My gaze met Maslow’s, and I knew I’d folded too fast. I wasn’t even holding any cards, but he already had my tell. It grated. Worse, it distracted me.
The other men rustled in their seats, murmuring to themselves or into phones, trying to scrounge up stakes thatcould measure against what I’d offered. A dream. A wish. A deal. Not exactly something you could toss onto the felt and match with cash.
My attention drifted from Maslow, and from Colette, because I already knew what she thought of all this. That was when I caught Stefano watching me. His expression was unreadable at first, but then his eyes narrowed, tracking the twitch in my jaw and the way I refused to look at the incubus perched in his lap.
His lips parted like he meant to ask something, then thought better of it.
He’d seen it.
He knew what I was doing and who I was doing it for, which made his unspoken question the only one that remained: why?
At last, the shuffling and whispering quieted. The players made their choices. Some threw down favors, others property deeds, rare commodities, or names scribbled on slips of paper. Each one was a gamble.
Antonella’s sons sat out the round, no doubt fearing how their mother would react if they attempted to deal with a demon. Everyone else stayed in, most importantly Maslow and, most surprisingly, Stefano.
Once the wagers were settled, the dealer passed out cards.
There was no more banter. No more bravado. Just the soft rustle of cards and the hush of held breath.
I’d put myself into a difficult position. A damn near impossible one. If I lost, I’d owe a debt to one of the men at this table and be officially back in business. That was unpleasant, but not nearly as appalling as the alternative: Zephyr being whisked away for two days to be victimized and abused.
There’d be no thought to consent, no regard for comfort. I didn’t doubt that whoever got their hands on him would fuck him raw and drop him on the Dollhouse’s doorstep like a used condom.
He was a sex toy to them because that was how Maslow marketed him. No one spoke of his sweetness or the way he smiled. No one cared about his magic. All they saw was his body and how they could defile it.
Peeking at my hand, I found it unimpressive, and I chewed the inside of my lip while waiting for the flop. Things could change fast in hold ’em. I hoped for two pairs, something high, but it didn’t come. I was holding trash, but I couldn’t fold.
One by one, the others quit their hands with quiet curses or stiff jaws, surrendering their wagers like they were severing limbs. Some tried to laugh it off. Others didn’t speak at all.
Maslow held on longer than most. His thin lips twisted every time he checked his cards. He needed this win as much as the rest of them, but eventually, he had to concede. He glared at the river, muttered something indistinct, then forfeited his cards with exaggerated grace.
That left Stefano and me.
I considered my hand, then the cards spread across the table.
I’d ended up with a low pair. No flush. No straight. The only thing I had to bet on was my bluff, and that was even weaker than my cards.
Glancing at Stefano, I searched his face for a flicker of emotion, a crack in the façade. Nothing. He was a study in solemn elegance, a sculpture carved in thought.
I couldn’t remember what he’d wagered, and that felt suddenly important. I’d been too busy watching Zephyr,worrying about Colette, and wondering how my day had begun with flowers and apologies and ended with a game with stakes so high and tight they felt like a strangling noose.
Why was the angel even playing? He should have taken a cue from his nephews and steered clear of these nefarious dealings. He couldn’t approve of this. Or of me, despite having excused my arrival as though I truly did have a seat at his table. As though he hadn’t cast me out decades ago.
When the time came for the final bid, Stefano looked at me.
There was something in his eyes. Not challenge. Not satisfaction.
Wistfulness.
He gazed down at where Zephyr curled against his chest, oblivious to the stakes. Tucking a strand of hair behind Zephyr’s ear, Stefano set his cards face down on the table and pushed them forward.
“I fold,” he said quietly.
That was it.
I’d won.
Relief surged, but it was chased by something colder. Confusion. Suspicion. Guilt.
