Page 19 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

I had just finished fifth in the Italian Poker Open in San Remo.

I wasn’t happy about it. I’d thought I’d had a real shot at going all the way, but I’d busted out in the finals when I wrongly thought an opponent was bluffing.

However, I kept reminding myself that it wasn’t bad, considering I had played my first-ever poker hand six months prior.

It wasn’t enough to entirely fund the lawsuit, but it was a hell of a lot more money than I’d ever made playing chess, that was for sure.

What stung the most, though, was that first prize had been a million euros.

That amount could have changed my entire life.

It was hard to let it go, especially when I thought I had a good chance of winning.

Once I was out of the tournament, I left. I didn’t care to stay to watch the finale; I would watch the videos later online to study the remaining players’ patterns.

Despite my newly chosen vocation, I hated casinos – mostly because I hated huge crowds of people.

I wanted to win my money and get out. That was it.

As I hurried across the casino floor, I saw a man approaching me. I’d seen him several times over the last couple of days, always watching me intently. I doubted he saw me watching him back, seeing as I still had on the sunglasses I used during tournaments to conceal my eyes.

I might have written him off as a rich fat cat looking for a much younger mistress. There were always men like that hanging around casinos.

But there was something about this fellow that was different. His gaze was more calculating than lecherous.

As he approached me, I took the time to study him. He wore a very expensive three-piece suit that didn’t quite hide his belly. He had a mustache and goatee, and his black hair was grizzled at the temples. Strands of grey also streaked his beard.

He smiled as he approached. “Miss Toscani?”

“What?” I said as I brushed past him.

I was rude, I’ll admit, but I had no interest in talking to him.

He immediately turned around and began walking next to me. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.”

“I don’t date older men.”

Which was true.

In fact, I didn’t date anyone.

“This is a business proposition, not a romantic one.”

“I won’t sleep with you for money, either.”

He chuckled. “I’m interested in your brain, not your body.”

“So you’re sapiosexual,” I said without the faintest bit of interest.

He looked confused. “Excuse me?”

“Someone who finds intelligence sexually attractive.”

Once upon a time, I’d thought that might describe me –

But if brilliant chess nerds didn’t do it for me, then I probably wasn’t sapiosexual. Just asexual.

“Ah. No,” he said, amused. “This is purely business.”

I stopped and turned to him, my interest piqued. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“I’d prefer to speak in private.”

“And I’d prefer not to speak in private with a strange man.”

“You won – what – 47,000 euros in the tournament? I’ll pay you 10,000 euros for ten minutes of your time. For that amount, will you take a risk and hear me out?”

I paused.

A thousand euros a minute.

Nobody offered that kind of money for anything I could do.

“Is it about something illegal?” I asked.

“It is,” he said with a slight smile. “Will that be a problem?”

I paused and considered things that could be illegal and yet not sexual in nature.

If it wasn’t drugs… then what?

“Not necessarily,” I finally said. I was more curious than worried. “ That’s why you want privacy?”

“It is.”

I thought for another second –

And then he solved the dilemma for me.

From his jacket pocket, he produced a stiletto – a knife with a thin, wicked blade and needle point, used primarily for stabbing rather than cutting.

The weapon of choice for muggers and assassins –

And highly illegal.

He offered it to me handle first, using his hand to shield it from any onlookers.

“You can kill me if I try anything untoward,” he said.

I considered for a second whether I wanted to get involved in something so obviously shady…

But my curiosity got the better of me.

I took the knife like I was shaking his hand and palmed it inside the sleeve of my warm-up jacket.

Casinos are kept cold to keep the gamblers awake. I hated being cold, hence the jacket.

“Show me the money,” I said.

He produced a wad of bills as thick around as my wrist.

Damn.

A haul of 57,000 euros sounded a lot better than just 47,000.

And for an extra 10 minutes, no less.

“Do you want to count it?” he asked.

“No,” I said as I took the money, too. “Alright, my room. Ten minutes. That’s it. Let’s go.”