Million Dollar Bimbo

1- Now you definitely broke the pact, darling.

BIANCA SANTORO'S POV

My lips were dry, and I had to reapply some lip gloss. But it was hard to do when I was sitting on a leather armchair with my hands tied behind my back.

"When will your sweet boss be here?" I shouted cheerlessly. Four brunette men in suits looked at me blankly, then turned around.

"Y'all don't seem chatty tonight. At least help me apply lip gloss, please?"

No answer, no reaction. I had even used the word "please," for fuck's sake.

Goddamn Spaniards weren't so friendly.

I sighed, knowing the rope tying my hands would leave purple marks on my skin. This was a very unpleasant fact since I had to hide those marks with some foundation for tomorrow night's round.

Looks made me win. Made me earn. They made me mingle with all those drunk, old, ugly gamblers at various casinos and squeeze them dry. And my work ethic worked for not getting caught in fishing nets.

Well, except for tonight.

Alejandro De Sangre was one fast bastard. And a not-that-dumb one.

Alright, he was pretty smart, but my well-kept arrogance would never let me confess that. Not even to myself. So, he was just around average in terms of wit.

Finally, the door of the expensive and polished office opened and that fast bastard appeared with his black suit and white shirt. He had left the top few buttons unbuttoned, and the suit wrapped up his 6 feet 5 inches body pretty well. I didn't know what kind of diet or gym plan this monster had but seemed like they were both rigid.

"Alejandro!" I cheered with a sarcastic smile. "Such a nice coincidence. I didn't know you were also into gambling."

He mimicked my sarcastic smile. Most people would find this fucker with brunette skin and prominent facial features more intimidating than my sweet-good-girl face. But most people would also not expect me to be a member of a criminal family, so... Looks weren't everything.

"Cut the crap, Bianca."

"That's offensive, you know. I'd kindly suggest that you remember you're talking to a lady."

He turned his gaze to his men in the room, looking at the floor and pretending they weren't interested in this charade.

"Leave us alone. Don't let anyone in. José, you stay," he ordered with a thick accent. The dumbass had casinos, luxurious cars, and mansions all around Europe, yet couldn't afford a decent English teacher.

The thirty-something-year-old bald man stopped beside the door. I smirked as others left the room.

"A big show with such a small audience? You're a disgrace to the Spanish mafia, chico."

Alejandro sat down on the black leather armchair right in front of me and leaned against his knees with his elbows. He eyed my blond hair falling from my shoulders shaped in perfect waves, my heavy make-up, and my red dress wrapping my body tightly, covering only the compulsory parts.

"And you're a disgrace to the Italian mafia, ragazza."

"Stop!" I extended the "o," giggling. He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not a stupid old guy you can deceive on the gambling table Bianca. So cut the bullshit. Now."

I puffed, rolling my eyes and looking around in complete indifference.

"You're boring Alejandro, you've always been."

"And you are a fucking little brat that ruins the pact our families had."