At the Royal Flush that night, Angelo sat at his desk and flipped over documents that Rafa laid in front of him. Some contained numbers; others showed charts and reflected the growth of his businesses. The last few were printouts that had nothing to do with work.

Angelo rested his head in his hand and thought about her. Where had a woman like Ella been hiding? Did she grow up in Orlando and what were her parents like? He assumed they were low profile with how proper she was and wondered if there was more meaning behind her attachment to Santiago's than childhood visits?

He did not know why he cared in the first place? He never bothered to look deeper than the surface for any woman? It must have been her pretty eyes or maybe her smile. Angelo looked at the ceiling. It was definitely her smile—pure and genuine, like her childlike excitement for the restaurant. Everything about her was real.

"Angelo," Rafa said and tapped on the desk. He was waiting for Angelo's approval on the numbers so he could leave for the night. "Tell me you aren't thinking about her."

"Thinking about who?" Angelo ignored the question and started signing.

"That girl."

"What girl?" Angelo nodded when he reached the end of the stack and slid the paperwork back to Rafa, tossing a brown envelope on top. "I want the information on Santiago's kept separate," he said and leaned back in his oversized chair, propping his feet on top of the desk.

"Angelo, what good is a tiny restaurant like that going to do for the group?"

"It's personal," Angelo said. "I wanted that information for myself—not the group."

Rafa shook his head and grabbed the entire stack. "Angelo, it can't happen. You know that. Your father won't approve of her. Even if he did, she's no match for your life. She couldn't handle someone like you. She's too innocent."

"For god's sake, Rafa, shut up. There isn't anything to happen. Let it go." Angelo scooted back and grabbed a glass and a bottle of bourbon out of the drawer. "Leave—go wherever it is you're going tonight. If I knew you were going to be this much of a pain in the ass, I wouldn't have taken you in."

"More like forced," Rafa huffed. "I should've explored my options since you always have a problem with my advice."

"Right...we both know you liked the money."

"Rafa looked thoughtful for a moment. "It helped but don't think that was the only reason I joined you."

"Then tell me what other reasons you had."

"Maybe another time." Rafa left the question unanswered. Angelo never asked Rafa about his life before he joined; Rafa never volunteered. Maybe Angelo would know more about him one day. The one thing he knew for sure was that Rafa was loyal.

"You have what you need. I'm going to the casino," said Angelo. "I need a break from all this paperwork."

"You're going to the casino—alone? You know there's always some sort of trouble that I have to fix the next morning every time you go alone."

"Jim is down there. Thomas and Sammy too—maybe Brett."

Rafa shook his head, looking worried about Angelo going alone. "Fine, I'm leaving. I have a life too...and a date—sort of. I'll be staying in my room tonight. Call me if you need me." Rafa said, walking out.

"Finally," Angelo sighed after Rafa left. The tight muscles in his neck were starting to loosen as he swallowed another shot and then two. He enjoyed the tingling sensation of the liquor as it trickled down his throat. He needed the numbing effects. After a morning with his father and an upcoming renovation, he did not want to think.

***

On the first floor of the Royal Flush, the elevator doors opened to the most prestigious casino in Miami. Angelo had opened the hotel for business almost five years earlier and added the casino a year after that. With rows of slot machines, oak poker tables and a full-sized circular bar in the middle, the casino was the highlight of the hotel.

Angelo walked in stride through the crowded room, being given respectful nods when passing guests. Down the hallway in back, he stepped into the VIP room where men in suits sat around several tables with stacked poker chips. While the private attendants served, women danced in the soft glow of the chandelier, exchanging glances with some of the men, possibly to entertain further after their shifts.

He found the dancers a common scene and walked past them to the bar, an instant understanding between him and his newest member, Thomas. Thomas was the working bartender tonight; he unlocked a private cabinet, popped a cork and handed Angelo a bottle. "Mr. Tomassi," he said.

Angelo nodded and looked around. There were games in session at every table, so he took a seat closest to the bar. As he waited, he poured himself a glass of wine. It seemed the more he drank, the more he could drink. It was funny how that worked.

He did not wait long. Angelo still inhaled the fragrant liquid when the card game ended. The dealer waited. After Angelo took a drink, Jim, the tallest of the group with straight black hair and brown eyes, sat down next to him.

"Hey Boss," said Jim. Jim was one of Angelo's highest-ranking members. It surprised Angelo when Jim nodded at the dealer and wanted to play.

"Since when do you gamble?" Angelo passed his bottle of wine to Jim.

"I'm feeling lucky."

"Lucky?" Angelo pressed. "Is that because your brother isn't around?"

"It's because I'm using his money. Ray bet me five hundred on that last boxing tournament. Can you believe that? He'll be here in a minute when he's done punching the wall."

Angelo looked amused. Jim and Ray were inseparable and had been since he found them on the steps of the hotel looking for work. He gave them an opportunity; their loyalty and fast thinking skills earned them a spot at the top. Angelo could count on them to drop whatever they were doing when he called.

"Where's Sammy?" asked Angelo.

"He's coming. I think he was grabbing more glasses for the bar."

Angelo picked up the cards in front of him—nothing but junk. It did not matter. He was not here to prove himself. "Fold," he said without exchanging for new cards; then he picked up his wine while three other players threw out theirs. Two players remained. It was Jim's bet.

"A hundred," Jim said and threw in his chips.

"Raise you three hundred," a man with light brown hair and blue eyes said from across the table.

Angelo looked at him from above the rim of his glass. He did not recognize the man. Had he come in before when Angelo was away? Somebody must have given him a pass to the VIP room but it was not Angelo who approved the pass.

"All right." Jim matched the raise and pointed. "Call."

Angelo lowered his glass in disbelief when the man showed his cards. Any veteran player could tell that the man did not know his game. Did he really believe he would win? "Hey," Angelo pointed, "you're going to have to bluff better than that if you expect to win with a pair of fours."

"I was warming up," the man mumbled as Jim pulled in the chips.

"Anti," said the dealer and passed out the next hand.

Angelo looked at his cards. Having four hearts was good enough to continue; it was his bet. "A hundred," he said.

The next two players matched the bet, followed by the brown-haired man across from him. "Here's mine...raise four hundred."

Jim threw in his cards. "Not this hand." He sat back to watch the rest of the game.

"I'll match you and raise you two," said Angelo. He looked in the man's eyes when the other two players folded.

"You're going to be sorry." The man threw in the extra chips

Angelo threw out the one club and received that fifth heart he needed—a flush. He felt good about the draw. "Here's my bet." He slid in the chip.

"Raise you five." The man tried to play off the large amount by casually tossing in the chips, but the beads of sweat on his forehead proved that he had nothing in his hand.

"I call." Angelo tossed in the chips. Looking humbled, the man turned over an ace and a jack. "You're kidding," Angelo scoffed and turned over five hearts. "You bet over a thousand dollars on two high cards. I was hoping that you were acting dumb, but you're sweating through your shirt. Get out. It takes more than money to play in this room. Come back when you can play."

The man hung his head and stood after Angelo called him out in front of the room. Angelo did not mind taking the cash, but he hated seeing men create an image of power by throwing it around. What was it about money that made people feel smart? They were as dumb with or without it.

Angelo looked down for a second. He felt the smallest twinge of guilt as he pulled in the chips, but then something sharp touched the back of his neck. His eyes shut with the chill. His breathing ceased. His fingers clenched tightly together as the rounded metal muzzle pressed further. After all he had been through in the mafia, would he lose his life over a poker match?

"I would think hard about what you're doing before you click that hammer," Angelo said between his teeth. Jim looked at him. His hand reached for the gun inside his coat when Angelo slightly shook his head.

"Lower your fucking gun," said another voice from behind. Angelo let out his breath. Rafa could not have come at a better time.

"I'm sorry," the man pleaded as Angelo turned around. "I wasn't going to shoot." Angelo's stomach had knotted in seconds, the heat of nausea reaching his throat.

"Of course you weren't," Angelo said. His voice became calm as though the matter were a simple squabble over a drink. "Come with me; we'll talk about it." Angelo looked around the table as he started to stand. "Jim, stay here. I'm out for the night." Then he walked to the bar, looking at another new member of his group. "Sammy, I'm going to need you back here."

The door to a room behind the poker players clicked shut. Rafa stood against the door with his arms folded while Sammy forced the man on a chair.

"So," Angelo said. "How did you think pulling a gun on me would work out for you?" The man stayed silent. "What? Now you can't talk. That's another reason you shouldn't have come to this room. Fucking coward. You have one more chance to answer me." The man squirmed. Fear reflected from his eyes, yet he would not speak.

"Nothing," Angelo huffed with disgust. "You can't even answer for yourself." Angelo reached out and grabbed his jaw, looking the man in the eyes. "Why did you pull a gun on me?" he demanded in a low but furious tone.

"I don't know why," the man finally spoke. Angelo slammed his fist into the man's gut, knocking the wind from his lungs.

"You didn't even think it through—the consequences? I hate fuckers who act on impulse. You shouldn't have brought a gun in this hotel. Playing with the big boys was your first mistake. Pulling a gun on me," he shook his head, "that was your last. Sammy—" Angelo pointed and walked to the door where Rafa stood. "Rafa—" Angelo slapped the top of his chest. "You couldn't have timed that better. I don't know how you always know when something's wrong."

Rafa's brows lifted as though it were some secret gift; then he moved out of the way so Angelo could leave.