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“Cost me what?”
“Another finger.”
Benny pauses, before grunting out a monosyllabic agreement and dealing out another round.
Idiot. He should know by now Gabe doesn’t just break fingers; he smashes them with his favorite hammer.
Out of the corner of my eye, the women’s restroom door swings open and Rory staggers out of it. She stops, blinks at the five-deep line of girls waiting to pee, and holds her hand up in an awkward apology. A few seconds after, Angelo strides out after her, straightening his tie with one hand and raking his tousled hair with the other.
I give a small shake of my head. Even Benny can keep his cock in his pants longer than Vicious these days, and that’s saying something.
He’s a fool in love, not a capo on the brink of war.
Angelo catches my eye and drops me a wink, before slapping his wife’s ass and sauntering through the French doors, where Cas smokes a cigarette under a heat lamp. Rory smooths down her red dress and weaves between tables, making a beeline for the chair next to me.
“Oh, swan,” she mutters as her stiletto buckles underneath her. Before she can face-plant on the table, my hand shoots out to grab her forearm and I gently lower her into the seat. “It’s these darn shoes. I’m more used to running sneakers than heels these days.”
“More used to OJ than white wine spritzers, you mean?”
She squints up at me like she’s looking into the sun, a lop-sided grin on her lips. “White wine spritzer, you say?”
Amused, I beckon the nearest server and order another round, plus a large water.
Rory slumps against the chair, twirls a curl around her finger, and studies me. I gulp the last dregs of my whiskey in preparation. Here we go.
“So…are you feeling lucky tonight, Rafe?”
“No more Blackjack, Rory.”
“Aw, come on. Just one round.” Her eyes dart up to Angelo out on the deck, then come back to me with a mischievous spark. “Or are you a chicken?”
My lips tilt. “I’m scared shitless, darling.”
Last month, Rory started playing Visconti Blackjack with Angelo’s men. It’s similar to regular Blackjack, but you play against an opponent, rather than the house. I guess she didn’t connect the dots between her winning every round and her opponents being on my brother’s payroll, because when she asked me to play with her, she was shocked that she lost. She lost the next game, and every game after that. Now, she owes me three-hundred grand of her husband’s money and can’t seem to get enough of trying to claw it back.
Of course, I’d never actually cash the debt in, but it’s been mildly amusing to watch her squirm about it.
“Fine,” she sighs. She sweeps a curious gaze over the Venetian chandelier about our heads. “Nice yacht. Does it count as a business expense now that you’re using it as a party venue?”
“Are you working with the feds, Rory?”
She lets out an easy laugh. “Nope, just trying to make conversation with my new brother-in-law.”
“Brother-in-law? You were due to be my aunt up until a few months ago.”
A server places two drinks in front of her and a fresh whiskey in front of me. She reaches for the wine glass, but I push it out of reach and rap my ring against the water bottle. “This first.”
She scrunches her nose but doesn’t protest. Three glugs later, she slams it down on the table and basks me in her attention again. “Well?”
“Can’t you get to know your other brother-in-law, instead?”
She lunges over and clumsily slaps Gabe’s shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. “Me and Gabe? We’re already as thick as thieves.”
“Yeah?” I can’t imagine Gabe bonding with anything except his motorbike or a new gun, let alone Angelo’s blond, bird-loving wife.
“Yeah. He helped me build the bird hide in his garden. Dug the pond out for me, too.” She leans in, wide-eyed and whispering. “And just last week, he let me shoot his—”
“What did I tell you?” Gabe cuts in, glancing up from his cards with a scowl.
