I'm starting not to care.
The elevator doors open, and Tony's waiting with the car.
"Ready to go home?" I ask.
"Home," she repeats, like she's testing the word. "Is that what it is now?"
"For tonight, at least."
She slides into the back seat, and I follow.
And I don't tell her that I let her win.
Don't tell her that I gave her power over me because seeing her happy was worth more than maintaining control.
Don't tell her that Matteo's warnings are probably right and I'm headed for disaster.
Because some truths are better left unspoken.
At least for now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Bianca
I can't stop smiling.
I beat Dante Vitale at poker.
The man who controls everything, who's always three steps ahead, who never loses—I beat him.
In the car, I'm practically buzzing with it. The win. The respect I saw in those dangerous men's eyes. The way even Alessia looked impressed.
"You're pleased with yourself," Dante observes from beside me.
"I won. Against you. I think I'm entitled to be pleased."
"You are." There's something in his voice I can't quite read. "You played well."
"Well, enough to beat you."
"Yes." He's looking out the window, his profile sharp in the passing streetlights. "You did."
I study him, looking for signs of irritation or wounded pride. But his expression is neutral, almost... content?
"You're not upset you lost?"
"Should I be?"
"Most men would be. Especially men like you."
"Men like me?" He turns to face me. “What is this supposed to mean?”
"Men who need to be in control of everything." I shift in my seat. "Men who can't stand losing."
"I can stand losing to you."
The admission hangs in the air between us, weighted with meaning I don't want to examine too closely.
