“Figures,” Petre sneered on a snorting laugh. “Your playing sucks because you’re thinking about pussy. But unfortunately, the virgin pussy you’re thinking about is between my soon-to-be-wife’s legs, and there’s not a goddamned thing you can do about it.” He snickered and tapped the table for another card.
I might just kill this motherfucker right here and now.
I sniffed hard and ran my tongue over my teeth. The maid handed me my coffee and I downed it in a gulp. The cook was Turkish and the coffee was top notch.
“Fine,” I said. “One more hand. Winner takes all.”
Petre shot a glance at me.
“Winner already has all.” He spread his hands over his stack of chips. Like I needed the goddamned demonstration.
“I have no interest in your princess. I can get anything I need from any woman in the kingdom.” I seethed, trying to throw him off the scent of my attraction to Valeria. I raised the stakes to distract him even more. “Winner takes all…in cash,” I said, as the dealer came my way.
That got his attention.
I knew from talking to my father that my brother wasn’t as personally wealthy as he liked everybody to think; he depended on my dad for an allowance, like some fucking eight-year-old kid. I, on the other hand, had plenty of money that I’d earned all on my own.
The money wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted him to feel the sting of loss. The dwindling of his self-inflated power.
“You’re on,” he said and I did my best to hold back my smile.
Chapter 5
Vasile
Petre grinned as he met my eyes. Whatever he had, he was happy that it was enough to beat me. But it wasn’t. I’d known him all my life and I could tell from his whole body that he was underestimating my hand, and overestimating his own.
I was aware that he had pocket queens, and that he had picked up three of a kind when the cards fell just the way he’d hoped, with a couple of throwaway cards sitting alongside his lady.
But unfortunately, that had been exactly what I’d been hoping for as well. His confidence had blinded him to what was on the table. He thought I had nothing, but a low straight beat three of a kind every time. I was about to teach him a lesson yet again.
“Turn them over, brother. Or just fold now.”
I shook my head, frowning. One thing about winning: it’s a lot less fun if your opponent expects it. And I intended to have fun making him regret whatever he’d done to Valeria to make her want to leave so abruptly.
“Perhaps we should just call it quits,” I said, aware that I was giving him an out. I also knew he wouldn’t take it, because Petre never knew when to cut and run.
“Not a fucking chance. You started the game, now finish it. Turn over your cards.”
“It’s a lot of fucking money, Petre.” I ran a hand over the top of my head, giving him an obvious tell that he was too dumb to know wasn’t real.
“He’s right, Petre, maybe it’s time to graciously withdraw—” Our father tried to help him but he was again, too dumb to understand. His ego and pride always overrode his sense of reality.
Petre shot my father a look that had more venom than a scorpion, and my father shrugged in response.
Did he know for sure that I had the upper hand? Perhaps. He loved both his sons, but Petre frustrated him with his bravado and lack of self-control.
Thus, why Petre still did not hold the combination to the safe where his allowance was kept. Father doled it out to him only when he made a request and never in large amounts. He did not have access to the stacks of gold and piles of money that came from the many streams of illegal, and legal, business ventures of the Greengallows.
“Well?” Petre fixed me with a glare, and I drew a sharp breath.
“Fine,” I said, and turned my cards face up on the table.
Petre’s grin flashed, his brain not quite keeping pace with what was happening.
A second later, his face fell, all color draining away as the truth of the situation sank in.
He hadn’t yet shown his cards, but he’d revealed them to everyone around the table just as well.
Petre cleared his throat.
“Shit,” he said, a forced laugh catching in his throat. “All right, all right, brother, we’ll forget this hand was ever played. I don’t want any hard feel—”
“Apologies, sirs, but once one player’s hand has been revealed…” The dealer trailed off, looking from me to Petre. His eyes settled on mine. “Sir, those are the rules of the game, if we were to change them…” He looked scared for his life.
I shook my head.
“No apologies necessary. You are absolutely correct. Show your cards, Petre. Get this over with. It’s all right, I’ll take my fate.”
Petre hesitated, but the truth was he was trapped. He had to show his cards or beg our father for assistance.
As he would never do the latter, there was only one option open to him. With a scowl, he threw down the cards on the table and folded his arms over his chest. Three ladies, exactly as I’d anticipated. A good hand, to be sure, but I narrowed my eyes in confusion.
“Huh.” I said, pretending to be surprised. “I think my hand wins.”
“Congratulations, sir,” the dealer said, pushing all the chips over to me, repressing a smile as I rocked back in my chair, crossing my arms and watching Petre.
“Good thing you convinced me to play one last hand, right?”
Whatever veneer of polite humanity he had was now officially gone. He leered at me and spun his pinkie ring.
“I don’t know if I have the cash to cover it all,” he said.
I scoffed. Typical.
“It’s fine, I won’t bankrupt the family. I’ll take whatever is yours in the safe, not father’s, though I’d like him there to verify which is which. And I’ll also take that,” I said, eyeing his ring.
“Fuck you.”
I opened my palm. “Fine. So I’ll just go ahead and get the word out there that Petre Greengallow doesn’t pay his debts. Sounds good to me.” I added a click of my teeth and a wink.
Anger flashed on his face, just for a second, and then he crumpled like a piece of dry kindling. It took him some effort to wiggle the ring off of his finger. When he placed it in my palm, it felt unpleasantly hot. I dropped it into my jacket pocket and stood from the table.
“Let’s square this up. Then I can get the fuck out of here.”
“Before you go, I’d like a conversation, son,” my father said, standing from his seat ready to accompany us. My father could be merciless at times, but there was honor within him as well and he deserved my respect.
I sighed, feeling I already knew what was about to happen, but I nodded and answered, “Of course.”
As we walked to the safe, I felt Petre fuming beside me, his limping gait doing little to improve his mood. He was too chickenshit to take a swing at me, which was unfortunate because a left hook to his face may have improved my mood.
It had been years since we’d laid hands on each other, but in our youth we’d broken enough crystal and china that our mother had most of it moved from the main living areas into cupboards and pantries, lest she be replacing it year over year.