AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As far as anyone in the Battaglia knew, Vitari had escaped with his priest and had already fled the country. Which was why Father Davis’s oversized hooded top worked so well to hide L’ Angelo della Morte as he sauntered back into the Hôtel de Paris, where nobody would expect him to be.
Before Toni had made his move, Vitari had received word of the hotel Sasha was staying in, but there was only one place a man of his standing would be at this late hour.
The infamous Casino de Monte-Carlo.
Unfortunately, most of the Battaglia would be there too, but nobody would expect Vitari to be there, and after he found Sasha, he just needed a moment alone. In and out. Easy.
Concealed by the hooded top, he ducked into the reception restrooms, wrapped the gun in Davis’s sweater, and stuffed both in the trash. Facing the mirrors, he smoothed his hair and ditched the bandage Francis had so tenderly wrapped around his knuckles. This was no time to appear weak. His shirt was creased. He tucked it back in, then picked at a few specs of dried blood that weren’t coming out. Didn’t matter. Like he’d said to Francis, this whole life was all about appearances, and he knew exactly how to behave like a fucking king.
He shrugged his jacket into line, hiding the blood, and adjusted his cuffs.
L’ Angelo della Morte stared back from the mirror.
One final time.
A subterranean tunnel from the hotel, used by high-rollers, took him straight to the casino’s gaming floor. Security knew his face and waved him through. He eased into the crowd, perfectly camouflaged alongside the glitzy elite. Faking it until he made it.
Sasha was a poker man, in Monte Carlo for some kind of international tournament. Vitari headed toward the card tables, and there the big Russian was, as bold as brass, seated among men and women who were oblivious to the snake in their midst. He looked bigger in a suit, with the tattoos hidden. Looked refined, untouchable.
Vitari wouldn’t be the only one watching him. Sasha would have his men nearby, but not too close as to ruin his evening. Skirting the fringes of the glitzy, noisy crowd, Vitari spotted a couple of alert bodyguards positioned around the room, as well as some of the Battaglia peppered among the people, getting high and drunk, having fun.
His heart leaped into his throat, trying to choke him. Coming here was insane. This was the last place he should be. But the best way of catching an enemy off guard was to do what they least expected.
He watched Sasha’s poker game unfold, then spotted an opportunity.
Francis would kill him for this.
One of the gamers folded his cards and bowed out. Vitari moved in, dropped into his seat, and smiled. “Deal me in.”
Sasha hiked a thick eyebrow. “It is small world, Angel.”
“It really fuckin’ is.”
The dealer dealt a new round while Vitari collected the intrigued gazes of the others at the table. Then two of Sasha’s men muscled their way in. Vitari leveled the pair with a cool glare. If they wanted to create a scene, he was fucked. He needed this game to stay on the down-low so he slid right under the Battaglia radar.
“You scared of a little game, Sasha?” Vitari asked.
Sasha grunted a laugh and waved his men off. If he believed Vitari a threat on his own and needed guards for a simple poker game, he made himself look weak.
“Condolences for the loss of your father,” Sasha said, his bodyguards dismissed.
He’d said it with sincerity too. “I suppose I should offer you the same. Were you and Neo close?”
Sasha’s broad mouth twitched in some semblance of a smirk, or a sneer. “He is a good soldier.”
“Gentlemen, shall we keep our eyes on the game?” the dealer suggested in thick French-accented English.
“Was a good soldier,” Vitari corrected. “I punched his ticket, if you catch my meaning.”
The Russian’s smile vanished.
They played a round. Vitari lost, but it wasn’t the game he was interested in. This wasn’t about poker—it wasn’t about winning or losing—it was about Vitari fucking with Sasha’s head enough to unbalance him, have him make mistakes.
Vitari lost the next round, won the third, won the fourth, and with each smirk, or flick of the wrist, Sasha bristled. Vitari was ruining his evening.
“I think I’ll retire.” The Russian folded and moved to stand.
Vitari reached for his wrist. “A word, you and me, in private? No guards.”
