Page 1 of The Brat's Bargain

CHAPTER 1

THE DEBT

The sharp crack of chips hitting felt punctuated the smoky air of the underground casino. Antonio Lombardi's fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the green felt tabletop as he eyed the growing pot. Sweat beaded on his brow, his designer shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back.

He was in deep. Too deep.

But he couldn't stop now. One more hand. One big win to turn it all around.

"Your bet, Mr. Lombardi." The dealer's voice cut through the haze of cigar smoke and desperation.

Antonio's gaze flicked to the dwindling stack of chips before him, then to the smirking faces of his opponents. He should fold. Walk away while he still had a shred of dignity left. But the siren song of just one more hand sang in his veins.

"All in." The words tumbled out before he could stop them. A chorus of low whistles and murmurs rippled around the table.

The dealer's eyebrow ticked up a fraction. "That's twenty-five thousand, sir. Are you certain?"

Twenty-five grand. The last of the money he'd "borrowed" from the family accounts. His mother would skin him alive if she knew. But it didn't matter. One good hand and he'd be back on top.

"I said all in." Antonio shoved his remaining chips into the pot, chin lifted in defiance. "Unless you boys are too scared to call."

A shark-like grin spread across the face of the man across from him. Some Outfit lieutenant, if Antonio remembered correctly. "Oh, we'll call, pretty boy. Hope Mommy's got some cash squirreled away for you."

Acid churned in Antonio's gut as the final cards were dealt. He held his breath, willing the universe to throw him a lifeline. But when he turned over his hand, he knew it was over.

Two pair. Jacks and nines.

Not nearly enough to beat the full house grinning up at him from the felt.

The room spun as Antonio stumbled to his feet. This couldn't be happening. He was Antonio fucking Lombardi. He didn't lose.

"Gentlemen." The dealer's voice was crisp, professional. "Mr. Lombardi appears to be out of funds. Perhaps we should take a short recess while he arranges to settle his debts."

Ice slithered down Antonio's spine. Settle his debts. Right.

He needed air. Needed to think.

Antonio shoved his way through the crush of bodies, ignoring the knowing looks and whispers that followed in his wake. The back hallway was mercifully empty, the pounding music from the club above fading as he stumbled towards the fire exit.

Cool night air hit his flushed face as he burst out into the alley. Antonio braced his hands on his knees, sucking in desperate lungfuls of oxygen. This was bad. This was so fucking bad.

What the hell was he going to do? He couldn't go to his mother. Vivian Lombardi did not suffer fools gladly, especially not when those fools were her wayward son. And the family lieutenants were all so far up her ass they'd rat him out in a heartbeat.

Maybe Lorenzo? His best friend had bailed him out of scrapes before. But even Lorenzo's patience had limits. And a hundred grand was way beyond anything he could scrape together.

Fuck. Antonio slammed his fist into the brick wall, relishing the sharp sting of pain. How had he let things spiral so far out of control?

A scuff of shoe on concrete had him whirling around, heart in his throat. Two hulking figures loomed at the mouth of the alley, blocking any chance of escape.

"Evening, Mr. Lombardi." The bigger of the two, a mountain of muscle in an ill-fitting suit, flashed an unpleasant smile. "Heard you had some trouble at the tables tonight. Boss wants a word."

Antonio's mouth went dry. He recognized that insignia on their lapels. Rizzo. Rival family. What the hell were they doing here?

He squared his shoulders, summoning every ounce of Lombardi arrogance. "Sorry boys, I don't have time to chat. Why don't you run along back to whatever rock you crawled out from under?"

The goon's meaty hand clamped down on Antonio's shoulder, fingers digging in painfully. "Now now, that's not very polite. And here I thought you Lombardis were all about manners."

His partner chuckled, producing a switchblade that glinted wickedly in the dim light. "Maybe we oughta teach the pretty boy some respect, eh Gio?"

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