SWNOVELS When He Takes: Chapter 19
The air in the back room of Red Vines is thick with the heat of bodies and cigar smoke. A lone overhead lamp illuminates the table and the men sitting around it with dim light.
The room goes quiet as I step over the threshold.
Maksim’s gaze meets mine. He puffs on his cigar and gives me a small wave. “Welcome,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. “Have a seat.”
Yannis walks over to shake my hand. “Welcome back to New York, Mr. De Luca. We missed you around these parts.”
I pat Yannis on the back. He’s not a bad guy, although I wonder if his neutrality will continue to stand if this war keeps heating up. It’s nice to mix and mingle in times of peace, but when the dead keep piling up, few men will be willing to leave their grudges at the door of Red Vines.
Taking a seat, I do a quick inventory of who’s here. There are two men I don’t recognize, three Greeks that I’ve seen hanging around Yannis, Sergio Delvagio—a free agent previously associated with the Santoro family—and Mick Smith. Fuck that guy. I’m certain that’s not his real name. He’s a trafficker and someone I don’t like to associate with.
Given the malicious look in his eyes, he knows it too.
“Do we need to make any introductions?” Maksim asks.
I nod at the two men I haven’t seen before. “We haven’t met.”
Turns out they’re Albanian smugglers here on vacation. Friends of Yannis.
What a merry fucking crew.
Yannis makes sure we all have drinks and then the game begins.
The dealer, a younger Greek I recognize but whose name I can’t recall, shuffles the deck with practiced hands.
To determine the button position, each player is dealt one card face up. I get a seven. One of the Albanians gets a king, earning the button, making me the big blind. The agreed-upon big blind is four hundred dollars. I slide my chips into the pot, waiting for the dealer to deal the starting hands.
Mick’s eyeing me with a smirk that’s starting to piss me off.
I swipe my palm over my chin. “Got something on my face?”
He flashes me his yellow teeth. “Must be nice to take a six-month sabbatical from all this. Want to share some tips? I’d love a vacation.”
Two cards appear in front of me. I glance at them quickly before stacking them together. “Plenty of people around these parts who’d like to send you on a permanent vacation, Mick.”
He cackles. “Still got your sense of humor, I see.”
We start the first betting round. Mick folds. The rest check. I raise. The dealer deals three cards on the table. I mentally run through the possible combinations.
I’ve got nothing.
Maksim brings his drink to his lips. “Nero came back to New York with a beautiful wife.”
This fucking prick.
“Oh yeah?” Mick drawls. “How is she liking it here?”
I crack my knuckles. “She’s warming up to it.”
Maksim’s eyes glint from across the table. “She seemed quite at ease at the event where we ran into the two of you. You should bring her out more often, Nero. No need to hide her away at home.”
My gaze drills into the cards on the table while a fantasy of putting a bullet right between Maksim’s eyes plays on repeat inside my head.
I better channel the anger pulsing through me into the act I’m supposed to be putting on.
We start another betting round. I fold.
“And you? How you’ve been since your return?” Mick asks.
He’s up my ass, and I have a feeling Maksim’s the one who put him up to it.
“Just fine.”
“Is that right? A lot of things have changed since you left. Can’t be easy adjusting to it all.”
The dealer reveals another card.
“Not as hard as you think,” I grind out.
After we go around the table once more, only Sergio, Mick, and one of the Greeks remain in the game.
The dealer flips the final card. A jack of hearts.
Across from me, Sergio throws his cards onto the table—he’s got a full house.
The guys who were still in the game curse.
“Sergio takes the pot,” the dealer says before he starts collecting our cards off the table.
Mick’s grin is all shark teeth and malice. “Hey, Nero, remember when you used to be someone important? You know, before you became Alessio’s errand boy?” Laughter echoes around the table, sharp and biting.
I force a tight-lipped smile. “Times change, Mick. We play the hands we’re dealt.” My voice is calm, betraying none of the bitterness that swirls in my gut like a bad meal.
I’d expected this. These games are always full of jibes and underhanded insults, but they usually slide right off me like I’m made of Teflon.
Now, they burrow under my skin.
I am a fucking errand boy.
But not for long if we manage to nail the pakhan.
We start again. Cards are dealt, bets placed.
“I’m just kidding with you,” Mick says. “You’re not the kind of guy who stays at the bottom for long. You’ll work your way back up in no time.”
“If they let him, that is,” Maksim adds. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think Gino Ferraro is interested in giving any power to a man who killed one of his nephews. No matter how capable he might be.”
I bite on the inside of my cheek. “Time will tell.”
“I just wonder if your wife will be patient enough to wait,” Sergio chimes in, tossing his chips into the center with a clatter. “If not, and if she’s as beautiful as Maksim says, tell her I’ll be happy to take her off your hands.”
Chuckles erupt, but they’re tense. Probably because they can tell I’m contemplating murder.
“You say one more thing about my wife, and I’ll break your neck.”
Mick scratches a spot on his cheek with his thumb. “Don’t you need Gino Ferraro’s permission to do that?”
Sergio laughs, but he stops quickly when he registers the look on my face. He tugs on his collar and sniffs. “Take a joke, will ya?”
“All right, let’s not bring the ladies into this,” Maksim says smoothly, like he’s the magnanimous referee.
Our eyes meet. Every instinct inside me demands I hide how the snide comments from him grate against me, but I make a point to let the frustration bleed into my expression.
This is what he’s looking for. This is exactly what he wants to see. A man who’s been reduced to nothing. A man who’ll do anything to get back what he lost.
His lips twitch before he looks away.
The final hand comes around, and the air tenses, thick with anticipation.
When the dealer reveals the fourth card, excitement flares inside my chest. I’ve got a flush, all cloaked in hearts. A winning hand, finally.
I raise. So do Maksim, Mick, and Sergio. The pot grows to thirty grand before the dealer reveals the last of the five cards.
I reveal the two cards I’ve got, and the table falls silent as the realization dawns. Mick’s face turns an interesting shade of red.
“Well, fuck me,” he spits, his hand empty except for a useless pair.
“What he said,” Sergio grumbles.
Maksim just sniffs.
I rake in my chips, the clink of them sounding sweet to my ears. “Just playing the hand I was dealt, gents.” My smile is all teeth now, no pretense of friendliness.
“Let’s take a break,” Yannis says.
“I’ve got to take a leak,” Mick mutters, shouldering past me on his way out.
Maksim and I walk over to the bar set up in the corner. “Well played. You’ve lost a lot, Nero, but you haven’t lost your edge.”
Despite my win, I’m tense. “Yeah. Thanks. Whiskey, neat.”
Maksim nods at Yannis. “One for me too.”
Yannis pours it for us. “Here you go.”
“I can tell you’ve got a fire in you,” Maksim adds as we pick up our drinks. “Gino hasn’t managed to extinguish it.”
He’s fishing. Looking for me to slip and say something I shouldn’t while I’m still pissed. I’m fucking sure he told Mick to be on his worst behavior just to rile me up.
I let my anger slip into my tone. “Not for the lack of trying.”
“Has it been difficult?” he says, lowering his voice.
“What do you think? I’ve spent my whole life doing right by the Messeros. And this is how they repay me.”
Maksim lets the silence linger.
I huff and give my head a shake, letting my agitation roll off me in waves. “Never mind. It is what it is.”
“It’s not fair what they did to you.”
“Loyalty only extends in one direction in that family.”
Satisfaction flickers inside Maksim’s gaze. I think I have him.
“One day, it might come back to bite them,” he says smoothly.
“Yeah. One day.”
We stare at each other, an understanding solidifying between us, and a conspiratorial smirk lifts up the corner of his lips.
“I’m glad we met.” Maksim raises his whiskey. “To new friends.”
I clink my glass against his. “To new friends.”
The alcohol burns as it slides down my throat. Around us, the other players have broken into small groups, their chatter filling the room.
But one person is missing.
Placing the empty glass on the bar, I give Maksim a nod. “I’ll be right back.”
Mick’s washing his hands when I walk into the bathroom. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, locking onto my reflection like a hawk tracking its target.
I walk toward him with slow, measured steps, enjoying the way all color seeps out of his face.
He turns off the tap. “Hey, Nero. All good? I didn’t mean to offe—”
“I’m not here to chat,” I growl.
I drag him to the toilet, shove his head into the bowl, and flush until he nearly drowns.
The satisfaction I get is even sweeter than winning that hand.