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Extremely well-fed and caffeinated, we watched Doc check Vincent’s vitals and change the wound dressing again. He made him promise not to move. I made him promise not to move. Tiny assured him that he would help me tie him down if he tried to move, something that made Vincent stew in annoyance.
Anthony sent one of their men to their house for some books and a couple of changes of clothes. I promised to watch movies with him, once everyone had left, of course.
We all sat there, not sure what to do with ourselves but determined to keep Vincent in bed, resting, and healing with the sheer force of our combined wills, which not for nothing, was considerable.
Michael was the one who finally came up with the solution.
“Well,” he said, slapping his thighs, “now all we need is a deck of cards.”
“Brilliant idea,” Anthony chimed in.
“We have cards. Chips too. Shall we gamble?”
The men all heartily agreed. A boring, worrisome day had just turned into something pleasurable. They were all grinning in anticipation, even Vincent.
“Luciano, do you know where they are?”
Luciano nodded and went to the game cabinet in the dining room to get the chips and cards.
That is how six of the most notorious mobsters from two different families, and an outlaw biker who happened to be an excellent surgeon and a devilishly good card player, spent the day playing high-stakes poker in an epic game that would go on for decades.
So far, I was ahead.
Way, way ahead.
Auntie and Maria came and went with food, drinks, and unasked for advice on how to fleece the competition. The two women were so alike that even with their differences, they could have been sisters. Angelique joined us for lunch once the bloody sheets had been carefully changed without jostling the patient too much. I didn’t want her to see the blood. I sternly told them all to behave around my daughter before she came in, and they all complied. It was like being in a room full of choir boys. I chuckled to myself. Clearly, no one wanted to mess with a pissed off mama bear.
And the poker game raged on. There was much trash talking—when little ears were absent, of course. There were large sums of money exchanged. Promises made. Some X-rated private wagers were whispered between lovers.
I may have had to promise Vincent a few things down the road. But in terms of general winnings, Lady Luck was definitely playing favorites.
And she definitely favored her own sex.
I pretty much stomped the boys into the ground.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Vincent
“Alone at last. Come here, woman.”
It was just past dinnertime. My brother, cousin, aunt, Doc, and my ever present bodyguard had finally consented to leave. It had taken some work to get rid of them. They had promised to be back bright and early to check on me, which I knew meant to play more cards and make sure I wasn’t trying to chase Frankie around the bedroom.
Although on that last count, I certainly couldn’t make any promises.
Tiny had been the hardest to convince. It went against everything inside him to leave me unguarded. I’d told him to go out and get a woman.
I certainly intended to.
Not that I had mentioned that to him. He didn’t need to know I had a raging hard-on with Francesca’s name written all over it. All nine inches of it. I knew I was feeling better because of how damned horny I was. Of course, I had no doubt that even dead, that woman would arouse me.
I was zero percent concerned about the risk of being physically active with my woman. I was even less concerned about being here alone. If Francesca and her family wanted to get rid of me, I was at their disposal. I would lie down on a railroad track if she asked me to. I had no shields left against her. No defenses.
“You stop that now.” She swatted my hand away when I tried to pull her in for a kiss. “You already sprang a leak with that nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” I asked, pretending to be offended.
“You know what I mean, you horny devil.”
“I will do it again. I don’t care.”
“Well, I do!” she exclaimed, looking outrageously gorgeous in her white silk pajamas and matching robe. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, framing her ridiculously gorgeous face. How on earth does she manage to look that good? I wondered to myself for the hundredth time. Her beauty defied belief.
Hell, everything about the woman defied reality. Her intelligence. Her courage. Her humor. Her unbelievable, unstoppable sex appeal.
I had a feeling I’d still be chasing Frankie around the bed when I was eighty years old and she was a spry little seventy-six-year-old.
God, I hoped so.
We’d just finished eating a homemade meal of fresh pasta and roasted chicken. We ate while watching a movie with Angelique. She had been extremely impressed by being allowed to eat in bed. Apparently, it was a special occasion.
