Page 50 of Milo

Chapter 15

Luck Be a Lady

My grandfather was a die-hard fan of James Bond. I've seen every single movie in that franchise dozens of times. I know Golden Eye scene for scene. I know Never Say Never Again like the back of my hand. I should have been prepared for what I was about to witness. Yet, stepping into Le Casino Monte Carlo, a white fur stole wrapped around my shoulders, I nearly collapse from the striking glamour and prestige of such an iconic establishment.

Gripping my ruby red clutch, I follow Milo through the grandiose rooms, my footsteps silent against the warm-toned carpet. Luxurious chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceilings, intricate designs carved into the cream archways, impressionist paintings thoughtfully tucked in the corners of the golden-hued salle.

I really wish Julia and Paolo could've come with us tonight, but residents of Monaco are forbidden from stepping foot into the gaming rooms of the casino: A royal decree issued by Princess Caroline on the basis of morality.

Apparently, the monarchy has no qualms with foreigners gambling away their life savings just not their own citizens.

"Do you have any experience playing poker, Kiara?" Milo asks, maneuvering through the roulette and craps tables to the private gaming rooms.

Marchello hovers by Milo's side, his gaze guarded, watchful. The other men in black surround us in a protective semi-circle. Despite their best efforts to blend in by wearing designer tuxedos, they're not very inconspicuous.

"Does watching poker tournaments on TV count?" I ask as a sharply dressed young man greets us in front of a wooden door that leads to our ominous destination.

"For most people that would be insufficient experience.” Milo hands the attendant several hundred Euros. "Yet for you, Kiara, that seems plentiful."

The young man pockets the generous tip and smiles with gratitude, "Your guests have already arrived, Mr. Di Vaio." He ushers us inside.

A single poker table sits in the middle of the otherwise sparsely decorated room. Three out of the six chairs surrounding the game are occupied by men ranging in age but not in status.

"Why are there three empty chairs?" I ask. "I thought only you and Marchello were playing?"

Milo grins, his softened yet scheming eyes studying me as he casually says, "Me, Marchello, and you."

"Milo," Marchello protests with a frown as we approach the velveted green table, thick brown leather cushioning the perimeter. "I don't think that's a good idea. What if she loses? This is a high stakes game; she knows nothing."

Milo glares at his underboss. "If I wanted your opinion, Marchello, I would have asked." He glances at me, tilting his head. "You will play, yes?"

I purse my lips, faded memories of my father playing poker with his friends whirling through my mind as I try to remember the rules. Pairs, three of a kind, four of a kind, full house, flush, straight, royal flush. Aces are high.

Poker face.

How hard can it be?

"Are you sure?" I ask, hesitant knowing the buy-in must be in the thousands. Even though I'll be playing with Milo's money, I don't want to be careless and lose it all. I don't need another thing hanging over my head, waiting to crush me when the time is right. "Marchello is right. I've—I've never played before. I don't think I should?—"

Milo smirks. "Poker is all about emotions, Kiara. You seem to be very good at reading people." He nods at the three men who are sipping on martinis and scotch, getting impatient as we linger several feet away. "I think you can take them, no?"

"Who are they? Friends or foes?"

Milo expels a quiet chuckle, waving two fingers at the dealer. "I guess we will soon find out.” We approach the table, Milo’s posture tall, confident as he pulls out a chair. "Good evening my friends, I hope you were not waiting long."

The middle-aged bald man with a martini in his hand casts us a small smile as Milo and Marchello sit down.

"We arrived mere minutes ago," he says in a French accent. "We were thrilled to receive your invitation. Paris is swarming with tourists right now, a trip is just what we needed."

"Yes, my mother was just complaining about the same thing," Milo says, looking up at me. "Kiara, please sit down."

Tentatively, I shrug the stole off my shoulders, the nerves from the impending game warming my body as I take a seat beside Milo. Across the table, the three Frenchmen leer at me like they've never seen a woman before. These must be his associates from France.

A part of me is disappointed, I would have rather gone to Paris to determine their loyalty. Maybe he has more friends we could visit in the city of love.

"Henri," Milo addresses his associate, the other two men on Henri's side silent as they listen intently. "This is Kiara, she will be joining our game. I hope you don't mind."

Henri's sunken green eyes widen with intrigue as he gives a once-over. "Did you bring her to distract us, Milo?" He lets out a rough chuckle. "It's a good strategy in theory but perhaps you underestimate our skills."

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