Page 38 of Married with Mayhem

The last showdown round is between me, Big Pete and Bruce. I’ve already concluded that Big Pete never folds, whether he has a good hand or not.

He doesn’t have a good hand this time. All he has are a pair of Jacks.

Bruce has three-of-a-kind.

But I have a flush. I win.

This results in some surprise, and some amusement. Big Pete jokes that maybe he’smylucky charm instead. After collecting the pot of chips, my eyes connect with Monte’s.

His sexy smirk threatens to wreak havoc on my attention span. I do believe he becomes more outrageously good looking every day.

I’ll allow myself to brood over this fun fact later, when I’m finished sitting at a poker table populated by gangsters. Tonight I can crawl into Monte’s bed with his shirt and my vibrator to let all kinds of X-rated scenarios play out.

Big Pete calls for a round of rum and coke shots. Sal has already anticipated the request and is ready with a tray of glasses. These games have been a Gino’s tradition for decades, going back to when Gino himself was in charge. When I asked Monte if his father participates in the games, Monte thought the question was funny. He said Sal Castelli would never gamble. Not in life and not with cards.

Frank is shuffling the cards to prep for the next hand when the door at the top of the stairs swings open.

“I’m crashing the party,” booms a deep male voice, followed by the thud of heavy footsteps.

A few shouted greetings ring out but I hear a hiss of annoyance from Big Pete. Monte sits up straighter, his brow furrowed. His gaze darts to me and doesn’t waver. I get the feeling he’s trying to get a message across but mind reading isn’t one of my talents.

The new arrival wears a pricy suit and a lot of gold. His black hair is slicked back, practically pasted to his head, and he’s at least twenty years younger than the old timers at the table. His cold eyes take inventory of the room and land on me with a spark of interest.

“Where the hell ya been, Lenny?” says Eddie D before gulping another breath of oxygen from his tank.

“Chicago.” Lenny cracks his knuckles. “With no planes flying I had to take the long way home in a rental car.”

Carlo shoots a glance at Big Pete before prowling over to confront the newcomer. “Hand it over.”

Lenny chuckles, reaches under his blazer and withdraws a pistol. “Take it.”

Carlo snatches the gun but keeps his hard glare intact. “And the blade.”

Lenny snorts, yanks up his right pant leg and pulls out a knife that was strapped to his ankle. “Careful you don’t cut your own fucking balls off.”

The next problem to deal with is there’s truly no room at the table. Since I’m the one who’s not a regular player, I expect to be ordered to step aside.

This might not be the worst outcome. Monte’s tension has clearly kicked into overdrive since this Lenny person walked in and Monte is far from the nervous type.

But it’s Little Pete who rises from his chair and meekly says, “Take my seat, Lenny. I’m already down half my chips and was going to take a break anyway.”

Big Pete exhales heavily and exchanges a cryptic glance with Eddie D, who shrugs. The second Little Pete scampers out of his chair, Lenny drops into it. His cologne is heavy and unpleasant. He instantly swivels to appraise me more closely.

“What a nice change of scenery,” he says, and leans in, officially too far into my personal space. “And who do you belong to, sweetheart?”

I fight the urge to retreat and hold my head up as I answer with one word. “Nobody.”

At the same time, Monte loudly declares, “She’s with me.”

Lenny cracks up. “Sounds like someone’s drawing up ownership papers a little prematurely.”

Monte’s jaw flexes with anger. Sal claps a hand on his son’s shoulder and murmurs to him quietly. Monte continues to stare at us and doesn’t respond to his father at all.

Big Pete leans on his thick arms and moves his head to see past me in order to address the man on my other side. “Lenny, this is Sabrina. She’s visiting.”

Lenny’s shoulders flex with a breezy shrug. “First time for everything. I guess that includes inviting some pussy to the player’s club.” He breaks into obnoxious cackling but pipes down quickly and extends a hairy hand in my direction. “Lenny Lombardo. You’ve heard of Lombardo Construction?”

“Nope,” I reply and extract my hand from his grip as swiftly as possible. He squeezed too hard and my skin feels bruised.

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