Page 83 of Bellini Born

You’d have thought that door was a portal that transported us from Chicago to Vegas, because what I was staring at was a bona fide casino, complete with table games and slot machines as far as the eye could see.

“Whatisthis place?” I wondered aloud.

Warm lips brushed against my ear. “Another piece of my kingdom.”

I whipped my head around to stare at him. “This isyours?”

Matteo flashed me a brilliant smile. “What do you think?”

“I think”—surprised laughter bubbled up from my chest—“it’s not at all what I expected, but it’s beyond beautiful.”

“Glad you think so.”

He led me down the steps that brought us to the casino floor. Moving around the perimeter of the room, we came to a stop at a side door, where two men in suits wearing earpieces stood guard.

One of them opened the door for us. “Boss.”

“Grazie.” Matteo thanked them in Italian—one of the few words I did know—and damn if a shiver didn’t roll down my spine.

Inside, there were no fewer than a dozen poker tables, each one containing eight men dressed sharply in tuxedos, the same as the man who had escorted me this evening.

“High-stakes poker tournament,” he explained. “We run them quarterly. Buy-in is five hundred thousand. Only one hundred and twenty seats. The house takes thirty percent, so this one night nets us eighteen million. The other forty-two million go to the top five players, in varying percentages based upon their final placement.”

Pretty sure my jaw landed on the floor.

My mind raced, thinking of all I could do with half a million dollars. And here were these men, willing to risk that exorbitant amount with the full knowledge that, with the exception of five of them, they were going to lose it.

“Come on.” With gentle pressure on my hip, Matteo urged me forward. “The quicker I make the rounds, the sooner we can get home.”

His earlier comment about putting in an appearance suddenly made more sense. He was the man in charge, the face of the family, and with that came a requirement to maintain a public presence.

It also comes with zero respect for privacy, apparently.

Yes, I was still salty about those damn pictures taken without our knowledge or permission and plastered all over the internet.

One face in particular stood out as I scanned the crowd, and a near-silent gasp clawed up my throat.

“Oh my God,” I breathed out in a rush. “Is that the mayor?”

Matteo hummed. “Some of the most powerful men in this city and several others are in attendance tonight. Politicians,diplomats, entrepreneurs, and I believe even one Saudi prince, if I’m not mistaken.”

In a daze, I muttered, “Unreal.”

“Matteo!” A lifted hand drew our attention, and we moved in the direction of the man to whom it was attached.

“Senator Hawthorne. Pleased to see you could join us this evening.” The two men shook before Matteo brought me forward. “May I introduce you to Miss Summer Reynolds?”

A spark of recognition lit up in his green eyes—guess I should get used to that—before he offered me a polite smile. “It’s my pleasure, Miss Reynolds.”

Not knowing the proper social protocol in this situation, I elected to remain silent.

“How are those contracts coming along on the low-income housing development in Englewood?” the senator asked.

My ears perked up. Englewood was the neighborhood where my old apartment was located.

“Slowly,” Matteo replied. “If we could get a little help cutting through the red tape . . .”

“Say no more.” Senator Hawthorne waved a dismissive hand. “Send over the details, and first thing Monday morning, I’ll have my team take a look.”