Page 11 of The Gambler

He sat back on the couch with his hands behind his neck, looking her up and down, and feeling nothing but disgust. “Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”

“You don’t mean that.” Her nostrils flared, the first indication she was about to have a tantrum. “We just made love, and—”

“Love?” He chuckled, without any humor. It was the first time he hadn’t gotten aroused at the mere sight of her. Picking up on that, she’d given him the blowjob of all blowjobs. “You just sucked me off. Don’t make it more than it was.”

A string of Russian curses followed while she put on her shoes. When she finished, her voice was sweet again. “I know you love me, Luca. You said you’d never love another woman. You can be angry right now, but your heart belongs to me.”

He didn't know what came over him, but one second he was sitting on the couch and the next, his hand gripped her throat.

“I don’t fucking have a heart anymore, Tasha. It got ripped out the second I found out my woman ditched me. You remember that moment? The same day I got picked up by the feds. The day I went inside to never get outside again, for two fucking years.”

Two hellish years in which he’d lost a piece of civilization on a daily basis and become more and more like an animal.

He forced his fingers to stay spread to prevent them from balling into a fist. Natasha would get what she had coming. They all would. Every single person responsible for his incarceration, however big or small their part, would get what they deserved.

There was only so much time his brothers would give him before they would try to bring him back into the fold. They would mean well. Shower him with money, women, and whatever he wanted. He’d asked Gio for time. A time and a place, which ended him in a big condo in Pacific Heights. He didn’t like any people around him, but he did need a place of business. A place he could be alone and plot.

Plot and plan.

Plan and plot.

“Luciano…”

She always called him that when she wanted something from him. Back in the day, he had found it cute, special. An endearment even. Now he recognized it for what it was—manipulation. Any second now, she would pull out the waterworks.

“I said, get out.”

“You don’t mean that…”

“We’ve been over this.” Just as he’d been over her. Odd. For two years, he had pictured this moment. Played it out in his head in a thousand different scenarios. All it did was… disappoint. It did nothing to ease the burning rage inside him.

Then the doorbell rang. Just on time.

Plot and plan.

Plan and plot.

He went to open the door. There she was, standing on his doorstep: Tessa Gibson. His own Lisbeth Salander. Hacker extraordinaire.

He stared at a tiny frame packed in black ripped jeans and a pink Hard Rock Café t-shirt, standing in high-top boots.

“Tessa,” he greeted her. When he heard the click-clack of six-inch heels behind him, he gave Tess a hug. She grumbled and stiffened in his arms.

No need to worry, sweetheart. You are not my type.

“Her? You want her?” As expected, Natasha’s screech didn’t take long. “You prefer this girl with… ridiculous purple hair?" Her Russian accent became more pronounced as she got upset. “But no,” she purred. “She can’t be it.”

Yep, that was the Natasha he knew. Overconfident to the bone. As usual, the world revolved around her. She was like overpriced champagne. He’d done everything in his power to win her, only to find out in the end she was no prize.

“Go home, Natasha. Don’t come back.”

She shot him a death glare, but finally she left. Holding her head high and her makeup still perfect.

His attention turned back to the woman in his arms. One without a speck of makeup on her face. All she carried was… an annoyed look.

“Are you done with your demonstration?” she asked.

Right. He shouldn’t forget that she was a smart one. He didn’t need to explain what had just happened.

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