My hands stay loose on the table, but every muscle in my body is calculating angles and possible exits.
Valentina’s smile tightens.“Let’s make it interesting.”She doubles the ante.The chips clink, sharp as gunfire.
The rest of the table is a joke.Ortega’s bluffing, badly.Marquez has nothing and folds.
Neither is concentrating.They’re watching Adena, not playing.Valentina raises again.This isn’t casual anymore.
Every second Adena studies her cards ratchets the tension tighter until it’s pressing in behind my ribs, in my throat, in the space between us that’s suddenly too small.
Valentina watches her like a cat waiting for the twitch of a mouse’s tail.“You play beautifully,” she says.“But the best players don’t win with their hands.They win with what the others want.”
She flicks her gaze to me.“Wouldn’t you agree, Jagger?”
I keep my voice even, but every nerve in my body is screaming.“Depends on the table.”
Ortega laughs, low and amused.“Come on,hermano.Every table’s the same.Stakes just change.”
Marquez smiles faintly, lifting his glass.“Then let’s raise them.”
Valentina drags a fingertip across her cards, slow.“All right.”She turns her attention fully to Adena—all warmth gone, only polished civility left.“If you win this hand, Jagger walks away clear.No debts.”
A cold rush hits my spine.She didn’t free me.She transferred the cost.
Adena’s eyes narrow slightly.“And if I lose?”
Valentina’s smile is delicate, dangerous.“Then you owe me a favor.”
The word hangs there.A favor.No parameters.No limits.No expiration date.
My mind goes straight to the worst places.
Valentina deciding Adena has to pick up a package at a warehouse on the river, hand-deliver cash.Or deciding Adena needs to get close to someone specific—one of Valentina’s allies or enemies—and play a part until the man trusts her completely.
Or worse: Valentina using her to get to me.Telling Adena to listen for certain names, to watch my movements, to bring back something I said in confidence, to “prove her loyalty” by testing mine.
The silence that follows is suffocating.Ortega’s grin widens.Marquez doesn’t intervene—he’s watching me, not her, measuring, reading whether I’m about to break.
Adena’s voice cuts through the quiet, calm.“Fine.”She sets her chips forward.“Deal.”
My jaw locks so hard I taste it.She doesn’t look at me—can’t, or won’t.
The cards turn slow.The river comes down—king of diamonds.
Adena exhales once, then lays her cards flat on the felt.Straight.
Valentina’s hand falls short by one.
For a second—just one—air rushes back into my lungs.Relief hits fast and sharp, almost painful.But the relief is gone as fast as it came.
Valentina’s smile is a mask.A woman like her doesn’t lose anything—not without deciding what she’ll take instead.
For a moment, no one moves.Then Marquez starts to laugh—quiet, genuine, like he’s just seen something unexpected and dangerous take root.
Valentina’s smile stays fixed, but her posture is stiffer.“Well,” she says softly.“Seems fortune favors the brave.”
Adena gathers her winnings, slow, deliberate.Her fingers don’t shake.“Guess it does.”
Marquez raises his glass toward her.“Welcome to the big time, Adena.Let’s hope your luck lasts.”
