"Wait until you meet the players," Luca says, his hand moving to the small of my back as he guides me down the stairs.
The crowd parts slightly as we move through the space, and I sense eyes tracking our progress. Not hostile, exactly, but calculating. These are people who make their living reading others, and they're all trying to figure out what Luca Romano's new wife brings to the equation.
We approach a private area at the back where five men are seated around a poker table, chips and money scattered across green felt.
"Luca," says one of them, rising slightly in his chair. He's younger than the others, maybe mid-thirties, with the style of sleek good looks that probably make ordinary women do stupid things. There's a tiger tattoo peeking out from his shirt cuff, and his accent marks him as Milanese old money. "Andthe beautiful bride. You're even lovelier than the wedding photos suggested."
"Dante," Luca acknowledges. "My wife, Sofia."
"Enchanted." Dante takes my hand and kisses it, his lips lingering long enough to be suggestive without being outright disrespectful. "I was sorry to miss the wedding. Business in Hong Kong."
"Of course," I say politely, trying to channel Sofia's careful manners while wondering what kind of business Dante conducts in Hong Kong.
The other men are introduced with names I recognize from overheard conversations and Rosa's gossip about family allies. They're all charming and watching me with the kind of interest that makes me want to check that my dress hasn't suddenly become transparent.
Dante pulls out a chair for me at a small table nearby, positioned so I can observe the game but not participate. "The ladies usually watch from here," Dante explains with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Much more comfortable."
Much more segregated, he means.
I sit gracefully, and cross my ankles like Sofia would. I’m prepared to be bored out of my mind while the men conduct whatever business requires this much theatrical setup.
They're playing poker. High stakes, from the looks of the chips already on the table. The conversation flows between hands, business disguised as casual chat. Port operations, shipping schedules, territorial disputes that sound like discussions about restaurant preferences but carry the weight of potential violence.
I watch the cards, track the betting patterns, note who bluffs and who doesn't. It's automatic, like breathing. I'veplayed poker in dive bars all over the world. Usually illegal games where the buy-in was whatever you had in your pockets and the penalties for cheating were significantly more permanent than just losing money.
Fifteen minutes in, I know exactly how each man plays. Dante is aggressive but readable. He touches his watch when he's bluffing. The man to his left drums his fingers when he's nervous. The one across from Luca has a tell so obvious I'm surprised he's still got money left to lose.
And Luca himself plays like he approaches everything else. Carefully with the patience of someone who knows that the best victories are worth waiting for.
Thirty minutes into the game, Luca's phone buzzes. He glances at it, frowns, and stands.
"I need to take this," he says, already moving away from the table. "Business that can't wait."
"We'll wait for you," Dante offers, but Luca shakes his head.
"Could be a while. Go on without me."
"Is your wife staying? Does she want to play your hand?" Dante asks, glancing over at me with renewed interest.
"She doesn't play," Luca says, hesitating.
The dismissal stings. Of course, Sofia doesn't play poker. Sofia probably thinks poker is vulgar.
"Maybe I want to try," I say before I can stop myself.
The men chuckle like I've said something cute and adorable. Dante grins, showing teeth that are too white and too perfect. "Let her sit in, Luca. We could use some fresh meat."
The condescension in his voice makes me want to take him for every euro he's got.
“One hand," Luca says finally. "Just until I get back. Don’t lose the villa."
"One hand," I agree sweetly.
I slide into Luca's still-warm chair, and Dante pushes his chips toward the center. "Friendly stakes for the lady," he says. "Just for fun."
The "friendly" stakes are a thousand euros to start. These men have a very different definition of fun than most people.
The cards are dealt. I pick up my hand without any visible reaction, even though I'm holding a decent straight draw. Around the table, I can read the tells like an open book - Dante's touching his watch, which means he's got nothing. The man to my left is drumming his fingers, so he's nervous.
