Page 28 of The Bratty Heir

Rocco's world tilted on its axis, the blood rushing in his ears drowning out the triumphant whoops of Bianchi's men. This couldn't be happening. The odds of a royal flush were astronomical. Unless...

"You cheated," Rocco snarled, surging to his feet. "You fucking cheated!"

Bianchi's laugh was cold and cruel. "Prove it, boy. Or are you just a sore loser?"

Before Rocco could respond, Victor's hand clamped down on his shoulder, yanking him back. "Enough," Victor growled, his voice low and dangerous. "We're done here."

Bianchi's eyes glittered with malicious glee. "Oh, I don't think so, Mr. Kovac. Young Rossetti here made a deal. And in our world, a man's word is his bond."

Rocco's mind raced, searching desperately for a way out of this nightmare. But he knew, with sinking certainty, that Bianchi was right. To back out now would destroy what little credibility the Rossetti family had left.

"Give us a moment," Victor said, his tone brooking no argument. Without waiting for a response, he dragged Rocco into a secluded corner of the lounge.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Victor hissed, his grip on Rocco's arm painfully tight. "Gambling away your family's territory like some green recruit?"

Rocco jerked free, anger and shame warring in his chest. "I had to do something! You weren't exactly offering any brilliant solutions."

Victor's eyes flashed dangerously. "My job is to keep you alive, you spoiled brat. Not to indulge your half-baked schemes."

The words stung, reopening the raw wound of their earlier argument. Rocco opened his mouth to fire back a retort, but movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention.

One of Bianchi's men was slipping something to the dealer—a thick envelope that looked suspiciously like a payoff. And the dealer...

Rocco's blood ran cold as recognition dawned. It was Frankie, one of their own lieutenants. The same Frankie who'd briefed them when they first arrived at the casino.

"Son of a bitch," Rocco breathed, the pieces falling into place. "It was an inside job."

Victor followed his gaze, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Frankie," he spat, like the name was poison on his tongue. "I always knew that weasel couldn't be trusted."

Rocco's mind whirled with the implications. If Frankie had been working with Bianchi, feeding him information... No wonder the attack had been so well-coordinated. No wonder Bianchi always seemed to be one step ahead.

"We need proof," Rocco murmured, more to himself than Victor. "If we can expose the betrayal, maybe we can invalidate the deal."

Victor's hand tightened on Rocco's shoulder, a silent warning. "Don't do anything stupid," he growled. "Let me handle this."

But Rocco was already moving, slipping away from Victor's protective grasp. He approached Bianchi with all the confidence he could muster, channeling every ounce of Rossetti arrogance.

"I'd like to examine the deck," Rocco said, voice steady despite the fear churning in his gut. "To ensure everything was... above board."

Bianchi's smile was sharp as a blade. "By all means, Mr. Rossetti. We wouldn't want any doubts about the integrity of our little game."

As Rocco reached for the cards, he felt Victor's presence at his back—a solid wall of muscle and barely contained violence. It was oddly comforting, knowing the older man had his six even after their heated exchange.

With practiced ease, Rocco began to shuffle through the deck. At first glance, everything seemed normal. But as he neared the bottom, his fingers caught on something—a slight irregularity in the texture of the cards.

"Well?" Bianchi drawled, impatience coloring his tone. "Satisfied?"

Rocco's heart raced as he carefully extracted the anomaly. It was a card, identical to the others at first glance. But when he held it up to the light...

"Marked," Rocco said, triumph surging through him. "The entire deck is marked. You can see the subtle impressions if you know what to look for."

The room erupted into chaos. Bianchi's men reached for their weapons as Victor surged forward, putting himself bodily between Rocco and the threat.

"Now, now," Bianchi's voice cut through the din, cold and controlled. "Let's not do anything hasty. After all, there's no proof I had anything to do with this... unfortunate discovery."

Rocco's eyes narrowed, fury burning hot in his veins. "No? Then perhaps you'd like to explain why one of my own men was seen accepting a payoff from your goon?"

All eyes turned to Frankie, who had gone deathly pale. The lieutenant took a stumbling step back, panic clear on his face.

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