Page 51 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

"Hey, those peanut M&Ms were serious currency." Her eyes go distant with memory. "Tara always ended up eating her betting chips. And her sister Jenny would cry when she lost all her green ones because they were her favorite."

The image of a young Bella, playing innocent games with candy, creates an odd ache in my chest. My childhood memories all involve learning to fight, to shoot, to survive. Even card games were lessons in reading tells and manipulating opponents.

"Well," I say, picking up my cards, "I suppose it's never too late to learn."

Bella slides off the couch to the floor next to me. "One time, we snuck up here with friends after graduation. We played poker and every time someone lost, they had to drink."

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster. Let me guess, someone ended up puking in the bushes?"

"Tara. She's such a lightweight." Bella laughs, the candlelight catching the mischievous glint in her eyes. "We were supposed to be at a sleepover at my friend Maria's house. My father would have killed me if he knew I was here."

"Rebellious streak, huh? I wouldn't have guessed." I wink, because I can see it as clear as day.

"Please. I was the perfect Mafia princess." She arranges her cards, not meeting my eyes. "That was my one act of rebellion. Well, until now, I suppose."

The reminder of our situation hangs between us for a moment. I clear my throat. "You know, there's vodka in the freezer. If you want to make this interesting." Then I question it. She’s only nineteen. But if she’s old enough for sex and marriage, she’s old enough to drink, right?

Her eyes widen. "How do you know that?"

"I did a thorough search when we got here. Always know your resources." I push myself up. "Want me to grab it?"

"I thought you were all about staying alert and being ready for anything?"

"One drink won't hurt. Besides." I gesture to the window where we can see that snow continues to fall heavily. "We're not going anywhere tonight, and no one is getting here."

She gives me a flirty smile. "Okay."

I head to the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to move. Being this close to her, watching her reminisce about innocent times, stirs up feelings I'm not ready to examine. I also need to rethink the booze, the condoms… all of it. I’m practically old enough to be her father. We’re in a unique situation that automaticallyrequires us to rely on each other. This attraction… this pull or whatever it is, it isn’t real, right? It’s just a consequence of our situation.

Oh, who am I kidding as I grab the vodka from the freezer and get two juice glasses and bring them back to the living room?

She’s sitting on the floor, her gaze lost in the flames of the fire. She looks relaxed.

She turns to me and picks up the cards to shuffle again. “Ready to play some poker?”

“Deal the cards.”

We play several hands, and while she’s not bad, she’s had to take more drinks of the vodka than I have.

“I win,” she says gleefully, laying down an inside straight.

“Nice. But we should probably stop. I should keep a clear head.”

She arches a brow. “You said we’re safe.”

“From gangsters, yes. But the weather could turn. Or you might get drunk, and who’d take care of you?”

She rolls her eyes. "Fine, then you have to pay another way.”

“Okay.”

“Take something off. Strip poker."

I don’t know what I was thinking she’d say, but that’s not it. “We have no heat and we’re in a blizzard.”

She smirks. “Who’d have thought big, bad underboss Nardone would be so shy?”

I toe off my shoe.

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