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I run my finger along my reflection in the mirror. The night is far from over, which means playing the role of perfect, submissive girlfriend is far from over. With a deep breath, I steel my spine and step back out into the lobby of the casino, where Jorge and his henchmen lean against the wall, waiting for me. His gaze lifts at my arrival, his piercing gray eyes assessing every inch of me, ensuring that like Humpty Dumpty, I’m put back together again.
I must meet his approval because he pulls me towards him, and whispers in my ear, “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
Acid burns the back of my throat, and I fight the urge to shake off his touch as he leads me around the casino floor, parading me around like a show dog, which I suppose I am. The niece of Emilio Morales, head of the Zega Cartel. A valuable prize, considering I am his only heir. Jorge was already my uncle's right hand when he set his sights on me a few months ago, but with my hand in marriage comes the keys to the kingdom. A far more powerful position.
Of course, I’ll never let it get that far. He is but a means to an end—and the end is in sight.
The evening continues—a blur of faces, elegant jazz music, and the buzz of a casino’s grand opening. But as the main event winds down and the crowd thins, we end up in a private poker room on the second floor. Despite Jorge’s earlier outburst, he’s now in good spirits as he sits down at the circular table where both booze and conversation flow. The other men here are all mafia, cartel, and other crime magnets. This is where the real gambling happens. Everything until now has been for show. A friendly game of blackjack or craps.
I sip my soda, grateful his attention will be diverted for the next few hours. The knot in my chest loosens, and I can breathe a little easier, tucked away at the discreetly appointed bar in the far corner of the room. If we can get through this night without further incident, I’ll feel a lot better. Jorge’s whisky dick coupled with my well-guarded virginity means he won’t touch me tonight. But the clock is ticking. I have no doubt he’ll propose soon and push for a quick wedding. Which means I need to make every second count.
Lost in my own head, I don’t realize someone has taken the seat on my left until a deep male voice rumbles beside me, “Penny for your thoughts?”
I look up to see a stranger. The man from the second-floor balcony that I’d noticed earlier. He’d been staring at me, which might be why he’d caught my attention. Once again, his gaze locks on mine, making it was impossible to look away.
He cringes. “Jesus, that was cliché.”
I can’t help but laugh at his reaction to the corny line. I’m struck by deep-hazel eyes and tousled light-brown hair with natural gold highlights most women would kill for. Cut cheekbones. A strong jaw with a little indent in the center of his chin. A roguish smile. He’s even more handsome up close; it’s nearly blinding. Even through his tux, I can make out a solid chest and broad shoulders, tattoos peeking out from his collar. I don’t know who he is, but damn. In another life, I would take the time to get to know him.
Just not in this life.
I offer him a small smile. “No thoughts, just enjoying the poker game,” I lie, even though my back is literally towards the action.
He smirks and flicks his gaze behind me. “I bet. Fascinating stuff watching half-drunk mobsters play shitty poker. You don’t want in on the game?”
I sneak a glance at Jorge, knowing he would not react well if he saw me talking with another man, especially one as handsome as this guy. Thankfully, Jorge’s back is to me, and he’s absorbed in the game.
“Only the men play. The WAGs just watch and cheer,” I say, motioning my chin towards the other women in the room.
“WAGs?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.
“Wives and girlfriends.” Though they’re probably strippers and prostitutes.
“Right.” He releases a bark of laughter. Then he holds out his hand. “I’m Daniil Kozlov by the way.”
I stare at his hand, knowing the shitstorm it’ll cause if I touch another man. After a beat, Daniil seems to take the hint. He drops his hand and clears his throat.
“Ah, the infamous Kozlov brothers,” I say to lighten the sting. “You own the place, right? I met your brother Andrei tonight.”
“Yes, our fearless leader. I’m the forgotten middle child who never got enough attention.”
I take a sip of my soda, a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “I’m Bianca Harper,” I say, but I don’t give him any more details. Like my family connections. “Congratulations are in order. This casino is very impressive.”
“Well, thank you. I’m glad that you could join us tonight.” His voice is low and smooth like syrup, nearly a purr. Goose bumps erupt down my arms. He’s not flirting with me, but there’s that crackle and pop of attraction between us. It’s been so long it’s almost a foreign sensation.
My god, what is it about this guy?
I force myself to ignore it, homing in on his tattooed knuckles instead. But staring at his strong hands does nothing to calm my staccato heartbeat.
He clears his throat and tilts his head towards the poker table. “You here with Jorge Días?”
By the way he spits Jorge’s name, I take it there’s no love lost between them. I wonder if they’ve done business before or if he knows Jorge by reputation. I don’t want to explain my relationship, so I simply nod.
His lips pucker in distaste, but he doesn’t comment further. “Where do you live?”
“Miami,” I say vaguely, though the truth is we live between Miami and Colombia, depending on where my uncle’s business takes us. Or his level of paranoia. “Are you a New Yorker?”
His lips twitch. “Brooklynite. Born and bred. Though I spent time in Russia growing up. Maybe that’s why I don’t have the typical accent. My father would have beat it out of me if so.”
