Page 12 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

I squeeze my eyes shut and push the memory away before gaining the courage to open them and assess the rest of his crew.

Standing next to Burlone is a clean-cut guy with a massive ‘X’ tattooed on his forearm and another man with a diamond tattoo printed below his right eye on his cheekbone. I purse my lips for a split second, committing them both to memory before turning my gaze back to the blank screen on my phone. My thumbs slide across the glass as I listen closely.

“I’m just saying we need to be careful. I think the Romanos know something’s up,” argues Mr. X as his gaze scans the casino in suspicion. “And I would suggest we take this conversation upstairs, Boss.”

Shit. Looks like we found someone with a brain.

“Stop being a pussy, Dex. They can think whatever the hell they want,” diamond guy states before pressing the elevator button. “The fact is, they don’t know shit. Let’s keep it that way.”

Burlone sets his big burly hands on their shoulders before shoving them into the lift. “Gentlemen, stop being so dramatic. I’ve designed this plan to be foolproof. And my plans never fail—”

The doors slide closed, cutting off his confident remark and leaving me with more questions than answers. The only useful bit of information was the mention of the tournament. The one I plan on winning so I can get out of this hellhole while simultaneously hitting Burlone where it hurts.

His pride––and his wallet.

Chapter Seven

Ace

With sweaty palms, I grip the handle of Dottie’s door and enter one of the few places I feel comfortable.

“Hey!” I greet Gigi as I slide into my seat.

“Hey, you. What’s going on?” She scans me up and down before her eyes land on my face. “You look spooked.”

My brows furrow. “Really? Is it that obvious? Apparently, my poker face is shit.”

On a laugh, a laid-back Gigi argues, “Naw. I just know you too well. What happened?”

My teeth dig into my lower lip for a few seconds before ignoring Rule #6 and telling her the truth. “I saw him.”

“Him?”

“Burlone. The guy who used to beat my mom and me. The one who introduced her to drugs in the first place. Hell, when I look back, I’m pretty sure he was my mom’s pimp or something.” Gigi’s jaw drops as I reveal something so personal. It’s not like me, but right now I need someone else’s perspective or else I’m going to go crazy.

Swallowing my doubt, I continue, “He owns a casino and is one of the big players at the tournament I’m wanting to enter. Actually,…he’s the only big player. Burlone has never lost a tournament before. Sure, he’s lost a few hands here and there, but he always comes out on top. Always.”

“Then how the hell are you going to beat him?”

My lips tilt up on one side. “Because I learned from the best.”

A very confused Gigi leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “But I thought you just said….”

“Yup. And I know every single one of his tells.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

Reaching for Gigi’s cup of coffee, I take a quick swig in hopes of it washing away the bitter memories of Burlone and my childhood. Unfortunately, it only adds to them. “After he’d finish with my mom, she’d stay cooped up in her room, and he’d light a cigar. He’d sit at our old kitchen table and shuffle a deck of cards. Over and over again, I’d watch through the crack of my bedroom door, waiting for him to leave while praying he wouldn’t see me. But he’d stay for hours, shuffling those damn cards, and I’d watch because I was too terrified to do anything else.”

Gigi’s face is blank, but I can tell she’s absorbing every word. “Why would he stay?”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s because he liked proving he owned my mom. It was just another way to show her she was helpless. That she couldn’t control what he did. Even in her own home.”

With a nod, G silently urges me to continue, so I do. “And then, one day, he invited another guy over. Pretty sure this was the first time my mom was pimped out but….” I shrug like it isn’t a big deal when in reality, it’s one of my most scarring memories as a kid. “After he finished with my mom, they played a hand of poker. Then two, then three. They stayed the night, and I watched from my crack in the door. I couldn’t see the cards, only his face. Every muscle twitch. Every pursed lip. Every brush of the cards. Everything.”

“But if you couldn’t see the cards….”

I laugh dryly before offering, “I didn’t need to see the cards. Not in the beginning. I needed to learn how to read people. And I did. But you’re right. At one point, I needed to learn the basic rules other than figuring out people’s tells. Which is when I met Joe.”

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