Page 18 of Ace of Hearts

Levi

June

Las Vegas, USA

I hear cries before I even open the door.

That sobers me up right away. I forget my euphoria, my friends, and Anika’s warm thighs, between which I was busy only an hour ago.

“Jacob, no! Stop!” my mother screams as I burst into the living room, my heart pounding.

I freeze, rooted to the spot as I take in the scene before me.

My mother is on her knees with my father standing over her, grasping a fistful of her hair.

Her lips and nose are bleeding. I notice scratches on his arms, proof that she’s tried to defend herself.

One of his eyes is already starting to turn black.

“M-mom?” I stammer like a child.

My father gives me a look full of resentment. Alcohol slurs his words as he barks, “What time do you call this, you filthy little brat?”

I ignore him. My eyes are riveted on the tears running down my mother’s face. She manages to smile with difficulty, her shoulders trembling. I know I wasn’t meant to see this.

“It’s nothing,” she says. “Go to bed, OK?”

My father shouts something about her being too soft on me.

I’m not even listening to him. My heart’s breaking at the sight of the expression of shame contorting my mother’s face.

But it’s not the first time I’ve witnessed this kind of thing.

It’s not the first time I’ve tried to defend her against my father, either, and it’s not the first time I’ll get a beating for my pains.

Every time this happens, I tell her we should run away.

Every time, she promises to think about it.

But we always stay.

“Leave her alone.” My words come out like an animal’s snarl.

My whole body’s trembling with an uncontrollable anger.

He sees this, and it enrages him. He can’t stand the fact that I’m growing up, or the idea of my challenging him.

In his eyes, he’s the master of the house, and his weird offspring—handicapped from birth, mama’s boy—should learn to keep his trap shut.

He lets go of my mother and storms out, shouting that I deserve a good beating. I rush over to help her up, and she apologizes and tells me she’s fine. I can’t speak. I’m too afraid, too drunk, too much of a coward to know what I should do.

“No!” my mother suddenly shrieks.

I don’t even have time to turn around before I’m knocked to the ground by a dizzying blow. The pain in my back is unbearable. I can barely open my eyes, but when I do, I see my father standing over me, armed with a broom handle. What happens next is a blur.

I remember struggling to my feet and trying to fight him, thinking my time had come. I remember seeing his hands around my mother’s neck, and then feeling them around mine, and finally hearing her desperate sobs as she begged him to let go of me. And fear tearing my heart in two.

Then a shot. An explosion.

Blood. My ears ringing.

Then the gun, still smoking in my mother’s hands as the police break the door down and shout at her to drop it.

“Levi.”

Somebody says my name. I cry, begging them to arrest me instead of her, telling them it’s my fault, but nobody listens.

I’m lost.

“ Levi!”

I jerk awake, my heart thudding. I’m in bed, my neck and chest bathed in sweat. Thomas is standing over me, his eyebrows furrowed. I feel tears in the corners of my eyes and realize with shame that I’ve been crying in my sleep.

“Another nightmare? Here.”

He hands me a glass of water, but I shake my head. I’m fine now. It’s over. I’m here, safe and sound. Far away from Saint Petersburg.

Wanting to change the subject, I adjust the duvet and ask what he’s doing up at this hour.

“Just contemplating doing away with your dear fiancée. I figured I should let you know.”

I raise an eyebrow, still half-asleep. “Mm. Understood.”

“Good.”

“It would be inconvenient, though.”

He considers that, then replies, “I’m not so sure. More positives than negatives, surely.”

I smile and ask what she’s done this time. I’m not surprised that Thomas and Rose don’t get on. I often feel like a harried father caught between the two of them, but I let them fight, curious to see which will kill the other first.

“I keep telling her to keep a low profile and not go out at all hours. She doesn’t get it.”

“You told Rose Alfieri to ‘keep a low profile’?” I laugh and make a face. “That was just asking for trouble, my friend.”

“It’s not funny.”

“She’s not our prisoner, Tommy. Let her do what she wants.”

“What if she bumps into Tito and ruins our plan?”

I sigh and rub my eyes.

“She barely knows anything about what we’re up to, really. Relax. And even if Tito finds out she and I aren’t really engaged, he can’t possibly know what’s in store for him. Now, go run a bath, and take some time to calm yourself.”

He snorts and comments that baths are a waste of time and water, and then leaves the room.

“I’ll say it again, just to make it clear: Don’t kill my fiancée, OK?” I shout after him.

He pretends not to hear me, but I’m not worried. I know Thomas like the back of my hand. I’m not saying he’s harmless ... that would be a lie. He’s convinced he’s better than everyone else. He’s stubborn, calculating, clever, aggressive, and impulsive. Dangerous if provoked.

And yet he’s the person I trust most in the world.

My head’s killing me. And my eyes.

Rose and I are spending the day training. She explains several things over and over, with remarkable patience. But I’m still in a terrible mood. I slept badly because of the nightmares, and the lack of sleep is affecting my eyes. Daylight is proving to be an assault I can barely survive.

“Why do you wear your sunglasses even when it’s just the two of us?” Rose teases me. She can’t help herself.

I stay focused and don’t rise to the bait.

She must realize it’s not a good day, because she doesn’t try to provoke me any more after that.

She doesn’t flirt, either, which is a first. Even though she pretends not to mind my endless rejections, I know they must drive her crazy. Part of me finds it funny.

I suggest going down to dinner, and she accepts, saying she wants to change first. I’m sipping my first beer of the day when the sound of her stilettoes draws my attention.

I’m so surprised, I almost choke. I cough as subtly as I can, desperately hoping my cheeks aren’t as red as I think they are. Holy shit .

“Well, well!” She smiles and stops in front of me. “Am I finally getting a reaction?”

I don’t manage a reply. I just look her over from head to toe. In many respects, Rose looks like she always does: same dark eyes with a long flick of eyeliner, same sublime lips accentuated by a thick layer of transparent gloss, same short hair, perfectly smooth.

But this evening, she’s put on trousers and a suit jacket with .

.. nothing underneath. A golden pendant dangles from her neck, its triangle shape falling directly between her breasts.

I swallow, taking in the long earrings hanging from her earlobes, and the smaller cuffs higher up around the top of her ears.

She’s utterly stunning. I’m overwhelmed by my own feelings. I’ve always found her beautiful and sexy, from the moment I first saw her in the Venetian. But now ... words fail me.

I don’t want her to go out. I don’t want other people to see her like this. I want to lock the door, lay her down on the kitchen island, and run my tongue along that alluring strip of skin ...

“Let’s go,” I say instead.

We go down to the hotel restaurant, her hand on my arm. Of course, everyone stares at her. I keep my sunglasses on, but she doesn’t tease me. As we eat, we talk about the tournament and the players I’ll be sharing a table with tomorrow afternoon. Little things, nothing serious.

I ask what she’s been doing with her free time, but she answers vaguely, saying she’s been sleeping and painting. I only half believe her.

“Shall we go back up?” she suggests.

“Why?”

“I need a cigarette.”

I go to settle the bill. As we leave the restaurant, Rose is walking backward, talking to me, when all of a sudden someone bumps into her hard, knocking into her shoulder.

I try to hold on to her arm but too late; she staggers, catching hold of my wrist to steady herself.

The man turns back to us in surprise and apologizes.

“Excuse me, I didn’t see ...”

He stops short when he sees Rose’s face, and she goes pale, trying to hide her own surprise.

“No problem.”

She pulls on my sleeve, signaling to me to move on. I frown and look at the man. He’s still focused on Rose, but then he obviously realizes I’m scrutinizing him and looks embarrassed. In the end, he smiles and moves away.

I may not be an expert in human behavior like Rose, but I’m not a complete idiot either. They know each other.

“Who was that?” I ask in the lift.

She refuses to meet my eyes, and it’s clear she’s an excellent liar, because I almost believe her when she says unconcernedly, “How would I know?”

I don’t insist, and I realize it wouldn’t do any good if I did. Besides, it’s none of my business. Everyone has secrets, me included. I’m still curious, though.

An ex-boyfriend, perhaps? Strange to bump into him in Las Vegas, but not impossible.

“Can I get you a drink?” Rose asks when we’re back in our penthouse.

I accept her offer and drop into the sofa, taking off my shades. She comes back with two glasses and sits on the floor by the low table. I look at her in silence, but I’m itching to say something. She already drank at dinner. Like she does every evening.

I haven’t seen her drunk yet, but she does drink a lot. And she smokes a lot. I don’t like it, even though it’s nothing to do with me. I haven’t got any influence over her.

Still . . .

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for today?”

Tact isn’t my forte. Besides, tact wouldn’t work with Rose. I know that because we’re similar in that way—like we are in so many ways. That similarity’s what scares me.

“No, I don’t think I have actually,” she shoots back. She pours herself a whiskey and smiles straight at me as she takes a swallow.