I turn back to see Isabella, who is worrying about her own chip between her fingers.
“You’re hesitating again,” I murmur, just low enough for her to hear.
The sound makes her jump slightly, and I’m rewarded with a cruel glare before she throws her chip into the middle of the table.
The dealer, ever the professional, begins to work his magic. I lift up my two cards, their familiar weight in my hand should be comforting, but it’s not the cards I’m thinking about.
It’s her.
More specifically,her perfume—something expensive and dangerous that she’d worn the last time we’d met. It had lingered on my skin even after I showered. The phantom scent that had followed me around these last few days is now alive and reinforced once more.
“I suppose you intend to beat me,” Isabella says, suddenly far closer than she was before.
“Perhaps,” I reply. “If there’s more than money on the line.”
Her chocolate eyes flash to mine. “You already know what I want.”
My gaze drops to her maroon lips. How easy it would be to smudge her lipstick off?
“Do I?”
She hums that same tantalizing way I’ve been dreaming of. “Full of yourself.”
“I will stop looking for your mother,” I declare suddenly.
She clicks her tongue. “I don’t trust you.”
We turn just in time to watch as the dealer lays the flop onto the felt: king of hearts, ten of spades, seven of diamonds.
My heart doesn’t jump, but it beats a little harder. I glance at my cards again—ace of spades, jack of hearts. A straight is within reach.
I look up to see Isabella glancing at her own cards. Her face is impossible to read as she looks over at me again.
“I suppose this is where you expect me to say I’ll give you my mother’s location if you win?”
I shrug. “I guess it depends on how good your hand is, doesn’t it?”
For a moment, it’s as if no one else exists but us. It’s like she’s staring into my very soul as she weighs the offer before her. Her mother’s life hangs in the balance between us.
This isn’t just a game. This is war, and neither of us can afford to lose.
But it’s a war to be won without bloodshed, without risking her brother or her men.
I watch as this realization seems to dawn on her. With a flick of her golden hair, she props her chin on her hand and leans in closer.
“You have yourself a deal, Vitale.”
One of the graying, old-money patriarchs across the table is the first to act. His cold, calculating eyes sweep across the board before he checks.
It’s my turn. I tap the felt lightly. “Check.”
Beside me, she’s silent for a beat longer than necessary. She wants me to feel that pause, to feel the weight of her decision. Then, with a light tap of her manicured fingers on the table, she checks as well.
The dealer burns a card and flips the turn: nine of hearts. I’m one card away from a straight. I’ve seen worse odds.
Her elbow brushes mine lightly, a casual movement as she adjusts in her chair, but I know it’s intentional. She’s reminding me she’s here, that I can’t ignore her. I don’t look at her, though. That’s what she wants.
The patriarch pushes his chips into the pot. “Twenty thousand.”
