chapter3

They stood near the gaming tables, glancing between Marco and me, waiting for the word.

Marco stood a few steps back, still holding his drink.

His expression had settled back into that earlier contemptuous calm — the look of a man watching a farce that had already ended.

I said nothing. I didn't argue.

I simply turned and walked over to one of the nearby tables.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to a number.

That's when I noticed Isabella walking toward me.

She had a glass of red wine in her hand. She glanced at my phone, and the corners of her mouth slowly curled.

"Still putting on a show?"

Her voice was soft, but pitched just right for the people around us to hear.

"That call earlier was quite the performance." She tilted her glass slightly. "If Marco hadn't hung up himself, I might have actually believed you."

A few people nearby laughed.

I kept my eyes on my phone screen and said nothing.

She moved one step closer, her tone thick with contempt.

"Honestly," she said. "I've seen plenty of your type. Dress down, latch onto someone powerful, and suddenly think that makes you somebody. But you picked the wrong place today."

"This is the Moretti family's casino."

The words had barely left her mouth when she suddenly raised her arm.

The entire glass of red wine came down on me.

Ice-cold liquid soaked through my shirt instantly, the dark red spreading and dripping down the fabric.

A gasp swept through the crowd.

The next second, Isabella took a sharp step backward. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

She raised a hand to her face, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Her voice pitched up, pulling the attention of more onlookers.

She pointed at me, the picture of wounded outrage.

"You pushed me!"

"All I did was ask you to leave, and you put your hands on me?"

Marco crossed the floor toward us, brow creased.

"That's enough," he said.

Isabella immediately seized his arm.

"Marco, she pushed me." Her voice trembled. "The glass — she knocked it right out of my hand."

Marco's eyes moved to my soaked shirt.

Then he gave a cold laugh.

"Valentina. You've managed to disappoint me."

He turned to face the room, as though pronouncing a sentence.

"Let me make this perfectly clear."

"Effective immediately, you are no longer the Moretti family's fiancée. For assaulting a family member, you owe Isabella compensation for emotional distress and the cost of that gown — fifty thousand total."

"Otherwise, you and your family will pay for what you've done here today."

I almost laughed out loud. He'd just handed me exactly what I needed.

"And if I don't pay?"

Marco stepped closer, looking down at me with practiced authority.

"Don't pay? Do you know where this family started? Underground casinos, loan sharks, debt collectors. I can have people sitting outside your door every single day. You think your father — that respectable businessman of his — can handle that kind of attention?"

He turned to grin at the dealers.

"Boys, looks like we've got some work lined up."

They laughed along with him.

I watched him. Waited for the laughter to die down.

"Is that all?" I asked.

He blinked. "What?"

"Underground casinos, loan sharks, debt collectors," I repeated. "That's all?"

Isabella frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I ignored her, picked up the phone I'd left on the table — still connected — and held it to my ear.

"Did you catch all of that?"

The male voice on the other end said, "Every word. Non-compliance and threats of retaliation. That's enough to open three separate investigations."

"Good," I said.

Marco's expression shifted. "Who are you talking to?"

I ended the call and slid the phone back into my pocket.

"Someone you can't afford to play against," I said.