Page 6 of Ace of Hearts

Levi nods and tells me, “Ao Yun is a legendary wine. The name means ‘flying above the clouds.’ It’s delicious, though I prefer vodka. Out of patriotism, I suppose.”

I look around the room while the drinks are served. I wonder how much a night in a suite here must cost. I’d like to be able to afford that for myself. One day I’ll come back. I’m certain of it.

“I couldn’t have chosen better myself.” Levi’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

I follow his gaze down to my feet, or more precisely my shoes, and smile.

“You see my problem: I have expensive tastes, but I’m not rich.”

“You could be.”

I raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to go on.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush.” He leans forward in his chair, his elbow leaning casually on one knee. “I’ve been a professional poker player a few years now, and your way of playing impressed me.”

Of course. His occupation should have been obvious. Even though he lost, he knew what he was doing, and he did it well.

“I’ve never met anyone who could count the cards like you,” he continues, not hiding his admiration. “I’ve always wanted to be able to do it, but I’m not what you’d call a mathematical genius.”

“So you want some private coaching?”

I say this as a joke, but his serious expression stops me in my tracks. Is this what he was driving at from the start? Strange man.

“I’m competing in an annual world poker tournament in Las Vegas,” he explains. “In a week’s time.”

I laugh without amusement. “Card counting isn’t something you can learn in a week.”

His deep voice turns utterly indecent when he says calmly, as though talking about something else altogether, “I’m an extremely dedicated student.”

Damn . I feel his words all the way down to my bones.

“That may be true.” I sip from my glass to hide my pink cheeks. “But it took me years to master. There’s no way you can manage it in seven days.”

He gives me an enigmatic smile, like I’m missing something.

“But, Ms. Alfieri, if you agree to help me, you’ll be traveling to Las Vegas with me.”

This comment makes me pause. Now he has my attention. I can almost see my mother telling me this isn’t a good idea, that Las Vegas is the last place someone like me should even think of going.

But ... I can already see myself there. I’ve dreamed of going ever since I was fifteen years old.

“OK, I’m listening. What would I be signing up to do?”

If he’s pleased by my reaction, he doesn’t show it. It’s as though he already knew I’d agree. This annoys me.

“I’d like you to stay with me for the whole tournament and coach me.

Quite a lot of players have mentors, though I never have until now.

It would mean being by my side almost the whole time.

You’ll be extremely well paid, of course.

You’ll even have a share of the prize if I come out on top. I don’t need all that money anyway.”

So arrogant. But he says it so sincerely, so utterly without pretention, that I don’t even feel the urge to spit in his face.

As I pretend to think it over, he asks, “You also have a good eye when it comes to body language, is that right?”

I pause a moment. But I have nothing to lose by being honest with him about this.

“My mother’s a behavioral psychologist. A specialist in the theory of microexpressions: the idea that involuntary facial expressions can be used in lie detection. I grew up with all that.”

This news seems to surprise him, in a good way. He nods slowly, absorbing it, and asks if I work in the same field.

“I studied psychology, too, yes.”

“It’s all starting to make sense. So ... you can tell who’s bluffing and who isn’t, right?”

“It isn’t an exact science, but ninety percent of the time, yes. It’s my superpower.” I sigh and take another sip of wine.

Levi doesn’t say anything for a long time. I can tell he’s thinking. His eyes remain fixed on me, but he isn’t really looking at me. He’s somewhere else. When he finally comes back down to earth, his smile is equal parts charming and calculating.

“Rose Alfieri, you’re an angel come down from heaven.”

That’s what you think .

“I’m a lot of things,” I say, “but I’m no angel.”

“Then we have at least one thing in common,” he says, uncrossing his legs. “Maybe we’ll look back on this conversation in a few years’ time when we’re both in hell and wish we’d been a bit more humble. But in the meantime, let’s join forces.”

My decision is already made, essentially, but I take my time answering, trying to make him impatient. He waits calmly, and that’s when I begin to wonder if he’s reading my thoughts.

I don’t want him to think I’m predictable, and I can’t stand the thought of his outmaneuvering me. Still, when I think about Las Vegas ... the bewitching sound of the slot machines, the endless poker tables, rivers of money. Day and night.

I have to go there.

That’s why I decide to tempt the devil.

“An honest woman wouldn’t give in to the lure of money,” I say, “much less to a man as forward as you.”

Again, he doesn’t seem surprised. He takes a notebook and pen from his inside pocket and scribbles something I can’t see. Then he tears out the page, folds it, and slides it over to my side of the table. I notice more tattoos on his knuckles, numbers whose meaning I don’t understand.

I unfold the paper, and my heart misses a beat at the sight of so many zeros. I smile at him as I tuck it into my bra.

“Luckily for us both, I’m not an honest woman. Where do I sign?”