Page 27 of The Bratty Heir

"Oh, I do hope it comes to that," he purred. "I so enjoy breaking in new toys."

The implication sent a shiver of revulsion down Rocco's spine. But before he could respond, Victor surged forward, his massive frame coiled with barely leashed violence.

"Touch him and I'll rip you apart with my bare hands," Victor snarled, voice thick with protective fury.

Bianchi tsked, signaling his men to raise their weapons. "Now, now, Mr. Kovac. Let's not do anything rash. We wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents, would we?"

Rocco's mind raced, searching for a way out of this nightmare. He could see the wheels turning in Victor's head, no doubt calculating the odds of taking out Bianchi and his men before they could harm the hostages.

But the risk was too great. They needed a different approach.

"Wait," Rocco said, stepping out from behind Victor's protective bulk. "I have a counter-offer."

Victor's head whipped around, eyes wide with alarm. "Rocco, don't?—"

But Rocco pressed on, meeting Bianchi's curious gaze. "A game. Winner takes all."

Bianchi's eyebrows rose, intrigue sparking in his eyes. "Go on."

"One hand of poker," Rocco said, his heart thundering in his chest. "If I win, you and your men leave. No repercussions, no retaliation. If you win..." He swallowed hard, steeling himself. "If you win, I'll sign over the east side. All of it."

A hush fell over the room, broken only by Victor's sharp intake of breath. Bianchi leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"My, my," he drawled. "The boy has balls after all. Very well, Rossetti. I accept your terms."

Victor's hand clamped down on Rocco's shoulder, spinning him around. "Have you lost your fucking mind?" he hissed, eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and fear. "This isn't a game, Rocco. This is your family's livelihood, your future?—"

"I know what I'm doing," Rocco snapped, shrugging off Victor's grip. "Trust me for once in your goddamn life."

Hurt flashed across Victor's face, quickly masked by cold anger. "Fine," he bit out. "But when this all goes to shit, don't come crying to me."

The words stung, but Rocco pushed the pain aside. He had to focus, had to channel every ounce of skill and luck he possessed.

As they moved to the poker table, Bianchi's men clearing a space, Rocco caught Victor's eye one last time. The older man's face was a mask of carefully controlled rage, but beneath it, Rocco could see the fear. The desperation.

For a moment, Rocco wanted nothing more than to call the whole thing off. To throw himself into Victor's arms and beg forgiveness for his recklessness.

But it was too late for that now. He'd made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.

The cards were dealt, the stakes set. As Rocco lifted his hand, he sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening.

Everything rode on this one hand. His family's future, his own life... and whatever fragile connection he'd built with Victor.

Rocco took a deep breath, schooling his features into a mask of confidence he didn't quite feel. This was it. The moment of truth.

As he laid down his cards, the weight of a thousand unspoken words hung heavy between him and Victor. Whatever happened next, Rocco knew one thing for certain:

Nothing would ever be the same again.

CHAPTER 11

BETRAYALS UNCOVERED

The tension in the VIP lounge was thick enough to cut with a knife as Rocco revealed his hand. Four of a kind—queens. A strong hand, but not unbeatable. Rocco's heart pounded in his chest as he met Bianchi's cold stare across the table.

For a long moment, silence reigned. Then, with agonizing slowness, Bianchi laid down his cards.

A royal flush.

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