The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

I smiled. “Hello. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Matteo, but everyone calls me Lucky,” he said, slipping his hands into his suit pants pockets.

“Why do they call you Lucky?”

“I suppose because I’m lucky, ma’am.”

A bit of amusement rose in me. “Nice to meet you, Lucky. I’m Elena, but you probably already know who I am, considering you’re my babysitter and all.”

He laughed a slightly uncomfortable laugh.

I flicked the TV on and got settled on the couch. For twenty minutes, I watched the news and sipped my drink, with the intermittent commotion from outside and the electro beat pulsing through the ceiling. Nico better be confident his gaming hall wouldn’t be busted while I sat in his office. Though, it wasn’t exactly a real worry of mine. An FBI agent showed up to his parties; I was sure he had the rest of the force in his pocket.

I sighed. Lucky had only been quietly standing by the door like the good Made Man in training he was. I grabbed a pack of cards off the coffee table and turned the box in my hands.

“Lucky, would you like to play cards with me?”

“Oh, well,”—he ran a hand across the back of his neck—“I’m no Ace.”

My brows knitted, unsure of what he meant. “I just thought cards would be a good alternative to us both dying of boredom.”

He chuckled. “Um . . .”

“Or are you not allowed to?” How strict was my fiancé with his men?

A corner of his lips lifted. “I’m only supposed to look in your direction when you speak to me.”

I guess that answers that . . .

With a sigh, he said, “One game.”

He didn’t sound so sure, and I hesitated because I didn’t want to get him in trouble. But he was already walking to the couch, and the truth was, I didn’t want to sit in silence any longer.

“Are you related to Nico?” I asked.

“Cousin,” he said. “My papà was his papà’s brother.”

Lucky was taller than me, but he was lean and wiry. Still a boy. I wondered what Nico was like at Lucky’s age. Probably still bossy and used to getting his way.

Poker was the game of choice, and when I told Lucky we didn’t have to play for money, he looked at me like I was crazy. I laughed. What a little Russo in the making.

So I played poker with this teen boy and bet money I didn’t have.

I lost.

I used to play often. Nonna had a taste for the game, and sometimes when my mamma got a hankering for “family night” we all got together and played.

“Lucky,” I said, rearranging my cards, “how did your aunt die?”

“Caterina?” He frowned. “Drug overdose, I think. I was a baby at the time.”

I sighed. Yep, horrible person.

“Where is Nico tonight?” I was 99 percent sure he wouldn’t tell me, but that still left a 1 percent possibility. When his shoulders tensed slightly, alarm ran through me.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually.

“Yes, you do,” I accused.