Page 2 of Mafia Prize

Dante goes next and raises, earning a glare from Lola. Andrei raises as well, looking as inscrutable as ever as he throws eight chips into the pot.

“I thought it was only car auctions you followed, Ciro,” Gabriel says, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Dante, congratulations on the Ferrari.” He studies his cards before shaking his head. “I’m out.”

Max folds as well, as does Lola. I move sixteen chips forward. Each chip is ten thousand euros. It’s an insignificant amount of money to everyone at the table.Everyone except me.The others are gambling for entertainment, but I’m playing for something much more worthwhile. My freedom. Aldo Caruso grows more erratic with each passing day. Twenty million euros, and I can disappear and take my sister with me.

Ciro whistles under his breath. “She’s bluffing,” Antonio says, tilting his head to the side and surveying me with narrowed eyes. “She doesn’t have a damn thing.”

“What do you care?” I counter. “Haven’t you folded? I didn’t know you were so protective of Ciro’s money, Antonio.”

Ciro stares at his cards thoughtfully, and then at me. “I didn’t expect to see you here today, Mira.”

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day?”

He gives me a pleasant smile. “Among other things.”

“Cut it out,” Andrei bites out, his face darkening with displeasure. “Stop stalling. In or out?”

“Out.” The man drops his cards. “I can never tell whether Mira is bluffing or not.”

Dante folds as well. It’s just Andrei and me in the game. I take a sip of my Old Fashioned as I wait for him to bet. He levels a look at me, and then his lips quirk. “I can’t tell if she’s buffing either,” he says. “But I’m going to roll the dice.” He pushes his entire stack of chips forward. There’s a million euros in there—no, two. Maybe even three. “Your move.”

Damn him. I can’t take the risk—I have no idea what kind of hand he’s holding. Andrei could lose two or three million euros on a whim—I cannot. Keeping the frustration off my face, I put my cards face down on the table. “I fold.”

The game breaksup three hours later. I haven’t done too badly—I’m a million euros richer than I was when I came in, a million euros closer to my goal. But at the rate I’m going, it’s going to take me five years to amass enough money for my escape, and I don’t have five years. My father is contemplating marrying me off to Dominic Norcia, a man with a terrible reputation for violence. Dominic has put every one of his girlfriends in the hospital. Aldo Caruso would prefer that my husband not beat me, but the Norcias are wealthy, and we need the money. If my marriage restores the family fortune, then it won’t matter how much of a monster Dominic is.

I’m running out of time.

I get to my feet, tip Helen, and prepare to say my goodbyes. The group has broken up into smaller clumps. Dante, Lola, and Max are talking in rapid-fire Spanish, laughing about something. Andrei is having a low-voiced conversation with Ciro. Gabriel is reading something on his phone.

Antonio Moretti comes up to me. “A warning,” he says quietly. “Your father is playing a dangerous game. Stop him before it’s too late.”

A frisson of alarm goes down my spine. Antonio is not prone to dramatic pronouncements. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve already said too much.” He kisses my cheek, and I feel Andrei’s eyes on us from across the room. “You think you are powerless, Mira, but you are not. Nobody in this room is. Don’t let the world take it away from you.”

“Enough.” Andrei Sidorov is suddenly at my side, his hand on the small of my back, his face a mask of rage. “If you’re going to tell her, Moretti, then do it. Otherwise, shut up.”

Antonio looks at Andrei, then at me, then at Andrei again. “Of course,” he says, a small smile touching his lips. “I should have known.” He inclines his head at me. “See you later, Mira.”

“What was he talking about?”

“Not here. Let’s go find a spot where we can be alone.”

3

He tugs me out the door and down a dark corridor. I follow mutely, my palms damp with sweat. Antonio’s warning rings in my ear.Your father is playing a dangerous game. Stop him before it’s too late.“You know your way around Casanova.”

“Are you asking me if I come here often?” He rolls his eyes. “The manager of the club, Liam, is an old friend.” He pulls me into a small, sparsely furnished room. The walls are painted a lush purple, and gilded sconces emit golden light. It would be a nice space if you could ignore the whips and chains that hang from hooks on the walls and the fact that the only place to sit is on a bench that is clearly designed for bondage.

A shiver of pure lust runs through me.

I’ve fantasized about Andrei from afar for a long time now. When I was twenty-two, I thought we’d be married. I would lie in bed, scrolling through pictures of him on social media, and wonder what he was like in person, this Russian bratva prince with a hard face and harder eyes. Then, the negotiations between our families fell apart, and with it, my fantasies.

Three years ago, when Antonio Moretti invited me to his poker game, I wasn’t expecting to see Andrei Sidorov among the guests. I wasn’t sure what to say or how to react. The Caruso family was at war with the Sidorov, but the poker game was neutral ground, a hallowed space carved away from time and reality. I settled for a chilly politeness, and Andrei reciprocated with impeccable courtesy.

And now we’re in a very small room together, and I’m very,veryaware that this is the first time I’ve been alone with Andrei.

I wrap my arms around my chest. “What was Antonio talking about?” I ask. “Ciro, too. They both know something that concerns me. Something my father did or is doing. What is it?”

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