Sicily squealed, “Sure!” at the same time I snapped, “No.”
Her head spun to face me, her pupils barely open with how much she had narrowed them.
Anger, that was what that was.
“Have you ever actually played poker before, Sicily?” Adriano leaned over me to ask her.
Her cheeks blushed a light pink. “Well, no, not?—"
Matteo, the insolent rule breaker that he was, began to shuffle the cards like he was a magician. The Bonafedes enjoyed flair and showmanship. “All six of us play, one hand. If Sicily wins, we agree to what Milan has actually come here to talk about.” Matteo smirked. “We let him be our Capo.”
Tommaso shared a brief look with his son before he nodded shallowly, solidifying his agreement.
This was nonsensical; Sicily had never touched a poker table in her life, and to place my chances of winning in her hands was the equivalent of throwing money directly into the ocean.
“No.” I stood. “This is insanity, and the outcome will be suboptimal for everyone involved.”
Matteo flopped back into his chair, shrugging. “Your call,Capo.”
Tommaso was too distracted filling his glass to pay attention to the audacity of his heir.
With a deep exhale, I returned to my seat, nodding once, my metaphorical hands tied because of my wifeagain.
Sicily raised her hand.
Matteo raised a brow, pausing his shuffling. “Yes,principessa?”
Principessa?
A conclusion was instantly created in my head; Matteo Bonafede and my wife had engaged in an emotional relationship in their lives.
I sat closer to her on the couch, choosing to ignore how her knee touched mine and sent an uncomfortable sensation through my body.
“Can I whisper to Milan if I get confused?” she asked, and I felt the urge to sit taller, straighter.
That was illogical and served no purpose, though I opened my mouth to say yes, but Matteo spoke faster. “No help.”
She let out an emphasized sigh, one that deflated her entire body and knocked her thigh into mine.I did not remove her.
“Okay.” Sicily shimmied her shoulders. “But when I do win, I’m gonna besoannoying about it.”
She was already succeeding at beingannoying.
Matteo fanned the cards obnoxiously, but I watched the angle of his hand where nobody else did. They were busy drinking and conversing about nonsense with my wife, but I saw the intention there. He slid a card from the bottom to the top, never taking his eyes off Sicily.
Cheating in poker was a social disgrace for the Bonafedes, so why was he risking it in front of the man who could become his boss by the end of the game?
I frowned deeply as Matteo palmed the Queen of Hearts and slipped it underneath the burn card before dealing to my wife.
Sleight of hand inherfavor.
We locked eyes across the table, a smirk turning on his cheeks. His expression was confusing, but I could read the facts; he wascheating.
I inhaled once, and then a second time, as Sicily eyed her cards like it was a tarot reading. She was impossible to read emotionally, but I found myself confident that the look on her face was confusion.
When the flop hit the table, I felt my body grow rigid as she squealed in my ear. The sound was almost reminiscent of her scream, but there was no blood, and she was grinning. I closedmy eyes, only opening them when Adriano reached over to squeeze my wrist once, discreet in his reparation of my nervous system as always.
“I have one of those!” she called.
