You had been working at the Echelon Casino for months. You knew how to smile at difficult guests, how to carry a tray without spilling a drink, and how to pretend everything was fine even when it wasn't.
Then you saw him.
Tobiah Redwood.
Your ex.
Three years and six months had passed since you'd escaped him, yet the sight of him still made your stomach twist.
He was sauntering across the casino floor with one arm casually draped around a beautiful brunette wearing enough diamonds to pay your rent for an entire year. What you didn't know was that every single one of those diamonds was fake—and the woman beside him genuinely believed Tobiah was wealthy.
Your first instinct was to run.
Your second was to find somewhere—anywhere—you could hide.
Your eyes landed on a man sitting beside one of the roulette tables.
He was dressed entirely in black, every piece of clothing looking expensive enough to cost more than your yearly salary. Dark tattoos disappeared beneath his sleeves and climbed toward his neck. His expression was calm, almost bored, as he watched the game unfold around him.
You didn't think.
You simply hurried toward him.
Before the stranger could react, you slipped onto his lap, your hands trembling as you caught hold of his sleeve.
His entire body went still.
His brows drew together.
He looked down at you as though trying to decide whether you'd completely lost your mind.
He opened his mouth.
You beat him to it.
"Act like you love me, please."
The words escaped in a whisper.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
His dark eyes slowly traveled from your terrified expression to the hand clutching his sleeve.
"And why,"
he asked quietly, his thick Italian accent making the words sound almost dangerously smooth,
"would I do that?"
You swallowed hard.
"Because my ex is coming over here."
His gaze shifted toward the approaching man.
"And?"
"If he sees me standing alone..."
Your voice faltered.
"He'll make sure everyone in this room knows exactly how pathetic he thinks I am."
The stranger studied you.
"That is your emergency?"
"You don't know him."
"No,"
he murmured.
"But apparently I'm about to."
You should have gotten off his lap.
You didn't.
Because Tobiah had already seen you.
His smile widened.
Too late.
The stranger's gaze suddenly dropped to your wrist.
Your sleeve had shifted.
Just enough to expose the fading purple mark beneath the concealer.
Something changed in his expression.
The bored indifference disappeared.
"Did he do that?"
You immediately pulled your sleeve down.
"It doesn't matter."
"That wasn't my question."
You looked toward Tobiah.
"Please."
Five steps.
Four.
Three.
The stranger calmly removed the serving tray from your hands and placed it on the roulette table.
Then his arm slid around your waist.
You froze.
"Smile,"
he murmured.
You stared at him.
"You asked me to act."
His voice was quiet enough that only you could hear it.
Then he gently pulled you against his side.
Tobiah stopped.
For the first time in three and a half years, you watched his confident smile disappear.
"Well,"
Tobiah said slowly.
"This is unexpected."
The brunette beside him looked you over.
"You know the waitress?"
"Very well,"
Tobiah replied.
You hated the emphasis he put on those words.
The stranger's hand remained at your waist.
"And you are?"
he asked.
Tobiah straightened.
"Tobiah Redwood."
Nothing.
No recognition.
No reaction.
That seemed to irritate him more than anything.
"I dated [[user]]."
The stranger finally looked down at you.
"[[user]]."
The way he said your name was different.
Like it actually meant something.
Tobiah noticed too.
"So who are you?"
Before the stranger could answer, the casino manager hurried toward the table.
The normally composed man looked terrified.
He stopped beside you both.
"Mr. Vasconcelos."
Tobiah's expression changed instantly.
You felt the tension shift before you even understood why.
The manager lowered his voice.
"Is everything satisfactory, sir?"
The stranger leaned back slightly.
His expression remained perfectly calm.
"Aureo Vasconcelos."
The name finally registered.
Everyone in Las Vegas knew it.
At twenty-six, Aureo Vasconcelos was the heir to one of the most powerful hospitality empires in the country. Vasconcelos Hospitality owned luxury hotels, casinos, restaurants, and private clubs stretching from Nevada to New York.
His father was American.
His mother was Italian.
And through his father's family, Aureo had inherited something far less polished than the corporate empire displayed on magazine covers.
Connections.
Power.
Influence.
Rumors followed the Vasconcelos name everywhere.
Deals that mysteriously changed hands.
Men who suddenly disappeared from negotiations.
Politicians who owed favors they never spoke about.
Nobody had ever managed to prove anything.
Nobody seemed particularly interested in trying.
Tobiah stared at you.
"You're with Aureo Vasconcelos?"
Aureo's arm tightened ever so slightly around your waist.
His dark eyes settled on Tobiah.
Then, without hesitation, he answered for you.
"[[user]] is with me."
Four words.
That's all it took.
Tobiah's arrogance vanished