Lev jumps up from his seat to quickly retrieve a deck of cards for me.
“Card games?” she asks.
“Why not?” I counter, pulling the deck of cards, each one flashing half-naked women in cheap gloss.
“Classy.” She gives a tight little snort. “What are we playing then?”
“Lady’s choice.”
“Blackjack.”
“Best out of three?” I say, pleased with her choice.
“Why not? You deal.” She shrugs out of her leather jacket, tossing it aside.
My mouth waters at the sight of the black turtleneck molded to her figure, the dark fabric highlighting every subtle line as her wild red hair cascades over her shoulders.
Stella wasn’t lying last night. Black really does look amazing on her.
Needing to focus on something other than her, I start shuffling the deck and hand it to her to split. Once she does, I deal two cards each, both of hers face up, one of mine face down. While she studies her cards, my attention is fully focused on her.
After meeting Selene Romano yesterday, it’s clear Stella takes after her mother with her cupid’s-bow lips, high cheekbones, and emerald eyes that look more like gemstones than anything else. That untamed mane of copper spilling over her shoulders is the one thing that sets her apart, a fire to her mother’s cool polish.
Stella doesn’t like to be confined. That’s more than clear.
With only a pair of fours, I’m not surprised when she orders another card. “Hit me.”
“As you wish.” I slide her a five of hearts, bringing her total to thirteen.
“So, is this how you spend your days?” she asks, resting her chin on her clasped hands. “Just hanging around this godforsaken club all the time?”
“You sound disapproving.”
“Just not what I expected aBratvaunderboss to do with his time, that’s all.” She shrugs, pretending not to care one way or the other.
“And what did you think I should do with my time?”
“Oh, I don’t know… pillage, plunder, burn a town or two?”
“I’m not a Viking, Stella,” I laugh.
“Then what are you?”
“Russian,” I deadpan.
“And just what exactly does that mean?”
“It means I’m proud of where I come from, even if I’m not blind to its flaws. I’m guessing you can relate.” Her teasing smile dims at the remark.
“Hit me,” she says, her gaze dropping back to her cards instead of me.
Since it’s obvious I struck a nerve, I don’t say anything else and let her concentrate on the game at hand.
She wins the first round, and I win the second. By the third game, I know she’s got me beat.
I should be disappointed that I didn’t win, but the satisfied smile that curls across her lips is prize enough.
“Now tell me what you know about my friend’s bracelet,” she asks, too excited to see her error.
