Page 20 of Ruined

Vinn was theboss.He could wear a trash bag and no one would say a word. He was low-key, hard to read, but sharper than anyone gave him credit for. He didn’t give a damn about looking respectable. My father would’ve hated him.

Respectable.My father’s favorite word. Everything in our house had to be clean-cut and presentable—the family, the business, the expectations he shoved down my throat until I choked on them.

Too bad I’d never fit into his perfect picture.

I kept my face blank as we approached Vinn, but I could still hear my father screaming, the worddisgustinghitting harder than any fist.

“He’s not here for fun, is he?” Luca muttered.

“Nope. And that means we’re not either.”

The low light of the poker table spilled out like a spotlight. Vinn sat dead center, his hoodie sleeves pushed up as if he was one of the guys.

But he wasn’t.

Vinn lifted his head. “About time.”

He shuffled a deck, the cards a blur in his hands. To his left, Michael leaned back, chewing on a toothpick while staring at his cards. Tony sat to the right, scowling like he’d lost three hands in a row. Across from them, Alessio—an outsider like me—dealt chips.

Luca stood beside me, arms crossed.

“Luca,” Vinn said, dealing a fresh hand. “You ever play?”

“Sometimes.”

“Good. Sit down.”

Luca blinked. “I?—”

“Sit,” Vinn repeated. “We’re short a player. Alessio can’t bluff for shit, and Tony’s about to start flipping tables.”

“Fuck off,” Tony grumbled, shoving his chips toward the center.

Luca sank into the empty chair. Vinn dealt him two cards. Luca picked them up, holding them close as he leaned back.

Vinn’s gaze lingered on him. “You good?”

“Hit me.”

Vinn dealt the flop. “It’s poker, kid. Not blackjack.”

Tony snorted as he fingered his chips. Michael smirked around his toothpick, his eyes narrowing. Across the table, Alessio glanced at his cards.

Luca checked his cards, thumb brushing over the edge before he dropped them back onto the table. He didn’t look up.

Vinn eyed him. “You know how to play, right?”

Luca shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

Michael grinned. “That’s what they all say before they lose their shirts.”

Luca glanced up. “I’ve got enough clothes.”

I smirked, leaning against his chair. “Not after you blew half your paycheck on that suit.”

“He’s just jealous that someone else has some style,” Luca said.

Vinn’s eyes flicked between us, his mouth twitching like he held back a grin. He tossed another card onto the table. “Did the Russians play poker, Luca?”

---