“She’s Irish?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Frankie’s mouth curls up at the corners. “Half-Irish. My Italian blood is what really matters.”
He’s oblivious to the lava burning through my veins and the unhinged maniacal images running riot in my brain. Letterman eyes me, thoughtfully swilling his beer. He’s probably wondering what the fuck is happening when I drum the table with my fingertips.
“How does the girl feel about the wedding?”
“What woman wouldn’t want a wealthy husband with a house in the Hamptons. It’s her duty as my daughter to oblige. We have an understanding.”
My eldest brother, Tomás, is the silent strategist who recognizes the importance of self-restraint before allowing his bloodthirsty demons to escape. Unless he’s triggered, then he’s uncontrollable.
I've always looked up to him, but could never emulate his finesse. I’m too volatile. More like our dead father than I care to admit. However, tonight, I tap into Tomás’ tactics, because there’s something I’m after, and I’m not prepared to leave this ship without it.
“Let’s get this game underway. And while we’re at it, let’s raise the stakes,” I say with the butt of my cigarette clinging to my lips.
Letterman shakes his head slowly and smirks. He knows I’m an unpredictable fucker, except tonight he has no idea how far I’ll go.
Fat Johnny nods in agreement. “Go big or go home, right, Souza?” A hacking cough follows a chesty wheeze.
“Oh yeah?” Sapori’s brow drifts up. “You think you’re on a winning streak?”
I nod. “Yeah. And if I win, I’ll marry your daughter.” Letterman lowers his cards while Reno moves from his position with the stealth of a wildcat to stand behind me.
“You’re already mafia, boy. What could you possibly gain from it?”
I shrug, playing it cool. “It would unite our families once and for all. Mama wants her twins married now that we’ve hit thirty. Why not marry a Sapori?”
“And if you lose?” Sapori stares at me, his straight face masked by swirling cigar smoke. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ve built a substantial portfolio of hotels and casinos across the country. In fact, I own lucrative businesses all over the world. If you want a piece of me, come on board with the next hotel that’s soon to be under construction.”
He drums the table with manicured short nails. “I never thought you'd be a man to consider wedding vows. Unfortunately, she’s already promised to Acer.”
“Who gives a fuck about Acer? He’s no one. Or are you scared to lose our friendly game of poker?”
Sapori stares at me in silence, greed flashing behind his fixed gaze. “I want more than a hotel partnership in exchange for Sapori bloodline.”
I cock a brow at him. “Half-Sapori.”
“When I win, you’ll hand over this city.”
As Sapori straightens like he’s interested in hearing more, Letterman leans in and mutters under his breath, “A word, Dré. In private.”
I meet his serious brown eyes, crush my cigarette, and push away from under the table. “Gentlemen.” A smile pairs with the nod I offer Frankie before we casually stroll out of earshot.
“What the fuck?” We turn our backs to the men, both of us staring at the twinkling coastline. “Miami, Dré?”
“That’s only if I lose.” My hands throttle the curved metal handrail. “I bumped into a ghost from my past. His secret daughter. I know her from another life.”
“Are you sure it’s the same woman?”
“Oh, I’m fucking sure, alright, and she just happens to be Sapori’s heir. What are the chances of that?” I shake my head lightly, disbelief tingling over me.
Letterman sparks up a cigarette and inhales while Reno joins us, his eyes never leaving the card table.
“You’d actually marry her?” Letterman says as the smoke from his lungs meets the evening air like fog. “Like vows and prenups and shit.”
“Think of it as a strategy.” I pinch his cigarette and take a drag before handing it back. “We know I’m not the wedding type. It would be a no-fuss, quick ceremony tonight, and then we’re out of here. I don’t trust Sapori to deliver her to me after we leave.”
