Page 33 of Broken Deal

The stakes became much higher, and that’s all I’m going to allow myself to admit.

“You’re on,” I reply, throwing two more lavender chips on the table.

He raises an eyebrow, but I see his demeanor changing slightly. He’shesitating. People always have a tell, and he’s no different. Every time he’s unsure of a hand, his shoulders tense, and if I’m right, he’s about to scrub his face with his left hand right about now.

He scrubs his face as I expected before calling my bet. Finally, the dealer lays down the river: a ten of clubs.

Three of a kind,thank fuck.

For the first time in my life, my shoulders relax for the briefest moment during a game, and I catch myself before anyone else can notice. Julian goes all in, pushing the remaining chips to the center of the table. I do the same, feeling more confident than ever. The rest of the players fold, leaving it down to just the two of us. The tension is palpable as Julian reveals his cards, which are two pairs.

With a smirk, I flip over my cards, revealing my three tens.

Julian groans in frustration, rolling his eyes. “Well played, Mancini.”

I casually rise from the table and button my suit, then pick up one of the lavender chips and give it to the dealer. I always tip a minimum of a hundred grand when I play high stakes like these.

I toss the remaining chips onto Julian’s lap, letting them scatter across the floor, and plant a hand firmly on the poker table as I lean in close to his ear. My voice drops to a low, menacing tone. “If you ever come near her, or eventhinkabout her, you will answer to me. I mean it, Molina. Donotfucking test me.”

A small smirk plays at the corner of Julian’s lips. He nods at the chips that are currently scattered all over the floor.

I straighten, picking a nonexistent lint off my shoulder. “Keep them.”

Like I said, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about the money. But her? Off-fucking-limits.

1 Princess.

2 Oh my God.

3 You know you love it when I call you Princess.

One of the reasons I’m the best junior journalist atVogue Eliteis that my research is always very thorough. Naturally, when Max assigned me Lorenzo’s project, it was no different. I did a lot—and I meana lot—of research. Most articles I found about him had one thing in common: everyone agreed Lorenzo was a gambling expert. I didn’t believe it at first.

But now, standing in the corner of Vortex’s casino, watching him play poker, everything falls into place. You can tell he’s in his element. He radiates calmness, his face completely unreadable. The way he moves so effortlessly, looking at his hand without betraying a single emotion, and the way his piercing gaze follows the cards the dealer places, is mesmerizing. One thing is for certain, when Lorenzo Mancini takes a seat at that green table, the game is his.

The game just finished, and the dealer declared Lorenzo the winner, as expected. He stands from his seat and buttons his suit, and my eyes shamelessly follow his every movement. The way he gracefully grabs his chips and hands one to the dealer then tosses the rest into another player’s lap.All I can bring myself to do is focus on Lorenzo’s hard gaze and the way his chiseled jaw clenches as he places one hand on the table and leans closer to the other player. He speaks with tensed shoulders and a look that could kill, sending chills down my spine. He emits danger, making my lower belly feel warm. Only a man like him could pull off this bad-boy vibe.

Once he’s done talking, he straightens and starts scanning the room, and discomfort twists my stomach into a knot. He’s probably looking for his date. Of course, he didn’t come alone. I don’t know why I thought otherwise. Before I can look away, his eyes find mine, sparkling for the briefest moment when they settle on me. That look makes my heart skip a beat, and my hand instinctively moves to my chest, rubbing the unfamiliar ache.

He strides over, flashing me his killer smile. “Hi,Blue.”

A faint smile plays on my lips. “Hi,Ace.”

He frowns, rearing back. “You were watching?”

Watching is an understatement. More like mesmerized by every movement of his, like a damn spell.

I laugh. “Oh, yeah. No wonder people say you’re good. You get lost in the game. It consumes you, doesn’t it?”

He fixes his light-brown eyes on me while I admire every detail of him. The light stubble on his chiseled face, the perfectly styled softness of his hair, and the sharp black suit he wears. His white dress shirt with a few buttons left undone—as per usual—giving me yet another glimpse of his golden chain resting against his tattooed chest. He leans casually against the wall, crossing his arms in a way that makes his suit cling to every hard muscle. My core tightens, the need present in the front of my mind. I’m acutely aware of how incredibly handsome he is. My mind wanders, trying to decipher how far his tattoos extend. Do they reach to hisshoulders? Maybe his abdomen? During our one-night stand, we kept most of our clothes on, so I’ve never actually seen his body. I can’t lie to myself—I’m dying of curiosity right now.

“You’ve been asking about me, Bella?1? If you’re curious, all you have to do is come to me, because I can show youeverything,” he says with a devious smile on his face, letting the innuendo hang between us.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to mimic his pose, but he’s so impossibly tall I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “Been there, done that. A 7, remember?” I say with a smug smile.

His shoulders shake with a velvety laugh that’s so infectious, it should be illegal. “You keep saying that, but I don’t believe you.”

I don’t waver at his comment. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being around him, it’s that he has no concept of a filter. And he’s not wrong—Lorenzo is hands down the best one-night stand I’ve ever had, but that’s the last thing I will ever admit. His ego doesn’t need the boost.

---