The alcohol gets to me after a while, my ass numb from sitting in this chair. I have to be heavy on Naz's lap, so I stand up. Naz stalls mid-game to look at me questioningly.

"I need to stretch my legs," I say, glancing around. "Where are the restrooms?"

"Ah, just down the hall," Naz says, motioning toward a door.

"I'll show her," the blonde chimes in, eyes seeking out mine as she smiles. "I'll show you."

Naz turns back to his game. "She'll show you."

I follow the woman out of the room and to a bathroom just down the hall like Naz said. I could've easily found it myself. The woman lingers in the bathroom, checking her makeup and fluffing her hair. I'm trying to pee in peace as she tries to hold a conversation through the stall door. "So you and Vitale, huh? That's interesting."

"Yeah… why's it interesting?"

"I don't know, it just is," she says. "He doesn't bring women around… never has. I've been with Ray for five years now and I've never seen Vitale with one."

I like to think I'm above gossiping, but my interest is piqued. I stroll to the sink to wash my hands. "Naz is just a private person."

Her eyes widen. "Naz?"

"Yeah, Naz," I say. "Isn't that what everyone calls him?"

She shakes her head, regarding me like I'm unstable. "It's always Vitale… or Ignazio, if they're close. Never Naz."

My brow furrows. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," she says. "Ray sometimes calls him that in private, old habit, you know? But not to Vitale's face. It's sort of a raw wound, I guess, so they tread lightly. I wasn't around back then when it happened…"

Her words only confuse me more. "When what happened?"

"When he lost his family." I just stare at her, having no idea what she's talking about, and that seems to dawn on her. She blanches, taking a step away from the sink as she forces a smile on her cherry red lips. "We probably should get back."

I want to ask her more, ask her what the hell she means by that, why it's such a raw wound and what happened to his family—a family he never talks about—but I know she's right. We should get back. And Naz wouldn't like her talking about this, whatever it is…

We're strolling back to the room when she offers me another smile. "I'm Brandy, by the way."

"Karissa," I say. "So you and Raymond have been married for five years?"

She laughs. "Oh, we're not married. We've been together that long, though."

"Oh… I figured he was married."

She pauses at the entrance to the room as we are welcomed back inside, casting me a peculiar look. "He is. I'm just his girlfriend."

Brandy takes her place back at Raymond's chair, her hands on his shoulders. She leans down, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, but he brushes it off, too focused on the card game to pay any attention to her.

I hesitate for a moment, watching them, my stomach in knots when it strikes me that this girl is his mistress. She seems nice, and it's not my place to judge, but it worries me.

A lot.

My gaze shifts to Naz.

I wonder what being his girlfriend means.

As if he can sense my gaze, his head turns my direction. His brow furrows as he stares at me, questions in his eyes. I smile and start toward him, pushing back my worry, but he's already noticed my mood shifted.

Tossing his cards down, he stands up. "I'm out."

"Already?" Raymond asks, surprised.

"I'm down over thirty grand," Naz says. "That's probably a sign."

"A sign your good luck charm isn't as good as you thought?" a guy jokingly calls out, a guy I recognize from the plane, the same one who upset him on the way here. Naz doesn't humor that with a response as he's cashed out. He slips his money away, not bothering with any goodbyes.

Naz is halfway to me when Raymond laughs dryly. "Strike two."

That makes Naz's expression soften a bit.

He reaches me, taking my hand, and pulling me with him toward the exit. He says nothing until we're out in the hallway alone, away from prying eyes. He stops, turning to me, raising his eyebrows. His expression is so serious I balk. "What did she say to you?"

"What?"

"You're looking at me like you think maybe you don't know me," he says. "What did that girl say to you?"

It stuns me how easily he reads me.

I stammer for a moment until he reaches out with both hands, cupping my cheeks and forcing me to look at him. "Tell me."

"Nothing really. She just said nobody calls you Naz, not since… you lost your family."

I expect anger—toward her, or me, or somebody. Instead, what I see is hurt, a slight flinch before his eyes close, like what I said stings him so much he can't even look at me.

He stays that way for a moment, but it fades when he opens his eyes again. He lets go of my face and grabs my hand, bringing it up to press it against his chest. "I told you what happened."

The scars.

My chest aches at his words. Guilt nags at me for bringing it up. I start to apologize, start to change the subject, but he silences my words by leaning down and kissing my lips. It's soft and sweet, unhurried, as his tongue sweeps along my bottom lip before meeting mine. I moan into his mouth, earning a soft chuckle when he finally pulls away.