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Book: Sold: A Billionaire Bad Boy Mafia Romance by Natasha Tanner, Molly Thorne
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Authors: Natasha Tanner, Molly Thorne
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table and sat on the empty chair. Veronica was fuming. If looks could kill, Vanina would have dropped in pieces right there. The blonde sent me an incensed look and hurried into the restroom. I could catch a glimpse of a tear under the white flash of the lamps as she disappeared through the door.
Vanina sat down and played. Badly. Like really badly. She played so badly and she was so aware of it that in the end, her face was almost red.
Adorably
red.
“Assets transferred,” Harlan announced, after checking the computer screen. Van gave me a puzzled look.
“You’ve just lost four million dollars,” I told her. “Or, more accurately,
I
lost all that money. And a racing horse.”
The look on her face was priceless. She stared at me with her eyes wide open and her jaw dropped, her hand still in the air as if she was about to ask for a new card. She had turned from red to white in a snap.
“Really?”
“Really,” I replied. And added jokingly, “I think I should kick you out of here.”
“I can... I can go,” she said, sitting up clumsily and blushing once more. I stopped her with a gentle touch on her shoulder, and made her sit down again.
“You keep playing,” I said. “I have a good feeling about this.” Which was, of course, a lie.
I announced that I was looking for a rematch. Penyov nodded and they were dealt new cards. Van lost again, to the tune of five million. In the end, she was too embarrassed to look around, but she had also a weird fire in her eyes.
I’ve seen that fire before. It’s what happens to some people when they first start gambling and discover the emotional rollercoaster it entails. They may win or they may lose, but during the experience, they feel truly alive.
I had felt the fire myself, many years ago. The man who introduced me to Little Vegas also went by Ace, like the one before him. He hired me as a bouncer for his bar, without telling me what kind of people I’d be bouncing out. He must have seen something in my eyes, because one night, while we waited for the players to arrive, he took a shiny new deck of cards and made me sit at the table with him.
“Look at my eyes,” he said. “Look at my hands. Take a picture in your mind. Watch me move my fingers as I hold my cards. Watch my eyebrows, see if my eyelids flicker. Take note of the cards I put on the table. My hands, do they shake? Do I move them too fast?” We played hand after hand, quickly, without speaking. He won and won and then won again. He won with great cards. He won with shitty cards. I tried to read him but he was always ahead. I never let go of him. In the end, my face was flushed and my armpits were covered in sweat; my heart raced like a horse in its prime. I lost again. But I didn’t let go.
The following day, I got the call. I learnt about the real business behind the bar. Ace told me that I had a future with him if I played my cards well. He wasn’t talking about the poker deck.
I looked at Vanina, saw the fire in her eyes as she left the table and looked around searching for me. One of my own, maybe? I could teach her a few things... in another life. Because we were not meant to be together in this one.
* * *
She was absolutely excited when we stepped out the building, which made it all worse. Part of it was the wine, of course, but mostly, she had become a player: she had discovered the feeling all players feel, the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She had experienced that weird high, a special kind of happiness that comes with putting yourself in danger on purpose. And it had only costed me a mere twenty million dollars. Heck, I’ve lost more when playing myself.
“I will compensate you,” she laughed as we walked along the sidewalk, the fresh midnight air blowing against our faces. “You know I will.” She hugged me and stamped a playful kiss on my lips. “Oh, Ace, it was wonderful. I... Oh, that was your car.”
It was my car, indeed. But she would get in the other
Vanina sat down and played. Badly. Like really badly. She played so badly and she was so aware of it that in the end, her face was almost red.
Adorably
red.
“Assets transferred,” Harlan announced, after checking the computer screen. Van gave me a puzzled look.
“You’ve just lost four million dollars,” I told her. “Or, more accurately,
I
lost all that money. And a racing horse.”
The look on her face was priceless. She stared at me with her eyes wide open and her jaw dropped, her hand still in the air as if she was about to ask for a new card. She had turned from red to white in a snap.
“Really?”
“Really,” I replied. And added jokingly, “I think I should kick you out of here.”
“I can... I can go,” she said, sitting up clumsily and blushing once more. I stopped her with a gentle touch on her shoulder, and made her sit down again.
“You keep playing,” I said. “I have a good feeling about this.” Which was, of course, a lie.
I announced that I was looking for a rematch. Penyov nodded and they were dealt new cards. Van lost again, to the tune of five million. In the end, she was too embarrassed to look around, but she had also a weird fire in her eyes.
I’ve seen that fire before. It’s what happens to some people when they first start gambling and discover the emotional rollercoaster it entails. They may win or they may lose, but during the experience, they feel truly alive.
I had felt the fire myself, many years ago. The man who introduced me to Little Vegas also went by Ace, like the one before him. He hired me as a bouncer for his bar, without telling me what kind of people I’d be bouncing out. He must have seen something in my eyes, because one night, while we waited for the players to arrive, he took a shiny new deck of cards and made me sit at the table with him.
“Look at my eyes,” he said. “Look at my hands. Take a picture in your mind. Watch me move my fingers as I hold my cards. Watch my eyebrows, see if my eyelids flicker. Take note of the cards I put on the table. My hands, do they shake? Do I move them too fast?” We played hand after hand, quickly, without speaking. He won and won and then won again. He won with great cards. He won with shitty cards. I tried to read him but he was always ahead. I never let go of him. In the end, my face was flushed and my armpits were covered in sweat; my heart raced like a horse in its prime. I lost again. But I didn’t let go.
The following day, I got the call. I learnt about the real business behind the bar. Ace told me that I had a future with him if I played my cards well. He wasn’t talking about the poker deck.
I looked at Vanina, saw the fire in her eyes as she left the table and looked around searching for me. One of my own, maybe? I could teach her a few things... in another life. Because we were not meant to be together in this one.
* * *
She was absolutely excited when we stepped out the building, which made it all worse. Part of it was the wine, of course, but mostly, she had become a player: she had discovered the feeling all players feel, the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She had experienced that weird high, a special kind of happiness that comes with putting yourself in danger on purpose. And it had only costed me a mere twenty million dollars. Heck, I’ve lost more when playing myself.
“I will compensate you,” she laughed as we walked along the sidewalk, the fresh midnight air blowing against our faces. “You know I will.” She hugged me and stamped a playful kiss on my lips. “Oh, Ace, it was wonderful. I... Oh, that was your car.”
It was my car, indeed. But she would get in the other
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