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The tension reaches its peak as the final card is revealed. It’s an ace of spades—which gives me a full house. My heart pounds against my chest as I study my last opponent, trying to discern their hidden signs. Yet, the twitch of his lips as he adjusts his position in the seat tells me he hasn’t got the best hand. Neither do I, but it’s pretty high up there, yet this man hasn’t wavered all night, and that’s when I realize he’s bluffing. He’s hoping I fold.
I move to push my chips onto the table, and a hand falls on my shoulder. I peer up at Leone, who gives me a warning look. Hesitating, I gulp, doubting myself for a second before I shove the thought away. As I go all in, the room seems to hold its breath, and his eyes dart to mine. I see the oh fuck moment register on his face that I would even risk it, and I suck in a breath, knowing he’s bluffing as I lay my cards down.
Full house.
I fold my arms across my chest, waiting, and sweat beads on his forehead.
“Sir?” the dealer asks. I look at him expectantly when I notice the doors behind him open. Girls in uniforms file out along with men, and they start clearing the room, folding up tables except this one and an empty one at the back. Leone saunters over and takes a seat at it.
I return my attention to the man across from me, and he curses, tossing his cards and punching the table. He yells something in a language I am unfamiliar with, pointing a threatening finger at me and then at the dealer. By his body language, he is accusing us of rigging the game.
As Leone nods towards the man, guards swarm him, grabbing him and leading him out. My heart stops when one of the girls begins preparing the last table. I grit my teeth, and the man is dragged out. I don’t move, wanting to call bullshit. He set me up. He said I had to play the room. So why hasn’t that last table been packed up yet?
Leone’s silhouette looms over the green baize of the lone poker table, a dark deity in his own temple. Our silence is punctuated by the click of his ring against the polished wood. Milo pulls me up by my arm. As I look at Milo, he says, “Last table.”
“He said I had to beat the room.”
Milo laughs. “You have one last player,” he answers, pointing toward the last table. I peer around, looking for the player.
I thought I’d won, but I still have one more opponent. Against the green felt, the overhead lights cast a halo. Touching the cool chair, my heart thumps. I can do this. I have to.
Instead of sitting down, I turn, looking for my opponent. However, the chair remains empty, and confusion furrows my brow. This isn’t right. The final opponent should be here, waiting, anticipating my downfall or their own. I stand there, my pulse quieting, a sense of foreboding creeping into the hollows of my elation. Leone wanders off by the bar, talking on the phone. Milo is making himself a drink, and I glance at my phone on the other table, wanting to check it but hold myself back.
“Looking for someone?” he asks, his voice smooth as aged whiskey.
I turn, my heels clicking against the floor like the ticking of a clock counting down to an unknown end. Leone emerges from the shadows of the bar area, his presence a tangible force that seems to suck the air from the room. His stride is predatory and deliberate, the dark ink of his tattoos shifting with the movement of his muscles under his button-up shirt, which has the top three buttons open.
“Leone,” I acknowledge, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my veins.
“Fallon,” he drawls, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. It is the smile of a wolf who has cornered its prey, the smile of a man who knows he holds all the cards—literally and figuratively.
“So where’s my last opponent?” I demand.
“Right here.” He gestures to himself. “Did you think I’d let anyone else have the honor?”
“You said I had to play the room. I did that. You never mentioned me playing you! I won fair and square!”
“But you haven’t, not yet. You still have one table to play,” Leone smirks. “Now you play the house,” he smiles deviously, and I want to punch him in his smug face.
SEVEN
FALLON
I glare at him, and he motions to the seat across from him. “You understand the stakes, Fallon?” His voice slithers through the haze, as acrid and potent as the smoke curling from his lips as he draws back on his cigar.
My eyes narrow, “You’ve been watching me all night,” I accuse, my voice a blade. He nods, leaning back in his chair.
“Watching, admiring, studying… You’re quite the sight, Fallon. A beautiful mystery wrapped in feisty audacity.” His tone is mockingly reverent, but I can hear the steel underneath, the threat that coils in his words.
The room is a vacuum, absorbing everything. Every breath and heartbeat is suspended in time.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, Fallon?” Leone’s voice is a velvet caress, yet it stings like a whip against my consciousness. “A dealer by day, a card counting thief by night.”
His words uncoil in the air, each syllable laced with the poison of betrayal. I can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with knowledge and dark intent. I offer no answer to his words.
“Observation is key in any game,” he says, a smile curling his lips like smoke from the devil’s cigar. “You know this. Especially when the stakes are as delightful as they are now.”
His eyes scour over me, ravenous and calculating. It is a look that strips away any façade, leaving my secrets bare and trembling in the dim light.
