The underground poker game was thick with smoke and danger, the kind of high-stakes gathering where alliances were forged and empires rose or fell over a single hand. Aria sat beside Dante at the private table in the exclusive club beneath Manhattan, her posture straight and confident in the fitted black dress Sofia had chosen. The room was filled with powerful men and their elegant companions, the air heavy with the scent of expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and underlying tension. She had insisted on joining this meeting with wavering allies, refusing to be left behind as arm candy.
One arrogant don sneered at her across the felt table. “The contract wife thinks she can play with men? How quaint.”
Aria met his gaze calmly, her hazel eyes steady. “I don’t play. I win.” She made a bold cal
