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“And why not?”
Excitement sent small electrical impulses through her. Then she remembered Alberto and how he felt about Michael. .. and then remembered also her father who was waiting for her in America. Loyalty to family had always made the bond strong in the Lazzaro family, as it did in all Italian families. It was in their blood. An alliance that no outsider could understand . .. nor interfere with.
No. Her family had to come first. Her face became all shadows as she cast her eyes downward. “It's impossible to do so,” she murmured.
Michael flinched as though he had been hit. “Why not, Maria?” he said, tilting her chin up with a forefinger, so their gazes could meet. “You do profess to love me, do you not?”
Tears burned at the corner of her eyes. She fluttered her lashes nervously, then said, “I'll never love anyone else.”
Michael rose from the bed, pacing the floor. “You say you love me but you won't marry me,” he blurted, kneading a brow, with the cigar hanging limply from the corner of his mouth. He came
to an abrupt halt and glared toward Maria. “Tell me the reason why you refuse, Maria,” he demanded hotly.
Maria pulled the night robe Michael had shed from his body around herself, suddenly conscious of her nudity. She hugged herself, feeling a slow trembling rising inside. “You wouldn't understand,” she finally answered.
“Try me,” he said flatly.
“It's because of my family,” she uttered, flipping her hair to hang in a long, thick mass down her back.
“Damn it, Maria. Why would your family object? I'm respectable enough. Or is it because I am an American? Do Italians have to marry Italians, or what?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then damn it. Why?”
Her eyes flew upward and she set her jaw firmly. “I cannot desert Alberto and my Papa,” she said. “My Papa is all alone in America. He's waiting for me and Alberto. And also, Alberto. He's not behaving rationally. I must stay with him until he's acting normally once again.”
Michael hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, groaning. “Alberto, Alberto,” he shouted. “Always Alberto.” He went to Maria and pulled her up from the bed, clutching onto her shoulders. “Can Alberto do this?” he said thickly, then kissed her fully on the lips as his hand worked at disrobing her again until their bodies fused and began moving together, creating the wondrous desirous feelings inside Maria once again.
“Oh, Michael,” Maria gasped as she felt the hardness of his manhood probing between her legs.
“Can he, Maria?” Michael murmured, showering her breasts with kisses, then lower.
“No. He cannot,” she sobbed. “But it makes no difference, Michael. My mind cannot be changed.”
Michael lifted her to the bed and stretched out beside her. “Then, my darling, we must not waste any of our moments we have left together. We must make love. Over and over again this night. We must, for I feel I can never get enough of you.”
“Yes, my love,” she whispered, feeling passion weaving its way through her heart. “Oh, yes, yes.. ..”
* * *
Alberto pulled his hat lower fn an attempt to hide his eyes, knowing that his eyes could be the reason that he could be recognized. And even though his clothes were the same as he had worn before, he knew they were like those of most other men aboard this ship, filthy and tattered, so he didn't believe that Sam would remember him from just that one confrontation with him.
Letting his eyes wander about, Alberto's hate grew within him as he found Grace leaning over Sam, teasing him with her fingers. They were a pair, they were. Sam with his beady, dark eyes, and thick, scraggly whiskers that had threads of chewing tobacco stuck throughout, and Grace with her low-cut gowns, revealing a tempting pair of breasts for all men to drool over, but looking so wicked with a constant glint in her cat-green eyes. Her copper hair fell around her face, framing it, looking as though she had already wrestled many men this night.
“And how about you, stranger?” a voice spoke from beside Alberto, making him jolt to attention.
“Huh . .. ?” he said, straightening the cards in his hand.
Then Sam grumbled. “Place your bet, damn it,” he said. “We ain't got all night, ya know, lf'n ya plays cards with us, ya stays alert. Now bet or move on with ya.”
Pinpricks of hate raced along Alberto's nerves, eyeing Sam darkly. “You're going to get yours, you damn bastard,” he thought to himself. “But now I'll play along with you.” He gazed down at his cards, smiling amusedly. Damn. He was lucky. Another winning hand for sure. “My bet?” he drawled, trying to disguise his voice. “One American dollar. That's what my bet is.”
He checked his cards once again to be sure. Yes. There was a ten, Jack, Queen, King, and Ace. All of different suits, but that didn't matter. What he had was called a Royal Flush. He did remember that name, for sure. It was the best he could get. He furrowed his brow, kneading it with his free hand. Should he have bet more? It could even speed up the game a bit. But, no. He would have a next time.
The men on all sides of Alberto placed their own bets, then the time came to reveal the hands. Straightening his shoulders back proudly, Alberto placed his cards on the deck, slowly, one at a time, feeling his heart pounding, knowing that all eyes had seen that he had indeed won with the best cards among them all.
“Damn it. A Royal Flush,” one muttered. “Ain't seen one of them in a long time. Damn lucky.”
