Page 31 of Forbidden Surrogate

Ruby shakes her head. “You won’t like it.”

“I’m not drinking it to like it.”

If I try to hurry her with the drinks, I know she’ll go even slower, but I am impatient enough to explode while Ruby pours. An old 50 Cent song blares on the radio. Can’t we let this one go yet? Delphine’s body moves involuntarily to the music, drawing my gaze to her ample curves in the perfect dress.

She looks even sexier than I thought she would in heels. If tonight is a big nothing-burger, my fucking dream would be dragging her off to one of the club bathrooms and emptying a fat load of cum between those sexy dark brown legs.

She makes me fucking crazy.

I order a seltzer for Delphine and drag her away from the bar so that Ruby and Angela don’t plot to get between us. I want to bealone with her so I can watch her body move in that dress and hopefully get my hands on her. I don’t know what the rest of the night will bring, but I’m hoping it’s nothing.

Following Ruby’s direction, I take Delphine to the private back room at the club where we occasionally host poker games. If we’re not hosting for the night, we at least have a couple members of the family seated at the tables. There are other high-rollers here, specifically men who don’t want to be seen. A wide receiver for the local football team, for example. There are a few Canadian superstars who find it easier to hide their gambling habits if they keep all their bad behavior on our side of the border. Not just men on most nights although tonight, it’s just men.

Mostly Italians. I recognize three of the large family signet rings as being part of the Pittsburgh mafia family’s traditional heirlooms. We grew up with dad beating the knowledge of our history and our people’s history deep into our skulls. He said understanding our Italian heritage and family history was just as important as the “bullshit history” in the classroom.

Given the situations I find myself in on days like today, I have to agree. Mikey whistles to get my attention once he sees me entering the room with Delphine. About half the men in the room rip their attention away from the poker game to stare at the doorway as we enter.

Delphine provokes whispers amongst the poker players, but I ignore their chatter because frankly… it doesn’t matter. She’s here with me and nobody in their right mind would say anything to Leandro Taviani’s son.

I take the seat next to Mikey and our hostess pulls out a red velvet chair for Delphine. I gesture for her to sit, responding to her display of nerves now that we’re in a place with ominous energy like a club’s backroom poker tables. I lean over and whisper to her, “Relax. You are safe here.”

She makes a disbelieving snort, but it isn’t very loud, so at the very least I can assure that she won’t make a scene.

“Where’d you find her?” Mikey asks. “I didn’t know you hung out on that side of town.”

“She’s a friend of Angela’s,” I answer. “We… are also friends.”

“You are the first Italian guy I’ve ever met who doesn’t have a type.”

I wish my cousin would learn when to shut the fuck up sometimes. Judging by the empty glasses near him, he’s drunk. Not like I consider that an excuse.

“Cut me in next hand,” I say to the hostess. “How much is the buy-in?”

I rifle through my pocket for chips from my last visit to this poker club.

“$25,000,” The hostess says.

“Damn,” Delphine whispers.

I take out my $25k chip. It’s white and silver, with an embossed ‘T’ in the middle, since these tables belong to my father.

“Blow on it,” I command Delphine. “Since we both seem to have excellent luck.”

Chapter Eighteen

Delphine

Luigi wins the first hand of poker, and I was ready to leave that shady ass back room at that point. The best song for dancing at the club,Fancyby CharliXCX, was pulsing in the background, just outside of this shady, stinky ass poker room. Who the hell wants to smoke inside? You might as well get down on your knees and beg for lung cancer to enter your body.

“You in for the next hand?” Mikey asks, exchanging a meaningful glance with his cousin. I hope they’re speaking in code, although I don’t know why they would be or what the code would be since we’re at a poker table.

“$50k for the next round?”

“Yes.”

Wouldn’t it make more sense to take the win and walk away?

I’m apparently right. Luigi loses $50k and then tells Mikey he’s going to ‘scan the perimeter’, before grabbing my hand roughly and dragging me back towards the dance floor. The man is scowling too hard to be scanning the perimeter of anything aside from his nose.

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