I crack my knuckles. “She’s warming up to it.”
Maksim’s eyes glint from across the table. “She seemed quite at ease at the event where we ran into the two of you. You should bring her out more often, Nero. No need to hide her away at home.”
My gaze drills into the cards on the table while a fantasy of putting a bullet right between Maksim’s eyes plays on repeat inside my head.
I better channel the anger pulsing through me into the act I’m supposed to be putting on.
We start another betting round. I fold.
“And you? How you’ve been since your return?” Mick asks.
He’s up my ass, and I have a feeling Maksim’s the one who put him up to it.
“Just fine.”
“Is that right? A lot of things have changed since you left. Can’t be easy adjusting to it all.”
The dealer reveals another card.
“Not as hard as you think,” I grind out.
After we go around the table once more, only Sergio, Mick, and one of the Greeks remain in the game.
The dealer flips the final card. A jack of hearts.
Across from me, Sergio throws his cards onto the table—he’s got a full house.
The guys who were still in the game curse.
“Sergio takes the pot,” the dealer says before he starts collecting our cards off the table.
Mick’s grin is all shark teeth and malice. “Hey, Nero, remember when you used to be someone important? You know, before you became Alessio’s errand boy?” Laughter echoes around the table, sharp and biting.
I force a tight-lipped smile. “Times change, Mick. We play the hands we’re dealt.” My voice is calm, betraying none of the bitterness that swirls in my gut like a bad meal.
I’d expected this. These games are always full of jibes and underhanded insults, but they usually slide right off me like I’m made of Teflon.
Now, they burrow under my skin.
I am a fucking errand boy.
But not for long if we manage to nail the pakhan.
We start again. Cards are dealt, bets placed.
“I’m just kidding with you,” Mick says. “You’re not the kind of guy who stays at the bottom for long. You’ll work your way back up in no time.”
“If they let him, that is,” Maksim adds. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think Gino Ferraro is interested in giving any power to a man who killed one of his nephews. No matter how capable he might be.”
I bite on the inside of my cheek. “Time will tell.”
“I just wonder if your wife will be patient enough to wait,” Sergio chimes in, tossing his chips into the center with a clatter. “If not, and if she’s as beautiful as Maksim says, tell her I’ll be happy to take her off your hands.”
Chuckles erupt, but they’re tense. Probably because they can tell I’m contemplating murder.
“You say one more thing about my wife, and I’ll break your neck.”
Mick scratches a spot on his cheek with his thumb. “Don’t you need Gino Ferraro’s permission to do that?”
