"The Blackwood Shipping Company," he says as he unfolds the heavy paper. It’s embossed with his family’s gold seal. "It’s worth ten times this bet. I’m betting my company."
I don't say a word.
He signs his name at the bottom of the paper and tosses it onto the pile of chips. It lands softly.
"Call," he whispers.
I let the silence stretch, allowing him taste hope one last time, letting him savor the last drops.
Then, slowly, I flip my cards.
Ace. Ace.
Four aces.
Arthur pales as if he’s taken a shotgun blast to the abdomen.
He stares at the cards, his mouth opening and closing. He can't speak or seem to process the truth of what he’s done.
"A Full House is a good hand, Arthur," I say, dropping the fake accent completely. My voice becomes the cold, sharp rasp that my men know. "But it doesn't beat four of a kind."
He slumps in his chair. "No... no, that’s not... I can't..."
"You lost," I say. I signal Lev.
From the shadows, my guards step forward. They lock the doors with a loud click. The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly. The warm, casual gambling vibe vanishes, replaced by the icy chill of the Bratva.
Arthur looks around, finally realizing the cage has closed.
He glances at the guards, then back at me. He detects the change in my posture. The drunk smile is gone.
"Who... who are you?" he stammers.
I stand up, slowly unbuttoning my cuffs to roll up my sleeves, revealing the thick, black ink on my wrists. The eight-pointed stars. The mark of a Captain.
Heat floods his face. He knows what they mean.
"You don't recognize me, Arthur?" I walk around the table until I’m standing over him, blocking the light. "You used to come to my house for dinner. You bought me my first chess set when I was ten years old. Don’t you remember?"
He looks up at me, terrified, searching my face for the boy behind the scars.
"Morozov?" he breathes. The name sounds like a curse. "Viktor's... boy?"
"Konstantin Morozov," I correct.
He doesn't run. He just... collapses, sinking lower in his chair.
He’s defeated. Deflated. Like he has been waiting for this moment for twenty years.
"I knew," he mutters. "I knew the devil would come eventually."
"The devil waits until you die," I say.
I collect the deed from the table.
"I don't."
I look at the paper. The Blackwood Shipping empire is mine. The ships, the warehouses, the routes. I’ve taken back what he stole from my father.
