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“The wheelchair is no longer optional, and he needs twenty-four-hour care.”
“When are the ramps going in?”
“Hopefully, the week after next.”
“I’m lighting a candle so Lady Luck stays with you.”
“Thanks, girl.” She ends the call, and I feel my confidence return. It’s time to tuck away my nerves and make sure my card shark persona is firmly in place.
When I play poker, I’ve got the confidence of a rock star in her prime. In real life…I’m a geeky math kid who prefers books to clubs.
Shaking out my hair, I step into the room where the high-stakes games are played and tell myself I’m ready for anything. The air is thick with the usual anticipation, and the clink of chips and low murmurs of conversation all blend into a familiar symphony.
“Abby Mercer, always a pleasure,” a dealer greets me, eyeing my figure appreciatively. I offer him a polite smile before settling into my seat at the table. Around me, men in tailored suits size each other up, their hungry gazes betraying the stakes of this game.
“Shall we begin?” I ask, my voice cool and confident. The first hands pass quickly, the pile of chips before me growing steadily.
My earlier anxiety has disappeared, and I remind myself that big wins come with a price tag. I accept a glass of sparkling water from a waiter and notice the casino manager standing by the bar, his gaze fixed on me.
Enzo Bianchi.
The man has been a constant presence in my life for several months. Tall, tattooed, and undeniably handsome – he’s not someone who goes unnoticed. Nor does his connection to the family that rules the East Coast.
A shiver runs down my spine as our eyes meet. Holding his gaze, we play an unblinking game of chicken.I can do this all day, sir. Make no mistake.
Folding thirty seconds later, he cuts the tension with a slow, sexy blink.
I’m sweating like a sinner in church and silently pray my disquiet doesn’t show as I return my attention to the table and watch the next hand being dealt.
I take in a discreet lungful of air and wonder if he’s ever made a woman spontaneously combust. Given his level-one-million magnetism, it doesn’t seem out of the question.
Wiping away the picture of flaming satin panties and fainting women, I focus on the task at hand. Money doesn’t appear out of thin air, and the only way to ensure my family has what it needs is to keep my eye on the prize.
Fifteen minutes later, my gaze flickers toward the bar, where Enzo stands with a drink in hand. For a brief moment, our eyes lock, and I feel an electric thrum of connection pass between us.
Oh, what I would give to unravel the enigma that is Mr. Bianchi.
The man beside me shifts. I look up, seeing the dealer waiting for me.Shit. I never lose focus. “Fold.” My hand is lousy, and there’s no need to pretend otherwise.
Feeling his energy from across the room, I glance over my shoulder and see Enzo move toward me, his steps deliberate. The room slows down around him, the casino noise fading into the background as he moves closer.
“Mind if I join you, Miss Mercer?” His words are smooth, his voice low and rich like dark chocolate. My heart skips a beat, but I maintain my composure, my fingers steady as they grip the glass in my hand.
Doing what I can to appear like my brain is still functioning, I hold my breath and hope the cloud of testosterone surrounding him doesn’t cause me to do something foolish.
“By all means, Mr. Bianchi,” I reply, the corners of my mouth lifting. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.” His gaze rakes over me slowly, and I silently pray my Spanx don’t go up in flames.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. It feels like he’s searching my soul for secrets as his mouth lifts into a knowing smile.
What kind of trap is this man trying to lay?
Tearing my eyes away from his beautiful face, I pick up my cards, staring at them blindly.
“Your bet,” Enzo prompts, a hint of amusement in his voice as he watches me study my hand.
“Twenty-five,” I announce, pushing the chips into the center of the table. The other players follow suit, but Enzo raises the stakes.
“Fifty,” he counters, his eyes never leaving mine. I can tell he’s testing me, trying to gauge my reaction.
