seventeen!
‘TABLE FOUR; move in closer!’
Luca’s order was swiftly obeyed, the security camera zooming in on the minor commotion in the general public gaming room, the winning figure being relayed to Dario, his Chief of Security, through an earpiece and passed on to Luca, who didn’t bat an eyelid. It was small pickings compared to the figures he dealt with on a daily and nightly basis and, more to the point, in a few hours the winnings would most probably be fed back into the casino. No, it wasn’t the money that intrigued Luca, it was the reaction of the women that held his attention now. One was jumping up and down, accepting champagne and kisses in all directions, and for a moment Luca thought the information he’d been given must be wrong—that surely she must be the winner—because the other woman stood apart, her stance almost disappointed at her sudden fortune.
‘Closer!’ Luca snapped his fingers impatiently, his eyes narrowing as he recognised one of them. The bold kitchen-hand that had approached him earlier this evening and asked to be considered for work out on the casino floor. He’d declined her instantly and if her behaviour now was anything to go by then he’d been right to do so. But who was the other woman?
Could it be her?
Shamelessly he ordered the camera to focus in on her, and his staff complied, more than used to Luca taking his rich pickings: zooming in on the prettiest girl in the room and observing her for a few moments before making his move. As if he were a lion stalking his prey, this was his domain and everyone present knew it.
It was her! Luca’s eyes narrowed as he focussed on her image. He’d been right with his first assessment—she didn’t belong in the kitchen scrubbing dishes—but neither did she belong down there being fawned and harassed, and now that she had won some money she was even more of a target. He knew how this place worked, knew that the euphoria after a win was a dangerous time, that those men would take full advantage…and it made him feel sick to the stomach.
‘Who are those guys with them?’ Luca asked his staff.
‘Some businessmen they picked up earlier. We’ve been watching them for the last hour or so—they’ve been buying the girls drinks and now they’re giving them money to play the tables—the usual.’
Which it was—this type of thing happened every hour of every day in the casino; Luca knew that more than anyone. So why, then, did he feel so disappointed? Why, then, did he feel as if he’d just been punched in the stomach?
‘She paid for her own bet, though,’ Dario added, listening to some information being relayed through a head piece, and, if it was seemingly a useless piece of information, it was relevant on two counts for Luca. On a professional level it made things easier for the security staff to deal with—her escort had no claim on her, there could be no pointless argument about whose money had aided the bet—but for far more personal reasons, for reasons he could barely fathom, somehow, to Luca it mattered.
It mattered a lot.
‘The croupier just let us know—things are starting to get out of hand.’ Dario ground out the cigar he had been smoking and focussed more cameras on the area. ‘She’s trying to leave, but the men insist that she stay and celebrate with them—the croupier wants the floor security to come over.’
He could sense Meg’s nervousness. Those gorgeous eyes were darting, glancing around the room as if hoping to be rescued, flicking to the surveillance camera for a single second, holding his gaze without knowing it, seemingly asking him for help.
‘Do it.’ Luca snapped his fingers impatiently, watching on another screen as almost instantaneously the security guards made their way through the busy gaming room, the well-oiled machines of the casino moving into swift action—any potential situation swiftly dealt with before it escalated. Luca knew his hand-picked staff were more than capable of dealing with this, knew that in a matter of moments things would easily be brought discreetly under control and the small crowd dispersed, so why then was he pulling on his jacket, filled with something, a need almost to get out there and help her himself?
He snapped his fingers again—ordering his cheque-book and writing out a figure in his impressive violet scrawl, then stalking out of the room as his bodyguards followed without a word. They were more than used to Luca Fierezza’s routine when a pretty girl won: most of her winnings would be delivered personally by cheque, so that she couldn’t spend it, which got him straight to second base because it showed her he was looking out for her best interests—first base had already been passed courtesy of his stunning good looks—and for the final run, with the percentage of cash he handed her, he’d invite her to join him in the high-rollers club.
Home run.
‘Congratulations!’
His voice was instantly recognisable—and Meg started in recognition as she heard it, her startled eyes swinging round to his, actually grateful for his presence. Since her number had come up the table had been a frenzy of activity, everyone around her eager to celebrate, pressing her to join in, to carry on and party into the night, when all she wanted to do was disappear, for the glare of the spotlight to dim from her—and now it had.
Luca was the only one who held the spotlight, the only man in the place who could instantly regain control by his mere presence, and regain control he did. Meg’s unwelcome companion actually melted away without even a murmur of protest as Luca ushered Meg over to a quiet table, pouring her a glass of water, which she accepted gratefully, before handing her her winnings.
‘Most of it is in a cheque—you can come tomorrow morning and cash it.’ He smiled at her frown. ‘People often blow their winnings, by tomorrow morning you will be more restrained.’
‘I’m more than in control now.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘In fact all I want to do is get the hell out of here. Is it always so…?’ She fumbled for a word for a moment and failed to come up with one, but Luca, even with his rather more limited disposal of the English language, found the one she was looking for, or at least one that came close.
‘Frenzied?’ he offered as Meg gave a nod. ‘Always. Especially when a…’ His voice trailed off as he realised somehow that she’d had an earful of shallow compliments tonight, that telling her she was beautiful was probably the last thing she wanted to hear right now. ‘Join me upstairs.’ He watched her eyes widen, and smiled. ‘I mean, there is a quieter gaming room upstairs—a little more civilized, perhaps…’ She knew where he meant—the high-rollers club. She’d seen it when she’d arrived, the elevator neatly roped off with security ensuring that only the richest and most beautiful went there, but it held little appeal for Meg.
‘I’m actually really tired, but thank you for the offer,’ Meg politely declined. ‘I think I’ll just go to bed.’
‘Meg!’ She hadn’t realised Jasmine was standing behind her, but her indignant wail alerted Meg, followed by a very harsh whisper in her ear. ‘You simply cannot turn down an invitation like that. Come on, please say yes—I don’t know how to get rid of these guys!’
The same guys she’s been accepting drinks and gambling chips from all night, Meg thought, but she felt herself relenting; as much as Jasmine had provoked things by accepting so much hospitality, she couldn’t just turn her back on her. Maybe a quiet escape to somewhere more civilised would give her a chance to talk to Jasmine and tell her how precarious her situation was with those guys, and surely one drink with Luca couldn’t hurt….
Who was she kidding?
The memory stick of her camera was full of photos of her travels, packed with exotic locations she’d wanted to capture for ever, but nothing came close to the man sitting opposite her at the table—whether she went for a drink or not, already his image was branded in her mind. As arrogant, as presumptuous as he’d been earlier, still she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling he evoked.
‘Can