The Night the Don Died in My Arms

The game began in earnest.

This time, everyone played to win.

First hand — Damien won.

Serena raised her hand and pointed to the left. "Him."

I was pushed onto the man's lap to deal. His hand rested on my shoulder, lips grazing my cheek between hands.

The stench of alcohol against my ear made my stomach turn.

Second hand — Damien won again.

Serena picked someone else.

"That one looks like he'd enjoy it more."

I barely stood up before another pair of hands pulled me over.

Third hand.

"Switch."

Fourth hand.

"He hasn't had a turn yet."

Men's laughter filled the room.

One told me to lean closer while dealing. Another held his card between his teeth and made me bend down to retrieve it. Someone deliberately scattered chips across the table so I'd have to lean over to collect them.

After every hand, I was reassigned to a new lap — like a chip being passed around the table.

I lost count of how many men I'd been pushed onto. All I remember is the alcohol, the laughter, and the hands.

And Damien, sitting in the same seat the entire time, winning hand after hand, watching it all like it was live entertainment.

Finally, when I was shoved back to the edge of the table, he spoke.

"A natural-born plaything."

The table erupted in laughter.

I pretended I hadn't heard. I fixed my professional smile and dealt the next round.

"Next hand — begin."

Damien's gaze lingered on my face. Something flickered.

Then Serena sighed softly. "Darling, I'm bored."

She swept her eyes around the table. "I've pointed to every single one of them. I'm running out of options."

She looked at me and smiled — gentle, sweet. "Dealer, this time, why don't you pick? Whose lap do you want?"

The table went quiet. All eyes on me.

My grip tightened around the cards. My voice came out barely above a whisper.

"Anyone is fine."

The moment the words left my mouth, Damien's expression went dark.

He stood slowly, straightening his collar.

"Boring."

Like a man who'd grown tired of the show, he turned and offered his arm to Serena. "Let's go. Time to call it a night."

But Serena didn't move. She scanned the room. "Remember, gentlemen — the Don won. None of you touch her after we leave."

Then she pulled me close, reached into her clutch, and pressed a card into my hand.

"I had such a good time tonight. This is your compensation."

Her smile was bright and innocent.

As if she hadn't been the one feeding me to those men.

Damien walked away with her on his arm. She murmured as they left, "Being a dealer must be so hard. Lucky I was born into a good family."

I stared down at the card in my hand, something lodged in my throat.

Yes.

Being a dealer is hard.

But even this job — I'd gotten on my knees and begged for it.

Because the money here came fast.

Fast enough to buy my son a new heart in three months, so his life wouldn't end at seven.

I clenched the card tight and exhaled.

At least, thanks to Serena's parting words, the men at the table left me alone after that.

Except Bianchi, who slipped a business card into my blouse on his way out.

The other dealers saw everything.

So before I even made it backstage, I was cornered in the hallway.

The woman in front had murder in her eyes. She kicked me hard in the stomach.

"You conniving bitch — you've been here five minutes and you're already stealing my client?"

She grabbed my hair and slammed my head into the wall.

"Does your son know what his mommy does for a living?"

"Oh wait." She sneered. "He probably doesn't even know which man's bastard he is."

They closed in. A bottle shattered against my skull before I could dodge.

Blood and liquor ran down my face.

When they'd had enough, they finally scattered.

I braced myself against the wall and stood. Limped out of the casino.

It was pouring outside. I used the rain to wash the filth off my face.

Couldn't let Luca see me like this.

But somewhere along the way, the rain washed out tears instead.

I looked up with burning eyes — and met a gaze cold enough to stop my heart.

Damien stood by his car, umbrella in hand. His eyes were locked on the wound on my face, his voice dangerously low:

"Who did this to you?"

I dropped my gaze. "None of your business." I turned to leave.

The car door was wrenched open. I was thrown inside.