Page 20 of Unlawful Lies

I’m one of them.

I blow a puff of stale breath into Pete’s face, grinning when the server returns with my brandy.

“Deal,” I bark at the croupier.

The unblinking man is probably in his forties, stone-faced, utterly ambivalent to whatever goes on around him. His emotions have either been carved out of him physically or disappeared bit by bit over too many years at the table. He’s one of the best goddamn card players when he’s on this side.

Thank god he’s not tonight. I’d never be able to beat him.

The first sip of brandy stings, room temperature brings out the notes in the liquor.

My new hand is less than stellar and I flick the queen to the top of the pile, ordering the rest of them behind her. Queen of Hearts. Nicola immediately flashes in my mind. The way she’d looked in the garden the other day. Flushed, chest heaving, her lips bruised from our kisses, and her pussy throbbing around my finger.

Forbidden fruit is the poison of the gods. She’s the tastiest. I’ll happily die with my head buried between her legs, lapping at her sweet pussy.

My cock gives a jump of awareness, and I glance up only when the croupier asks who wants to open the betting round.

I slide three cards forward. The queen stays with me. She’s always going to stay with me if I have my fucking way. I don’t give a shit what it takes—Nicola is going to be mine. I made up my mind in the office the other night.

Forbidden fruit, indeed. She’s the last woman I should want, and if I push Father too far, he’ll ignore every want and wish and arrange a marriage for me the same way my grandfather arranged one for him.

Nicola Salvatore will not be in the running.

Father hates Arden too much to be connected legally to the family.

Too damn bad. If it’s for a night or a life, I’m going to fuck that woman. I’m going to take what no one else has taken before and imprint my cock on her insides. No one else will do when I’m done with her. I’ll get the secrets out of her head and her body.

A chair crashes to the floor near the door.

A regular enough occurrence, and I don’t bat an eye. Not even when the shouting begins.

Hognose Pete gives another snort and shuffles his new cards into order. “Looks like someone is at it again. I glance up sharply at his tone. “Come again?”

He gestures toward the door. “Goddamn bum,” he mutters. “Why he’s got to come here just to piss away his money, I’ll never know.”

“Dude practically lives here,” Lil Joey agrees. “I can smell him already.”

Just like that, I know who they’re talking about.

My eyes narrow, the staggering figure clearer when he stumbles into the dim light of the den. Arden lists to the side and knocks into one of the guards standing watch over the door. The man shoves meat-sized fists into Arden’s chest to spin him in the opposite direction.

Drunk, I automatically assume, rejecting the gut reaction to help him. Aligning myself with him tonight, in full view of the others, will give them the wrong impression and make more enemies for the Balestras. That kind of weakness will set the vultures on you faster than a fresh kill in the middle of a road.

Father beat the lesson into me more times than I can remember.

“Pay him no attention.” I adjust my cards to incorporate the new ones the croupier slid across to me. Not bad, but not nearly as good as my last hand.

Still, I glance at Arden from the corner of my eye, puffing away on my cig like a chimney in the middle of winter.

Something’s wrong with him.

It doesn’t take a genius to note the way he skids forward, dropping over an empty chair to grab his bearings. Worse than drunk because Joey and Hognose are right.

He’s at the club more than he’s at home.

We’ve seen Arden Salvatore drunk more than we’ve ever seen him sober, but tonight is different. His face has a slightly green cast to it, his neck mottled, and the black shirt clinging to his frame with sweat.

Even from this distance, his trembling hands shake hard enough to cause an earthquake.

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