Unspoken Obsession (Casino King #4)

1. Francesca

FRANCESCA

B lackjack is my escape.

Not because I love gambling, but because it's the only thing I control.

I know it sounds silly - for a high stress card game to be an escape - but that's just what it became for me.

It started innocently enough—a game to pass the time. Then I realized I had a skill most don't. Counting cards isn't illegal, but it might as well be. In the mafia world, the only sin worse than getting caught would be disrespecting my father. Antonio Musetti rules these streets like a king—but in the world of Blackjack, I am queen. His reach doesn't extend here.

It thrills me to get away with it because, in all other aspects of my life, I have to stay in line, do what my father tells me to, and never question his rules.

But Blackjack is my secret way to rebel against the system that controls my every move.

There is a charity gala here at the casino this evening. It had started already, but I was fashionably late and sneaked in a quick game of Blackjack, seeing as I seldom get time to play because my father is always breathing over my shoulder.

For me, it's not about the money. It's all about the skill, the focus, and proving myself.

I'm not even supposed to be here. My father hates it when I come to this casino. He only gave me permission because of the event.

If he found out I came earlier to play cards, I would be in a lot of trouble.

I kept my head down and never looked up at the security cameras. I am aware of their locations. It's easy to avoid being seen when I need to be invisible.

I learned some of my special skills because I had no choice growing up in my family. There will be no evidence I was here playing cards tonight. Nothing my father could find and hold against me.

But right now, none of that matters. Right now, it's just me and the cards.

The dealer's eyes flick over to me, subtle but cautious. I see the tension in his wrist as he deals me another card. He knows. They all know. I've been counting cards for two hours, and I haven't lost a single hand. But I never do.

I lift my eyes from the table and meet his gaze, keeping my expression neutral.

"Hit me," I say, my voice smooth.

The man next to me lets out a slow, low whistle. He's already folded, hands raised in defeat after busting three hands ago. "You're playing with fire, sweetheart."

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He reeks of cheap cologne and desperation. A regular in a city that chews men like him up. I give him a small, dismissive smile. "I like fire."

I rarely get to sneak out past my father. My ruthlessly controlling father plans out every single aspect of my life. All of my decisions are made for me. I don't even get to choose the color sweater I want to wear for dinner.

Tonight though - at this charity masquerade ball - my father can't make it, and I am attending alone. He had to leave Las Vegas for two nights. Something about business emergencies. I don't give a shit about where or why he's gone. All I care about is that I get two days of freedom. Some breathing room.

What's even more entertaining is that because I'll be wearing a mask tonight, no one will know my true identity and none of his cronies can tattle on me for having fun.

So, I plan to make the night count.

The dealer slides a card toward me. I don't need to look at it to know.

"The lady in the gold dress wins," he announces, his voice carefully controlled, but I see the flicker of frustration in his eyes. I've taken this table for a ride, and he knows it. But he won't say anything. Not yet.

I can't win another round. It will be too obvious. I think it's time for me to cash out and head to the event. I've had my little thrill for the night. It's time to be a social butterfly.

Slipping off the stool, I gather up my chips and turn away from the table. This dress is skintight, and it's fine to stand and walk in, but sitting and then trying to get up is a bit of a challenge. I don't care because it is gorgeous - like straight off the cover of Vogue.

I never get to dress up, especially not this sexy, because I am never allowed out of the house. And when I get out of the house and my father is around, he dictates the type of dresses I may or may not wear.

I bought this dress this morning. I will need to conceal it in a garment bag and hang it in the back of my closet after tonight so that he never sees it.

It's too tight, and it dips too low at the back. That's what he would say. That I am inviting trouble and sending the wrong message to men. Well, men should learn to look and not touch.

The fabric is metallic and when I move, it flows around me, looking like molten liquid. It's exquisite. And so soft against my skin. The warm tones complement my blonde hair, which is pinned up in a high bun, leaving a few loose waves around my face, hugging my jaw.

I feel like a goddess.

Russo River Casino is everything my father despises. A shining beacon of what he can't control. The very reason I find myself drawn here anytime I can sneak out. Maybe it's reckless, coming to a place so entangled with his rivals. But recklessness is what I crave. It's what I need.

I slip on my mask as I approach the grand ballroom—a delicate thing of gold filigree that matches the dress perfectly. Behind the mask, I'm no longer the daughter of one of the most feared men in Vegas.

Tonight, I'm invisible. A ghost among them. No one knows who I am. They don't need to.

I'm just…me. The woman I rarely get to be. For a few hours, I can pretend.

Stepping into the ballroom feels like entering a different world. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, casting soft, glittering light over the sea of masked figures. The air smells of wealth—cigars, expensive perfume, and aged whiskey. It's a masquerade, which means I could be anyone. And tonight, I intend to be.

I grab a champagne flute from a passing server, letting the bubbles tickle my throat as I survey the crowd. Laughter, music, the soft murmur of hushed conversations—it all blends together into a seductive symphony.

I take a deep breath. Tonight, I can breathe.

As I make my way towards the bar, I feel eyes on me. Men's gazes slide over my body, their expressions dark with intrigue. But none of them matter. They're nothing but pawns in a game they don't even realize they're playing. Men who would cower if they knew who I truly was.

The bartender barely glances up as I reach the counter, his hands busy polishing a glass. "Whiskey, neat," I say, my voice carrying the weight of someone who's used to getting what she wants.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, surprised, but doesn't comment. He's smart enough to know when not to ask questions.

"A whiskey? That is an interesting choice for a lady," a voice says from my right. Deep. Masculine. The kind of voice that commands attention.

I glance over, and for a moment, the world stops.

The man standing beside me is tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders that fill out the black fabric of his tailored suit. The suit screams power and money. Mafia. Most likely someone high-ranked.

His mask, a sleek piece of black leather, frames his eyes so intensely blue they almost seem to glow against the richness of his dark hair. His strong jawline is shadowed by a hint of stubble, adding a rugged, almost dangerous edge to his otherwise polished appearance.

"You should never judge a book by its cover," I say, looking up at him.

"But the cover of this book says the story is more than meets the eye. A beautiful, but deadly tale of adventure and - passion."

A smile sneaks onto my face.

He is smooth.

My heart thunders. Like drums pounding in a rhythm so wild, I force myself to take a breath. His bright blue eyes are like a whirlpool that I am drowning in. They are piercing into me, and I can't look away. Even with the mask covering half his face, I can tell he isn't just handsome - he is drop-dead gorgeous.

"And what's your drink of choice?" I ask, turning my body slightly to face him. The dress clings to my skin, the slit parting just enough to catch his attention.

He doesn't look down, though. His eyes stay locked on mine. "Whiskey. Neat. Same as you."

My lips curve into a slow smile. "A man after my own heart."

"Or trouble," he counters, his gaze darkening just enough to send a shiver down my spine. "Depends on how you look at it."

"What can I call you?" His voice vibrates through me. Why do I have the sensation that I've encountered him before? Like I am acquainted with him? Like I was supposed to meet him.

"You choose."

"Alright, little fox."

He slides my whisky over to me and when I take it from him our fingers touch, sending sparks flying between us.

"And what do I call you?" I ask.

"I am a figment of your imagination. Nothing but a shadow."

"A dark and mysterious shadow." I grin. "I will admit. I rather like my imagination if this is what I thought up."

He chuckles and I love the sound. It makes me smile as it ripples through my body.

I lean against the bar, letting my eyes wander over him. He's built like he knows how to handle himself. Dangerous. Powerful. I know I should walk away, but something about him holds me captive. There's a charge in the air between us, a spark waiting to ignite.

He steps closer, just enough for the heat of his body to brush against mine. It's subtle, but it's enough to make my skin tingle. I'm playing with fire, and I know it.

"What brings you here?" he asks, his voice soft, intimate. It feels like a secret shared between us, a conversation no one else in this crowded room can hear.

I sip my drink, eyes never leaving his. "Just passing through."

"Passing through?" He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. "You don't seem like the type to pass through anything."

The way he says it makes my heart skip a beat. There's an intensity in his words, a challenge. He's testing me, seeing how far I'm willing to go.

I tilt my head, meeting his gaze head-on. "And what type do I seem like?"

"The type that likes to play games."

My pulse quickens. He's right. But I don't admit it. "Depends on the game."

His eyes darken the tension between us thick enough to cut. "I like games that end in fire."

The air between us crackles, the electric pull undeniable. Every instinct in me is screaming that I should walk away, that this man is danger wrapped in silk. But I've never been one to heed warnings.

"Dance with me," he says suddenly, holding out his hand. It's not a question. It's a command.

My heart thuds against my ribs, but I don't hesitate. I place my hand in his, the heat of his touch sending a jolt through me. As he pulls me onto the dance floor, the music shifts, something slow and sultry, perfect for the tension simmering between us.

His hand rests on the small of my back, pulling me close, and I let him. His touch is firm, and confident, like he knows exactly how to handle me. My body moves with his, our steps perfectly in sync, as if we've done this a hundred times before.

"What are you running from?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as his lips brush against my ear.

I stiffened for a moment, surprised by the question. I look up at him, trying to gauge if he knows more than he's letting on. "Who says I'm running?"

His hand tightens on my waist, pulling me even closer. "Because I recognize the look. I'm running, too."

The admission catches me off guard. There's something raw in his voice, something I didn't expect. For a moment, I see past the mask, past the danger. There's something else lurking beneath. Something that mirrors the storm inside me.

"I don't run," I murmur, my breath catching as he leans in, his lips grazing my neck.

"No?" His voice is soft, teasing. "What do you do, then?"

I tilt my head up, my lips brushing his ear. "I chase."

His hand drifts down my back, his fingers trailing over my bare skin. Swaying in time to the music, my body is tingling up against his. I come alive. An intense need grows as my attraction towards him becomes deeper.

I gaze up into those stunning blue eyes and a mischievous smile graces my lips. He leans down, pressing his lips against mine. The kiss is slow, but so intense it takes my breath away.

I'm not sure how or why - but this man has captivated every cell in my body.

He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me close, whispering in my ear. "Follow me, little fox."

When he turns away, holding his hand out behind him, I slip my fingers into his without hesitation.

My heart races with the thrill of the unknown. "This is definitely not my scene," I say hesitantly, glancing back at the raucous party atmosphere. "I'm more of the 'stay in the shadows' type."

He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief behind his mask. "But isn't escaping into the dark what makes it exciting? Who knows what could happen?"

"Exciting? Maybe. Reckless? Definitely," I retort, trying to mask my growing curiosity. "What's your angle here? A mysterious masked man stealing away a girl from the crowd? You must have a reputation."

"Maybe I do," he replies, taking a step closer, his presence magnetic.

"But what's the fun in playing by the rules?"

I catch my breath as he leads me around the edge of the party venue, behind the stage, and down a dark passage. Music is still vibrating against the walls around us, muffled.

"You're awfully bold," I challenge, crossing my arms. "What if I'm not the type of girl to get swept away by someone like you?"

"Who says you're not? Something tells me you're more daring than you let on," he quips, a knowing smile creeping across his lips. His gaze ignites an unfamiliar fire within me.

"Trust me, I'm definitely not the 'rebel without a cause' type," I insist, even as my body betrays my bravado, yearning for something I can't quite explain.

"Sounds like you could use a little adventure, then," he says, his voice smooth and enticing. "Maybe I'm just the one to provide it."

He pushes open a door to a small storage room, pulling me inside. The darkness envelops us, creating an electric atmosphere filled with tension.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask, my voice wavering despite my attempt to sound composed.

"Exploring," he replies, stepping closer until I can feel the heat radiating from him.

"You're hiding behind your mask, but I can see the fire in your eyes. You want this."

"Want what? This is completely insane!" I protest, but my heart races in anticipation.

"Insane can be a lot of fun," he murmurs, his fingers brushing my waist, sending shivers down my spine. "Just admit it—you're tempted."

His gaze locks onto mine as he leans in, and the air thickens. Before I can protest, his lips crash against mine, igniting a spark I've never felt before. I gasp, my instincts urging me to pull away, but I melt against him instead.

"This is... crazy," I manage to breathe, wrapped in his embrace.

"Crazy can be intoxicating," he replies, lifting me up and pressing me against the wall with his solid frame. "Let go of inhibitions, little fox. Just feel."

He tugs my skirt up, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan as he kisses me deeper. "You don't even know who I am," I remind him, my heart pounding as the thrill spirals.

He wraps his hand around my mask as though he wants to pull it off.

"No," I say. "The mask stays on."

A deliciously dark chuckle vibrates from his chest. "As you wish, my secretive little fox."

With one swift motion, he pulls my panties aside and thrusts against me, millimeters from my core. "You'll have to tell me if you like it," he says playfully, his breath warm against my skin.

"I… this is all very wrong," I protest weakly, but my body betrays me as I rock my hips against him, yearning for more.

"Tell me you want it," he urges, his voice low and gravelly, driving me mad with desire.

I take a deep breath and finally let go of my reservations. "Fine. I want it," I admit, surrendering to the moment.

He tugs his pants open and pulls my panties aside, and before there is time to think about anything more, his cock is pressing against my pussy.

"Oh, fuck. Your pussy is perfect." He growls as his cock fills me.

"Fuck me hard," I whisper.

I rock my hips forward, begging him. He chuckles and whispers against my lips. "I'll fuck you so hard I'll leave my mark on you, little fox."

He slides out and thrusts his cock into me again, much harder this time. My back slams against the wall as his massive cock stretches me open and makes my entire body shiver with pleasure.

We share a heated, fast, and explosive moment of passion. When it is over, we are both out of breath, trying to adjust our clothes and neaten our hair so that no one knows what we've been doing - and we are both grinning.

Just before he pulls the door open to head back out into the party, he leans down and kisses me again. My heart flutters as his lips touch mine.

"Think they'll notice we're gone?" I ask, a teasing tone slipping into my voice.

"Let them wonder," he replies, capturing my lips again with a smirk. "Let's create our own game."

With that, he takes my hand and leads me back into the party, the thrill of our secret igniting everything inside me as we step back into the world of masks and mystery.

Back at the bar, the weight of what just happened lingers between us. His hand stays on my waist, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin. I should pull away. I should leave.

But I don't want to.

"You're trouble," I murmur, glancing up at him. My body is still humming with the memory of his touch.

His lips curve into a smirk. "I thought you liked trouble."

I can't help the small laugh that escapes me. "Maybe I do."

Before long, the party is getting quieter. Most of the guests leave in groups. I know I can't stay out too late because my father will check the security footage and interrogate me.

"I've got to go," I say, looking up at him. His eyes are like a dream.

"I wish you didn't." He reaches out and touches my jaw, running his fingers over my skin. I lean into his touch.

"Goodbye," I whisper.

He studies me for a moment, and there's something unreadable in his eyes. "Will I see you again?"

I hesitate, knowing the smart answer would be no. But I've never been known for making smart decisions. "Maybe."

He watches me as I turn to leave, his gaze burning into my back. Just before I disappear into the crowd, I glance over my shoulder. His eyes are still on me, and I know—this isn't the last time we'll meet.

Tonight was only the beginning.