Chapter 140: Don’t touch my husband.

It’s been hours since my call with Uncle Lorenzo, and I’m still thinking about it.

Fuck.

I told him I’d think about his offer, then ended the call before he could push me into giving him an answer. But the more I think about it, the more I hate it.

He wants me to steal information from my husband and he’s dangling Olivia’s return in front of me like a treat.

God, what do I do?

I can’t tell Lysander. Not yet. If I tell him, he’ll want to know exactly what Lorenzo asked for, and I don’t even know what kind of information my uncle thinks he can get from me. Besides, I need to understand what I’m dealing with before I go setting off alarms.

I have to start somewhere, though.

So when Lysander is getting ready to leave the house that evening, I catch him before he can make it out the door.

"Hi, husband."

He stops and eyes me suspiciously.

"What is it?"

"Nothing..."

He turns to leave.

"Okay, fine, fine." I hurry after him. "I want to come with you."

"Why? I’m going to work."

"Work where? The club, right?"

"Yes, the club."

"Good. I want to go."

He looks at me for a moment. "Why?"

"Nothing. I’m just bored at home."

"You aren’t even dressed to go out."

"I can change that in a jiffy."

He glances at his watch. "You have ten minutes."

I squeal and rush upstairs before he can change his mind.

I’m ready in twelve.

Lysander doesn’t comment on the extra two minutes, which I take as a small victory.

Thirty minutes later, we arrive at his club.

It isn’t fully dark yet, but the place is already busy. Cars line the entrance, and people move in and out beneath the bright sign above the doors. Music pulses through the building, loud enough to feel in my chest but not so loud that it drowns out the conversations around us.

The moment we step inside, Lysander takes my hand. He leads me through the crowd as if he owns every inch of the place. Which, I suppose, he does. People make way without being asked. Some greet him with a respectful nod; others lower their heads or step aside and watch us pass.

A few stare at me.

I keep my chin up and pretend I don’t notice.

Lysander doesn’t take me toward the main floor. He guides me past it and up a staircase to a quieter level overlooking the club. The space is polished and elegant, with warm lights reflecting off dark wood and gold accents. Deep red upholstery softens the room, while crystal fixtures scatter little points of light across the ceiling. A row of card tables occupies the center, and only two are in use.

I glance around, taking it all in.

"I wonder what this place is like at night."

"You’ll have to come sometime when it’s busy," Lysander says, looking over the room. "It comes alive."

"I was just thinking the same thing. It’s beautiful, but I bet it’s something else at peak hours."

He gives a low sound of agreement.

I look at the tables. "How exactly is it that you can run a place like this? Isn’t it..... illegal?"

His head inclines, almost proudly.

"The itself Club is a private charitable organization. Essentially..... isn’t all that illegal."

"I see."

"You know how to play Cards?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah. I’ve played a bunch with my sister. Not for money, though. Sometimes we’d play for leftover candy."

He stifles a smile. "Let’s see what you’ve got, then."

He motions toward one of the tables.

I take the only open chair and smile at the attractive blonde in the dealer’s seat. She barely glances at me though. Her attention is fixed on Lysander.

"Mr. Sanchez," she says, her voice turning sultry and deep. "This is a pleasant surprise."

The nerve. It’s like I’m not even sitting here.

Lysander places a hand on my shoulder. "I wanted to show my wife around. Florence, this is Nerissa. Nerissa, Florence."

"Deal her some cards."

The woman’s smile tightens before she looks at me properly. She deals my cards with a practiced flick of her fingers.

"Best of luck."

There’s a dagger tucked behind that smile.

I look down at my hand. Is this the attention he gets at work every day? If so, no wonder he’s so dedicated to the job.

I knew women often threw themselves at powerful men but it is another thing to see it happening right in front of me.

With my husband.

I swallow back the bitter taste of jealousy and focus on the cards.

When the first cards are dealt, I’m playing with two men at the table... I win twice. Cause as usual a man underestimated me..... I used that to my advantage though.

A little while later Lysander is able to join me at the table when the men playing with me grumble and withdraw from the game.

Why do they have to sulk when loosing?.

Florence deals again, this time including Lysander.

We play several hands, and I start to genuinely enjoy myself. The game is fun, the room is comfortable, and Lysander’s presence beside me is surprisingly distracting in the best way.

Florence, however, seems determined to make sure I remember she’s there. She laughs a little too brightly at his dry comments, she leans across the table when she speaks to him. And every time she deals his cards, she finds a reason to let her fingers brush against his.

I try to ignore it...i really do.

But my tolerance hits its limit when her hand trails seductively over his for the tenth time as she collects his cards frm him.

I stand.

Florence looks up, still wearing that stupid smile on her face.

I step around the table and pull her close, keeping my own smile firmly in place. Her eyes widen as I lean toward her.

"If you touch my husband again," I tell her softly, "you’ll find your hands missing from your body."

Then I pull back, my smile still plastered on my face.

Florence’s lips press into a tight line.

"Noted, ma’am."