Page 45 of Dirty Pool

“Yours.”

She didn’t miss his scowl.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s not mine. They’re not mine, Gabbie. If those people were mine, they wouldn’t have done things this way. Where I’m from, we don’t start petty feuds with just anybody because we purposely try to avoid war.”

She sucked in a burning breath, exhaling just as sharply as her gaze met his. “I think that’s the problem with my da and his men—he doesn’t care that you’re not one of them. You look like them, talk like them, and you come from the same kind of people as them. You’re basically the same, simply a different breed, Michel.”

Michel arched a brow. “Has anyone ever told you that you know too much about the business of men?”

Gabbie considered that statement as she leaned over the table, and readied her shot. She took it as she replied, “Striped nine in the far left pocket.”

The ball sunk in.

She stood up again.

“I have been told that before,” she said, giving him a simpering smile, “but that doesn’t stop me from listening. How can anyone be expected to survive when they don’t even know what’s going on around them?”

“Fair point.”

“It’s a risk for me to be here … seeing you.” She sighed, knowing she would probably be in for a world of trouble when she did finally go home, and her father got word about where she had been. Still, she took that risk because she wanted to be here. “They follow me, too, and report back.”

“Then why come?”

“I like you, Michel.”

“Hmm.”

She gave him a look. “And you like me, too.”

A sexy, lazy smile graced his lips. “Another fair point.”

“They’re planning an attack.”

That wiped the smile off his face, unfortunately.

“Your father’s people?”

“Against the Italians,” she confirmed.

“And what do you expect me to do with that information, Gabbie?”

Well …

“Whatever you have to, Michel.”

Whatever he needed to survive.

“Even if it means playing a game of dirty pool to do it,” she added.

Just like her.

Gabbie went back to the game.

And quickly sunk each and every shot she took. Once she was left with the eight ball, she grinned at the table, pleased with her skills, as she leaned against the pool cue. Michel, on the other hand, was staring at her from the other side of the table like he was just now seeing her for the first time.

“Something on your mind?” she asked him.