Her captor walked her past two security guards, and through a set of sliding glass doors, into Casino Italia’s high-stakes gaming salon. Men in tuxedos sipped on snifters of bourbon beneath crystal chandeliers, and women in evening dresses lounged on rich, red-leather furniture, or punched buttons on the five-hundred-dollar-minimum slot machines. Mia wished she had that kind of money to throw away, but she’d traded her Mafia princess life for the poverty of independence and the chance to carve her own little niche in the world, however small.
They stopped in front of a stained-glass door guarded by two massive bouncers in sleek, black suits. After a few quiet words were exchanged, one of the bouncers opened the door and gestured them into the ultra-exclusive private gaming suite. Exquisitely decorated in rich purple, gold, and chocolate, the design was contemporary in a classic way, with expensive lamps, walls of books with neutral-hued spines, dark wood furniture, and velvet sofas. The sounds of the casino melted away as the door closed behind them.
“Over there.” He directed her past the unoccupied roulette and blackjack tables to a large poker table where five men in dark suits contemplated their cards. With a rough jerk, he pulled her to a stop behind a man with thick, dark hair, and broad shoulders, tapering to the narrow waist of his impeccably tailored suit.
He moved Mia slightly to the left and she caught a flash of a gold Vacheron Constantin watch, the perfectly turned cuff of a shirt, the sparkle of a diamond cufflink, and just a few inches of thick, tanned forearm that made her heart skip a beat.
Still holding Mia’s arm behind her back, the guard cleared his throat. “I caught this woman in the control room, Mr. T. She was trying to stick something in the main computer.”
With the slightest lift of his finger, Mr. T silenced the guard and Mia’s heart kicked up a notch. She had grown up around powerful men, but that simple gesture carried with it an utter certainty that he would be obeyed.
The guard mumbled an apology and pulled Mia back a step. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed at the tables.”
Mia checked out the man’s cards over his shoulder and quickly calculated the odds. If she’d been the one sitting at the table with a stack of chips worth two hundred thousand dollars and a twenty thousand dollar bet on the table, she would have folded, cashed out and run. Much like she wanted to do now.
Mr. T threw down three cards, and Mia bit back a gasp. He might look conservative in his impeccably tailored suit, but he was gambler. Not many people would take that kind of risk, especially with so many players at the table.
He turned at the sound, and her breath caught. God, was he gorgeous. Movie-star handsome, he was sleek and rugged at the same time. His ice blue eyes were a startling contrast to the dark hair that curled at his temples and the brows that furrowed at her distraction. Power, fierce and unyielding, radiated from him—and not because of his obvious wealth. It was something she sensed beneath the civilized veneer—something dark and dangerous, wild and ruthless; something that stole her breath, and left only a need so strong she couldn’t move.
His lazy gaze slid over her face, to her throat, her breasts barely contained beneath the corset, her waist, her hips and down her legs to her heels. He didn’t make any effort to hide his slow perusal of her body, of looking where he wanted with brazen unapologetic intent. Rather than finding it offensive, she found his scrutiny curiously electrifying, her body turning warm and liquid as she sank into the feeling of being caressed by his gaze.
“Enough.” She was in this mess because she couldn’t stand being objectified. So why was she putting up with it now?
Her words trailed off when his gaze sharpened on her. Christ. What the hell had she just walked into?
“Leave her with me, Louis.”
He turned back to the table, considered his cards. He had a deep, movie-narrator voice, the kind that instantly pulled you into another world—a world of infinite possibilities, a world where devastatingly handsome casino owners let cyber-security specialists go.
Louis immediately released her and backed away with a mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
Mia figured he must have worked here for some time to obey so quickly, or did everyone respond to Mr. T’s commanding presence with instant submission?
Curious, she asked. “How do you know I won’t run away?”
Mr. T looked back over his shoulder, and his lips curved. “I won’t let you.”
I won’t let you. Something niggled at the back of her mind. She’d heard those words before, spoken with the same intonation, the same hint of an accent. And his face … so familiar. As she struggled to place him, he lifted his drink, sipped the rich, amber liquid slowly, his corded throat tightening as he swallowed. Mia’s pulse quickened, her mind filling with thoughts of what he could do to her with that beautiful mouth, how he would taste if she licked the Adam’s apple at the base of his throat.
He lowered the glass and licked his lips, a predator ready to pounce. “Come.” He rested his hand on the leather bumper and she joined him at the table, standing beside his chair.