Page 23 of Devil’s Reign

His dirty blond hair is cropped short at the ears and neatly slicked back. Dark ink peeks from beneath his open collar, more of it covering the exposed skin of his arms and hands, extending all the way down to his knuckles.

He remains seated, leisurely raising his cigar to his lips as he watches me approach. A blatant power play.

The other men at his table shift, visibly uneasy with my presence, their hands drifting towards their jackets—towards their weapons. Around the room, others do the same. The warning couldn’t be louder: if I try to hurt Vincenzo or pull a bullshit trick, they won’t hesitate to paint the walls with my brain matter.

A trickle of sweat rolls down my spine as I wonder if this was the right move. But I don’t let my doubt show. No, you never let enemies smell blood. That’s when they pounce.

I let my lips curve into a smirk as I stop at Vincenzo’s table. “You didn’t have to stop your game on my account, Vince.” His expression remains impassive. Even his lambent green eyes stay cool and assessing. Only the faint twitch of his eyelid betrays his irritation at the shortened name. Impressive control.

He blows a perfect ring of smoke at my face, but I simply raise a brow in response. Then I flick a glance at the other men seated at the table and wave a dismissive hand. They look to Vincenzo, who inclines his head slightly. Only then do they rise, shooting me murderous glares as they abandon their game.

I eye the table as they leave—empty whiskey glasses with melting ice cubes, cards laid flat, and a high stack of chips in neat towers in front of Marino. The smaller stacks next to the other abandoned hands tell the story well enough. Vincenzo was smoking their asses before I walked in.

I take one of the vacated seats, lean back, and casually drape my left arm over the back of the chair beside me. When the music resumes, my attention drifts around the room once more. The men are still watching me, but the tension has shifted—less trigger-happy, more wary. Seems they’ve decided I’m not an active bomb about to explode.

“To what do I owe this displeasure, Viktorovich?”

My jaw clamps tight, but I keep my face smooth as I meet Vincenzo’s glare. “Touché, Vincenzo.”

Just as it’s clear to everyone that calling him Vince is a tongue-losing offense, nobody who values their life dares use that damned patronymic my father saddled my siblings and me with. Vicktorovich. Son of Viktor. I hate everything that reminds me of that bastard. As soon as we could, we scrubbed it from every legal document in our possession.

“But can my presence really be categorized as a displeasure when it guarantees you a win?” I gesture to the poker table.

His lips flatten. “I’m growing tired of this game, Ivan. Why are you here?” He leans forward and impatiently stubs out his cigar in the ashtray in front of him.

I expel a low breath and drop my arm from the back of the chair. Time to get to the point. “I hear you’ve been losing some of your soldiers.”

His eyes flicker as he studies me. “Have you been poking your ugly nose into my business?”

“My nose is the least ugly thing you've seen in your life,” I smirk, rubbing my index finger against the tip. “But no. Words just have a way of reaching my ears.”

“So what? My soldiers are disappearing. So are yours.”

My smirk fades. “Exactly. It seems someone might be targeting our families.”

His brows hike up, and for the first time since I walked in, genuine emotion crosses his face—amusement. He actually chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re here to propose an insane partnership?”

I tap my index finger on the table impatiently. “We’ve got a mutual problem, Vincenzo. We can fix it faster by working together.”

“Does Aleksei know you’re here?”

An attempt to cut me down to size? I narrow my eyes at him. Too bad I’ve got a healthy dose of confidence. It’s going to take more than some barbed little jabs to do any damage. “I’m an enforcer. I can make my own calls.”

Vincenzo smirks. “Good for you. But I’m not interested in working together. Find your men, and I’ll find mine.”

“I see. So you’re not ready to put an end to this madness. When you change your mind—after I’ve already gotten to the bottom of this—it will be too late.” I get to my feet, brushing down my jacket. “Good night, Vince.”

I leave before he can utter another word, but I can feel his stare boring into my back all the way out. Luka is still waiting in the car right in front of the social club, and he arches a brow as I slide into the passenger seat.

“Let me guess,” he says, starting the engine. “He didn’t agree.”

“He’s an arrogant fucker,” I mutter, pulling the gun from the small of my back and dropping it into the dashboard compartment. My skin feels tight, overheated. All I want is to go home and stand under a scalding shower until the feeling passes. Viktorovich. I’m glad I was able to hold it together long enough to get away.

“You’re all Viktorovich and Viktorovna. Mine! You’re nothing without me, and you will fall in line or die.”

The ugly words echo in my skull, spoken in a voice I’ve spent years trying to forget. Needing relief, I hit the button to roll down the window and lean my head out into the rush of downtown traffic noise.

I inhale deeply, drawing in the sharp air that carries the smell of the East River and car exhaust. It does nothing to calm the churning in my gut.