A tiny sting of fear bites at my skin as I look at them. There's something about them that's downright ominous.
Don’t steal anything.
My palms sweaty, I lean my neck and gaze into the next room, which is significantly quieter. There must be at least five felt tables set up. Old men that I recognize as dealers are settled behind them, except for one. Men smoke and drink as they occasionally look back into the room. The poker tables draw me in, but I feel another tiny prick of fear as I watch them. There are small heaps of chips on the tables, and I feel a desperate pull to snatch one and add it to my pile of memorabilia: another trophy.
I've no desire for the drinks and food. I want to watch a game.
The players are older than us by a few decades. A man whose skin hangs off his neck looks at me.
“Come inside, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.”
I step into the room, leaving Jackie to search for his brother. Maria joins me, and I sigh with relief. The old man's smile is encouraging. I graze the felt tables and smile at the mounds of chips.
“What are you doing in here?” Maria whispers.
Like me, she feels the need to keep quiet.
“I’m going to watch their games. You can go back if you like.”
“I think I’ll mingle for a bit. See you later.”
I swallow hard when her warmth disappears from my side. The men in the gambling room ignore me as I browse the tables.
“I don’t understand,” a man wearing a three-piece suit booms. “Cesare said there would be five dealers.”
“Hey. Brought this for you.”
Jackie returns with a glass of champagne.
“Thanks.” I take it, trying not to ruin my makeup as I down the bubbly liquid.
I migrate toward the group of men, studying the rows of chips and cards, itching to get my hands on them.
Don’t!
A man in a charcoal suit blows out his cheeks, disappointed. “One of them called in sick.”
“Well, that’s fucking perfect,” says a second, irritated voice. “I invested a lot of money in this thing.”
I can deal.
I'm about to speak up, but something about them seems utterly forbidding. I want to hang in the background and watch.
“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.”
Faked: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 22