High Stakes (A Dark Romance) Page 6

  “I figured once you found out who I was, you wouldn’t want to come back.”

  He raises his arm and unlocks his car. I stare at the blinking headlights.

  This is my chance. I could quit now, if I want, but I don’t feel the slightest inclination to quit anymore.

  “Doesn’t make sense,” he says as he leans against his car, his arms crossed.

  “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “You.”

  His voice echoes in the nearly deserted parking garage. I rub my arm feverishly.

  “Girls who go to a school like that don’t get mixed into something like this, they don’t get drunk at dinners with their boss, and they definitely don’t mouth off to a guy like me.”

  Without even realizing it, I’m standing in front of him, seething, but one look at him makes me realize that I better swallow down my rage. How dare he judge me? I want to set him straight, but it’s none of his business anyway.

  “Thank you for dinner. I’m really sorry about everything. It won’t happen again,” I say while staring at his chin.

  His finger sweeps up my neck, making me gasp as he lifts my chin so that I’m looking into his eyes. “Everyone’s got something to hide. What are you hiding, Adriana?”

  Chapter 4

  “Mom!”

  My ear is flattened against the wooden door, and I can’t hear any movement inside. Any sign that anyone’s home. A siren wails in the distance, making me jump.

  Only a frantic phone call from my mother would make me abandon my obligation to deal at a card game. She may be a pain in the ass, but she’s still my mother.

  “Mom!” My fist hammers against the wood, rattling the cheap brass knocker, until finally I heard the turn of the deadbolt.

  The door is yanked open to reveal boxes piled up to the ceiling and my mother wearing ratty looking pajamas, a cigarette hanging from her lips and her hair mussed up like she just rolled out of bed. She looks at me with heavily lidded, calm eyes.

  She is perfectly fine, and although that relieves me—it makes me incredibly angry, too.

  “Mom, what’s the problem?” I ask as I step inside, immediately feeling my skin crawl from the stuffiness inside the house. Racks and racks of metal display cages sit against the wall, the price tags still attached. Jade jewelry sits in a pile on the coffee table. “What the hell is all this?”

  “I’m making my own jewelry and selling it on EBay. These displays were on sale at Target. I saved a lot of money.” She grins happily as she shows me them and moves around the house, showing me more useless shit she bought because it was “on sale.”

  I want to tear my hair out. She wasted my money on this junk? My hard earned money. I’m so broke that all I can’t even afford the meal plan at school. Not mom. She has boxes and boxes of instant food, huge bottles of water shoved into a corner (in case of a disaster), and she even has beer.

  “I know you said not to call you about money—”

  “So you decided to lie to me to drag my ass all the way over here, wasting my time.” I want to rip apart her stupid jade jewelry and throw the beads in her face.

  She has the audacity to look offended.

  “It is an emergency. Honey, I need money to pay for my electricity…my rent. Things are really tight.”

  Fury builds inside my chest. “I already gave you money. You decided to spend it on junk. Not my problem.”

  I turn around to leave. If I hurry, I might not be late for the card game. I threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but showing up like this would be better than not showing up at all.

  A bony hand seizes my arm. “Don’t fucking turn your back on me, Adriana! I need you, just like you needed me when you were little. This is how families have been for generations. In Italy, families live together, even when their children get married. You’re supposed to take care of me.”

  “No, Mom. You were supposed to take care of me.”

  “Yeah, and I think I did a pretty good job.”

  You didn’t.

  Her brown eyes gleam as she looks at me, a tear streaking down her lined face. When she turns her head, the light catches her face in a way that reminds me when she was younger. She was better. She didn’t hoard things until after Dad died. Against my will, I feel myself soften. What happened to my Mom? Why can’t she heal?

  It’s the same reason I haven’t healed.

  She spends her days alone, stuck in this dreary house that needs so many repairs that she can’t afford. There’s no one to help her. No one except me.

  “Please, baby. You’re all I have left since Dad was taken from us.”

  “What happened to your job at Target?”

  She looks down at my shoes. “I quit. My back hurts from standing all the time. I can’t do it anymore.”

  I can’t do it anymore, either. Despair chokes my lungs as I realize I’ll never be free of this. Of her.

  “You’re really lucky that I have a well paying job.” I sit down on an uncluttered space on the couch and rip out my checkbook. I had a feeling that I would need it. “I’m not giving you cash anymore, Mom. You just end up wasting it. I’ll pay your bills, but I won’t give you cash.”

  Her eyes narrow as she stands in front of me, exhaling smoke through her teeth to billow around me. I know she hates it. She hates being at my mercy. I won’t let her control me anymore.

  I scribble out checks to PG&E, to the landlord, even to fucking Comcast. They’re slammed against the table. “Don’t ever lie to me like this again.”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that?” Her hair shakes as she screams at me. “I’m your mother!”

  Standing up, I have a violent image of lunging across the table and wrapping my hands around her throat, squeezing until her eyes bulge. A second later, I’m sickened with myself.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  She screams and rages at me the whole way out, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and fight back. All the hurtful insults roll off my shoulders.

  The door slams behind me and I strain myself trying to remember happy memories with my mom. There was a time that she saved enough money to send me to summer camp when I was thirteen. I was so excited about it. She blew the money on an expensive purse she saw that was on sale. I cried about it for days.

  My phone buzzes angrily and I reach inside my purse as I walk swiftly towards the subway. I clamp it over my ear.

  “Why aren’t you here?” The cold voice hisses in my ear. It’s completely without warmth.

  “I’m sorry, Vince. My mother said she had an emergency. I’m on my way now.”

  At once, his voice softens. “Is she okay?”

  The question makes me boil. “Yeah, she’s fine,” I say with a little heat in my voice. “False alarm. I’m really sorry.”

  “Forget about it. Family first. Just get here when you can.”

  What if I can’t stand my family?

  * * *

  I’m nearly sprinting when I get out of the subway, taking stairs two at a time until my lungs burn. Luckily the Hilton is only a couple blocks away. Inwardly, I’m cursing my mother. I’m late. I’m not dressed appropriately.

  I don’t care if a hospital calls me that my mother is on her deathbed. I’ll never fall for that shit again. What a bitch.

  My hands rake through my tangled, messy hair. Not only is this unprofessional, but I don’t want him to see me looking like this. The steel in the elevator reflects my image and I desperately try to make myself look presentable.

  Everybody’s waiting for me when I burst inside. They’re sitting around, eating cold cuts and smoking, chatting. I spot Vincent right away and I clutch a stitch in my side. He’s dressed in a suit, looking impeccable as usual. He walks over to me and takes in my disheveled appearance with a smile.

  “Did you sprint all the way here? I told you to take your time.”

  “Yes,” I gasp.

  “C’mon, hon. Everyone’s waiting.” He tells the others
that they can begin the game, and I slump into the seat behind the table, exhausted.

  “So why did your mom call for an emergency?” Vince says as he stands beside me.

  My face burns in embarrassment. I can’t bear to reveal how fucked up my mother is. “She needed me to pay some bills,” I mutter.

  “She couldn’t just ask for that on the phone?”

  I can’t even look at him. My voice sinks even lower. “We don’t have the best relationship.” There’s a lot more to it than that, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  I’m glad when Vincent seems to sense that the topic makes me upset, because he backs off on any more questions.

  It’s Blackjack today. I’m starting to recognize some of the players, but there’s a new guy I don’t recognize. He has a receding hairline and glasses. His body seems oddly still, and I can’t help but notice how he watches all the other players. He doesn’t engage in conversation because he’s completely focused, watching the cards fly out of my hands, his foot tapping. A two of spades is dealt to the man on my left. His foot taps. A six to the next one. He taps again. A king flies to the next man and he yells in triumph, but there’s no tap of his foot. Another four. Tap.

  Alarm bells ring inside me and I look for Vince, but he’s across the room. I try staring at him, but he’s not looking at me. No matter, there’s a guard behind me.

  I turn around, smiling. My hands shake a little. “Could you get me a drink of water?”

  It’s the phrase Vincent told me to use if there was ever any problem. The guard nods and disappears from the table without attracting the card-counter’s attention. I watch him slide against Vincent, whispering something in his ear. He shrugs when Vincent asks him something. Both of them make a beeline towards me and my breath hitches in my throat at the look on his face.

  He smiles at the table as he walks around casually, stopping behind me. Stooping down, I feel his breath on my ear and I shudder. “What?”

  I turn my head carefully. “The one with the glasses,” I hiss. “He’s cheating.”

  “You’re sure?”

  We’re trying to be discreet, but by now the card-counter senses that something’s wrong. His Adam’s apple bounces as he rises from the table. “I’m out.”

  “Yes, I’m sure!” I whisper back.

  Vincent doesn’t utter another word. The expression on his face is dark and terrifying as he grabs the man’s scruff and forces him back into the chair. The man cowers in his chair and gives me a terrified glance.

  “Please, miss—”

  The plea rises into a yell when Vince takes him by the throat and slams his body backwards. His head smashes into the floor and his pant leg lifts up, revealing a device strapped to his ankle.

  There’s a collective gasp around the table when everyone notices the electronic device attached to his hairy leg. It’s a black rectangle with electrodes and wires leading up his leg under his pants.

  The guard bends over and seizes it, unstrapping the Velcro. “Holy shit,” he says as he turns it over in his hands. “Check this out, Vinny.”

  Vince bends over the man, his hand still wrapped around his throat. “You fucking moron. Counting cards at one of my games. You must have a death wish.”

  My blood runs cold at the venom in his voice. I’ve never seen this side of Vince—the ugly, violent side, even though I always knew it existed. Vince’s soldiers swarm around the man like hungry wolves. They grab his arms and drag him into the next room. He screams for help, but one of them sinks their fist into his stomach to shut him up. I hear them in the other room.

  “You can tell your friends what happens to people who try to cheat us. We’re not fucking around. Nicky, get the hammer.”

  The players seated around the table flinch horribly as they hear his screams, until someone stuffs something in his mouth to muffle them. Then there’s a hard, knocking sound and more muffled cries of pain. One, two, three, four, five. Every time the hammer smashes down, my heart jumps.

  I don’t know what they’re doing, but I have an idea. It must be fucking painful. An image of swollen fingers with joints the size of grapes floats in my vision.

  What have I done?

  Three of them grab him while he moans, cradling his hand. They drag him back into view and throw his ass out. The door slams shut and we all jump in our chairs and look at the table.

  I bite my lip hard. He did decide to count cards at a mafia card game. I mean, what did he think would happen? I tell these things to myself in an effort to make myself feel better, and I feel worse for attempting to alleviate my guilt. I should feel guilty, but his hand will heal and he’ll learn a valuable lesson.

  I still can’t help but flinch when Vincent reenters the room, and his sharp eyes zero in on me. The stolen pen floats in my mind and I suppress a shudder at the thought of what he might do to me if he found out.

  “Jesus,” one of the players mutters. “I’m out of here.”

  Spooked, he gathers up his chips and hesitates near the guards surrounding the man with the money. My face is hot and I feel slightly sick, like I should leave, too.

  It takes us a while to calm down while they reclaim all of the chips the cheat won. To my surprise, Vincent dumps a very sizable amount in front of me. His hands fall on my shoulders and he squeezes them in thanks, and my body heats up like nothing happened, like he didn’t just smash a guy’s hand with a hammer.

  God, what’s wrong with me? Why am I attracted to this man?

  I don’t know if it’s the incident with my mother that triggers this feeling, but I’m tired of letting opportunities slip away. I wish I were stronger. I wish I could scream at her to go fuck herself, and turn my back on her forever. I wish I could be the girl who asks the hot guy out.

  As I watch all the players leave, I see myself leaving this place and going back to my boring life at Columbia, of watching him make out with waitresses while I sit there, feeling my insides rot.

  Do something about it, Adriana. You want him? Go get him.

  This is so fucking insane. He’s dangerous. I must be the dumbest person in the world.

  Approaching him with the box in my hand takes what seems like five minutes. He’s still talking with Paulie, so I wait patiently for him to notice me. Frankly, I’m content to wait forever. Unfortunately, his gaze flicks towards me and both men gaze at me with admiring looks.

  “Adriana, you did a great job over there.”

  Great job? Is that what he calls getting a man’s hand smashed? I hardly feel anything from his compliment because I’m so nervous. “Can I talk to you in private?”

  “Sure.” He takes the box of chips from me and hands them over. “Paulie, cash these out for me.”

  Vincent brushes past me and for a moment I’m startled by his brusqueness, but I follow him into another room, a room with a queen bed. It’s dark inside. For some reason, this makes my face incredibly hot.

  The door shuts.

  We’re closed in together in this small bedroom. Vincent’s turbulent energy clouds around him, affecting me. His face is unsmiling and his body is tense as he crosses his arms in front of me.

  “I know what you saw probably upset you, but that’s the way it is. In casinos, they throw people out for doing that. If I just let him off the hook without punishment, it makes me look weak.”

  I feel like he’s cornering me. My legs hit the edge of the bed as he approaches me. I’m so overwhelmed with being alone with him, actually alone, that I don’t know what to do.

  “If I catch another player counting cards, I won’t tell you. I’m sorry, but I don’t need broken hands on my conscience.”

  The shadows on his face darken. “I guess that’s fair, but I doubt it’ll happen again anyway.”

  I take a tentative step towards him like a child. My hands clench and unclench at my sides, and I let out a nervous laugh.

  “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Blood roars in my ears as
his face smoothes over, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Well, what is it, then?”

  Why is so hard for me to ask? Just ask!

  My arms fall limp at my sides, his dark eyes studying me with no emotion. He has no idea what I want from him. How can he not when I’m practically shaking just being in the same room as him?

  “Vince, are—are you married?”

  Oh, Maddon. I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that.

  The silence in the room is deafening. Every slight movement, every sound is magnified a hundred times. I can practically hear my skin burning.

  “What?” He laughs slightly, his arms uncrossing. “You pulled me in here because you wanted to know if I was married—?”

  “Girlfriend?”

  His dark eyes shine with amusement. “No.”

  “But that girl at the restaurant…”

  His face shines with more and more humor. “She’s just a—friend,” he settles on that word finally. “Why are you asking?”

  A cocky grin spreads over his face as his eyes shine mischievously.

  Smartass. He knows damn well why.

  “Tell me.” Vince takes a strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear. His hand grasps my neck lightly and his thumb caresses the jugular vein jumping in my neck.

  The soft touch prompts me to look at him. I can’t look away from the intensity in his eyes. His hand feels amazing against my skin. I can’t describe it. It’s electric. I want to touch him, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s hard to explain, but I almost feel like I need his permission to touch him.

  “I really—I think you’re…” My voice trails off as his thumb continues its slow stroking of my neck and a wide grin spreads over his face. “I can’t think when you’re touching me like that.”

  “Yeah?” Another one of his low laughs washes over me. His other hand reaches up and glides over my shoulder. He pinches a knot and rubs hard with his thumb. “Adriana, you are a gorgeous woman. Absolutely beautiful.”

  My lips tremble when I hear the “but” in his sentence.