Page 19 of Vows of Power
It makes me want to crawl out of my own skin, but I breathe through it on the drive over. There’s no version of this where I lose my temper because of Tomasso, and Matteo and I get out alive. I know that, so I just have to hold it together for a few hours.
Dominic’s house is different from the last time, which isn’t a surprise, but this one isn’t his real home either. A man checks our car and waves us through, then another one meets us at the door and takes my coat. Once we get inside, Dominic spots us right away and comes over with his arms wide.
“Ah, the couple everyone’s been asking about,” he says.
“Really?” Matteo shakes his hand.
“Don’t look so surprised.” Dominic turns to me, and his gaze drifts down my body. “Mrs. Petrelli. You look stunning.”
“Thanks.” I give him my warmest smile, even though I want to throw a drink in his face.
He leads us deeper into the room and introduces us around, and I recognize most of them from before anyway. Fonte’s bythe window, already loud, a glass in his hand. There are a couple of older men I don’t know, and a woman in red who watches everyone carefully.
Matteo rests his hand at the small of my back the whole time, and I let him, because it sells the act and because it actually helps. Every time anger rises up in me, his touch grounds me and reminds me why I’m doing this.
After a while, Dominic claps his hands together. “Enough small talk. Who wants to lose some money?”
There’s a table set up in the next room with cards and chips stacked in neat rows. A few of the men take their seats while Dominic waves us toward the open chairs.
I’ve played cards before, but not like this. “You play,” I say to Matteo, quiet enough that no one else hears. “I’ll watch.”
His brow lifts. “You don’t want in?”
“I’d rather see how they bet.”
He takes the seat without arguing, and I pull a chair up just behind his shoulder, close enough to see his cards. This way I can watch faces instead of being busy with the game, which is better.
Dominic deals the first few hands and the chips move back and forth. Nothing big. Fonte loses twice and laughs both times, ordering another drink each round. The woman in red plays and barely says a word.
Matteo, though, is good at this. He wins the third hand, folds the next two, then takes a fat pot off one of the older men without so much as blinking. I bite down on a smile as he stacks his chips. He plays the way he does everything, easy and unbothered, as if none of it matters to him, and the men lose to him for it.
“Your husband’s dangerous,” Dominic says to me, dealing again.
“I’ve been trying to tell him that for a while,” I say. “He never listens.”
Matteo wins another. Fonte groans and shoves his cards away while a couple of the men laugh, and Dominic watches him over the rim of his glass with something close to respect, which is exactly what I want.
I lean down near Matteo’s ear. “Don’t take all their money. We want them to like us.”
“Bit late for that,” he says under his breath, and a grin tugs at his mouth.
By the time the next hand finishes, Matteo has the biggest pile at the table and most of the men are down to scraps. Fonte’s been refilling his glass all night, and his face has gone red, his words running together when he talks. When he loses one more time, he slams his glass down hard.
“This is rigged!” he yells. “Your deck’s marked, Dominic. I’ve been watching you deal all night.”
All the guests tense as Dominic sets his cards down and narrows his eyes at Fonte. “Say that again.”
“You heard me.” Fonte jabs a thick finger toward him. “No one loses every single hand. No one. You think I’m too stupid to see it?”
“You’re drunk. Go home before you say something you can’t take back.”
But Fonte shoves himself up out of his chair, knocking it back. He slurs and points while Dominic’s jaw tightens, and the other guests rise too. Every head in the room turns toward them.
I glance at Matteo. He gives me the smallest nod. This is our window, and it might be the only one we get.
“I’m going to find a bathroom,” I say, even though no one’s listening anyway.
Matteo mumbles something about getting air and slides his chips toward the center, and we slip out while Fonte’s stillshouting about marked cards. My heart rate speeds up as we rush down the hallway.
