Page 3

As the night stretched on, I found my thoughts drifting to the marriage contract my father had arranged.

The idea of being bartered off like a prized stallion had initially filled me with rage, but I’d come to see the strategic value in aligning with the Mexican cartel.

Ozias ‘El Diablo’ Rivera was a force to be reckoned with, and the thought of standing beside him, rather than cowering behind him had started to appeal to me in ways I hadn’t expected.

I was jolted from my thoughts by a commotion at the door. Turning, I felt my stomach drop as I spotted a familiar face.

Harris. My bitch ass, cheating ass, allergic to telling the truth ass ex.

The sight of him sent a jolt of adrenaline through my system, but I forced myself to remain outwardly calm. Show no weakness. That’s the rule.

Still, I loathed the way his presence carried such an effortless confidence. It was like the nigga walked on air. His mahogany brown skin was smooth, and his jawline was sturdy, with a thick beard sculpted to perfection to give his face a rugged but polished structure.

His hair was cut clean with a fresh lineup done with expert precision, and his attire—a cashmere shirt draped over his frame and designer slacks with a sleek watch and blinging diamond studs in both ears. It was clear he still put more care into his appearance than he did our relationship.

As Harris made his way toward our table, I caught Dominic’s eye. He was already moving to intercept, his hand resting casually on the gun hidden beneath his custom-fitted jacket. I gave him a subtle nod, silently communicating that I had things under control, for the moment at least.

“Gentlemen,” I said, pushing back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment. It seems I have an unexpected guest to attend to.”

I stood, smoothing down my dress and plastering on a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. As I moved to meet Harris halfway, I felt the eyes of everyone in the room on us. In this world, every interaction was a performance, and right now, all of Chicago’s underworld was my audience.

“Harris.” I greeted him, my voice calm and controlled. “This is an unexpected surprise. I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list for tonight.”

He smirked, that same arrogant smile that once made my heart race but now only filled me with irritation. “C’mon now, Demi. You know a pretty mothafucka like me don’t need an invitation. Your father and I go way back.”

He spoke with such buttery smooth confidence, his voice deep and unhurried, always measured.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Harris had always loved to throw around his good genes and supposed connections as if that shit impressed me.

I carried five different currencies on any given day and had a passport in two different countries.

The only language I didn’t understand was short money.

“Be that as it may, I’m in the middle of a game.

So unless you have urgent business with my father or something important to say, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. ”

Harris’s brown eyes narrowed to slits, and he took a step closer. I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Actually—”

I narrowed my eyes back at him, meeting Harris’s gaze with unyielding determination.

Ugh. Those fucking eyes—a shade of brown deep enough to drown in and long, dark lashes that made even the humblest gaze feel premeditated.

“Actually, what?” I asked as I tilted my head to the side. “Spit it out or get the fuck out, Harris. I’ve got a game to win.”

Turning on my stiletto heels, I strolled back to the poker table, feeling Harris’s brown orbs bore a hole into my back, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

I wanted him to watch me sashay away, and made sure to throw my ass just a bit more to really make him want to eat his fucking heart out.

I slid back into my seat with practiced grace, flashing a grin that exposed my teeth at the men around the table.

“Gentlemen, shall we continue?” I inquired while picking up my cards. “I believe it was your bet, Vinnie.”

Vincent chuckled as he tossed a stack of chips into the pot. “Always in a hurry, aren’t you, Demi? You should learn to savor the game, sweetheart.”

I arched my freshly waxed eyebrow at him with a smirk playing on my lightly sheened lips. “Oh, I savor it plenty. Especially when I’m winning.”

The men around the table laughed, and I felt a familiar thrill run through me. This was where I thrived—in the heart of danger, surrounded by men who underestimated me at their own risk.

As the game progressed, I carefully studied each player’s tells. Chen’s left eye twitched when he was bluffing. Reed drummed his fingers when he was confident. And Vinnie? He leaned back in his chair when he had a good hand as if he’d already won.

I used the knowledge to my advantage, raising the stakes when I knew they were weak and folding when their confidence was genuine.

With each hand, I chipped away at their stacks, my own pile growing steadily larger.

I’d been playing poker and learning people based off the things they didn’t say since I was a kid.

I practically grew up in my father’s club.

I knew better than to trust half of the bullshit that came out of any of their mouths.

“Damn, Demi,” Chen exclaimed after I took another pot. “Your old man teach you to play like this?”

I laughed, the sound light and carefree despite the tension I felt coiling in my stomach. “Please. My father may have taught me the rules, but I perfected the art of the game all on my own.”

“Is that so?” Vincent leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement and something else. Interest, perhaps? “You know, Demi, a woman with your skills would make quite the wife. Volkov might have fucked up the conversation earlier, but has a contract been arranged for you?”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at his comment, feeling a flicker of annoyance. “Oh, Vinnie,” I said, my tone dripping with artificial sweetness. “I don’t think it matters. You know I could never marry a man I’ve beaten at cards. It would be terribly emasculating for you, wouldn’t it?”

The table erupted in laughter, and I caught a glimpse of Vincent’s face slightly tightening with embarrassment. Good. Let him stew in his humiliation.

“Tell you what,” I continued, unable to resist twisting the knife a little. “If any of you manage to beat me—truly beat me, mind you, not just take a single hand—then I might consider it. But until then . . .” I trailed off, shrugging my shoulders with feigned nonchalance.

None of them knew about the contract my father made with Rivera, and it hadn’t been stated publicly yet. However, it was only a matter of time until it was.

Reed chuckled, slapping Vincent on the back. “Looks like you’ll be waiting a long time, Vinnie boy. Our Demi here is undefeated.”

As the laughter died down and we returned to the game, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. This was my world, my arena, and I’d carved out my place in it through sheer force of will and intellect. Let them underestimate me—it only makes my victories that much sweeter.

But even as I reveled in my success, a nagging voice in the back of my mind reminded me of the true stakes at play. This wasn’t just a game—it was a demonstration of power, a reminder to those men that I wasn’t just Cyrus Malone’s daughter but a force to be reckoned with in my own right.

I didn’t want to be known for being the daughter of a don.

I wanted them to know me as a bad bitch.

I was about to call another round when I caught a dash of movement from the corner of my eye. Dominic was trying to get my attention. His face, usually stoic, carried a hint of tension that immediately put me on alert. With a subtle tilt of his head, he motioned toward the club’s bar.

My eyes followed his gesture, and my heart plummeted. Harris couldn’t seem to take a fucking hint. What is wrong with this delusional, cheating ass nigga?

“Gentlemen,” I alerted them, my tone steady despite the turmoil inside. “I believe it’s time for a short break. Don’t spend all your money at the bar—I intend to relieve you of it when we return.”

They chuckled, none the wiser to my inner distress. As they dispersed, Harris approached, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

“Baby girl.” He greeted me, his voice dripping with false charm. “I didn’t say this earlier, but you’re looking beautiful as ever. You look as good in it as I know you would out of it.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes but couldn’t hold back my expression of disgust. He’d never get the privilege of touching me again. “Harris. I’ve already told you I’m in the middle of a game, and I damn sure ain’t your baby girl no more. What do you want?”

He leaned forward, trying to create an air of intimacy that we no longer shared. “I’m not going to lie to you. I was hoping we could have a word. In private.”

He’s not going to lie to me? That was rich, considering all he did was fucking lie when we were together. My fingers tightened around my drink. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with him, but I couldn’t show weakness. Not here, not now.

“I’m busy,” I replied coolly before taking a sip of my whiskey. “Whatever you have to say can wait.”

Harris’s calculated smile faltered for a moment as a flicker of frustration crossed his face. “It’s important, Demi. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

I met his gaze, unflinching. “I very much doubt that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another game to win.”

Before I could entirely dismiss Harris, Dominic stepped between us, his linebacker physique and imposing frame creating a much needed barrier. His voice was low but firm as he addressed my ex. “She said she’s busy, so run along, you dainty mothafucka.”