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I recall the late-night discussions, the quiet moments in the shadows when he'd share a tidbit of his world, always careful, always censored. But now, as we near the entrance, he looks taller, more intimidating. A palpable aura of power and dangersurrounds him, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
"You sure about this?" His voice cuts through my thoughts, deep and rumbling, carrying that signature blend of concern and command. "Last chance to bail."
I meet his gaze, the intensity of his eyes piercing through me. "Where you go, I go. Remember?" I smirk, "I'm your shadow for the night."
He smirks back but says nothing, just nods, respecting my decision. He approaches the door, giving a curt nod to the guards.
"T?Hb," he utters the password. Shadow.
After a moment's hesitation, one of the guards steps aside, granting us entrance. The door opens into the belly of the beast, pulling us into a world unknown, a world where the stakes are as high as the risks.
As I follow Samuil in, I can't help but think that tonight, I'll finally witness the legend in action.
Walking into the Black Diamond feels like entering a completely different world. The bland, almost foreboding facade is deceptive, hiding the opulence within. Gold accents shimmer in the dim lighting, set against rich, dark wood. The clientele is visibly elite, their attire ranging from high-end designer suits to designer dresses that probably cost more than most people make in a year. Samuil is in a suit, and I can’t help but feel a bit underdressed. Then again, I’d never been the evening gown sort of girl. Conversations meld into a low hum, interrupted only by the occasional shout or laughter.
In the center, cordoned off by plush velvet ropes, sits the poker den—a hive of activity where high rollers play for stakes I can't even fathom. Flanked by stunning servers in tight, sequined dresses, they sip on champagne and high-end liquor as they contemplate their next move.
"So," I lean in close to Samuil, trying to be heard above the buzz, "who are we here for?"
Without missing a beat, Samuil discreetly nods toward one end of the poker table. There sits a man who, though undeniably scruffy, drips with wealth. His suit, though well-tailored, can't hide the sleazy demeanor that seems to cling to him. But what really grabs my attention is the mountain of chips piled in front of him, a testament to either his skill or just sheer luck.
"Why don't I go chat him up?" I suggest, already formulating a plan.
Samuil's eyes flash with immediate rejection. "It's not safe, Ana."
"Hear me out," I press on, my tone determined. "You walk up to him, he'll see it from a mile away. But me? I'm just a woman looking to enjoy her night. Honey might be more effective than vinegar here."
Samuil seems to consider it, though doubt is evident in his furrowed brow. I decide to press my advantage. Glancing down at his massive, scarred hands, I add with a smirk, "Or in this case, fists."
He chuckles, albeit reluctantly, "Just be careful, okay?"
I nod, feeling a rush of excitement and trepidation. Approaching the table with a confident sway in my step, I prepare to engage with the snake in the suit. Time to see just how persuasive I can be.
The heavy scent of his cologne engulfs me as I approach, a sharp mixture of wood and musk, clearly expensive but applied too liberally. Stopping just beside him, I offer a bright smile. "Hello there."
His dark eyes, quick and calculating, give me a once-over, lingering on my figure a beat longer than I'm comfortable with. But just as quickly, he shifts his focus back to the game, his fingers playing over his chips with a practiced ease.
"Company?" His voice is low and grating, drawing my attention back to his face.
I blink, slightly taken aback by the question. "Excuse me?"
With a smirk that's too smug for my liking, he nods toward the exit. "Tell Yuri I'm good. Don't need a working girl right now. Busy trying to up my winnings."
I feel a familiar anger bubbling up, my hands twitching with the urge to connect with his smug face. But I rein it in, opting for honey over vinegar as planned. "You've got the wrong idea. I'm not a call girl, just someone who’s intrigued by a man who seems to be on an impressive winning streak."
He looks me up and down again, his smirk not wavering. "All you need to know is I have no interest in distractions while I'm at the table. Especially not from a pretty little thing trying to get in my good graces."
I swallow my pride, reminding myself why I approached him in the first place. "Look, I just thought—"
He interrupts with a dismissive wave. "When I'm done for the night, maybe then. That is, if I find myself out of chips, needing some consolation."
The clear insinuation in his words makes my skin crawl. I pause, carefully constructing my reply. "Let's hope for your sake you keep winning then."
He chuckles, seemingly amused. "Oh, I always do."
I step away, my face neutral even as a cluster of emotions threatens to spill out. One part of me is ready to abandon the charade, to storm out in frustration. But another part, the ever-present strategist, reminds me there's more at play than bruised egos. Whatever game we're now engaged in, it's bigger than a few snide remarks and petty jabs. I just need to figure out how to turn the tables in my favor.
I weave through the crowd back to Samuil, who stands with a sardonic grin playing on his lips. "Well, that looked... fruitful."
