Cyrus chuckles softly.
Matteo drifts toward the poker table, already talking casually to the men sitting behind it.
I pour myself a drink, moving closer to where Cyrus stands.
Cyrus leans in so only I can hear. “How did it go?”
I don’t look at him. I swirl the scotch, watching the amber move.
“Fine,” I reply.
Cyrus’s mouth curves. “That’s not an answer you give when things go fine.”
I take a sip, letting it burn. “I got the desired results.”
His gaze is steady, calm, and intelligent. “Nothing more?”
I let silence hang.
Cyrus doesn’t press. That’s why I trust him with exactly what I trust him with—very little, very carefully measured.
He lifts his glass slightly. “Then congratulations. You got . . . whatever you wanted.”
I clink mine against his with a soft, controlled tap. “You don’t even know what I won, so don’t sound so proud.”
Cyrus’s smile sharpens. “Pride is my best quality.”
Across the room, laughter rises from the men seated at the table. Matteo catches my eye and jerks his chin, telling me to come over. I should go. I should lose myself in the game. That’s what I’m here for after all.
Instead, my mind drifts, unwanted again back to her . . .
Back to the way she looked when she almost kissed me.
Cyrus’s voice cuts through the fog. “You’re distracted.”
I glance at him.
His eyes are unreadable, but his tone is casual, almost kind. “Try not to be,” he adds. “Distraction gets men killed.”
Matteo calls from the table, waving a card. “Lorenzo. Get over here before I take all your money out of spite.”
I force my mouth into a smirk and walk over, sliding into a seat with the weight of my mood dragging behind me.
The poker game starts.
Chips and cards are handed out, and the scotch flows.
Matteo needles everyone within reach, and for a while, I almost forget the storm in my head.
Almost.
But between hands, and between the laughter and the banter . . . my mind returns to Victoria.
The dealer slides me a hand, and I glance at my cards.
Five three off suit.
Of course.
