She smiles then. Just a little. It hits me harder than anything Olsen just said.
“I’m walking,” I say, eyes still on her. “You’re the one who bet on the wrong side, Mayor.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Gutierrez can’t protect you the way I have.”
“I don’t need protection,” I counter.
I finally look at him. “Butyoumight.”
His jaw clenches. “Careful, Maksim. You’re not untouchable. You start pointing people away from me, the wrong questions get asked about you. About this place.”
Ayla stacks her winnings, neat columns forming under her hands. She’s not nervous. Like she understands house edges and odds and how to cut a man open with nothing but a smile and a well-timed raise.
I drift my hand down, brushing my fingers through the ends of her hair as they rest over the back of the chair.
His gaze drops to that touch. Sticks there.
“You want advice?” I murmur.
He swallows. “From you?”
“Stop talking like you control anything that matters.” I shift, stepping closer to Ayla’s chair, close enough that I can feel the heat of her against my thigh. “You’re a face on a poster. A name on a ballot. If you win, it’s because I allow it. If you lose, it’s because I decided you’re done.”
His nostrils flare. “You think you can make me lose?”
I watch Ayla rake in another small pot with nothing but a well-timed bluff and the slightest arch of her brow.
Fuck.
The risk, the attention, the way the men around her don’t know whether to underestimate her or worship her.
She’s enjoying it.
“I don’t think,” I say softly. “I know.”
He stares at me like he’s trying to see the edges of the threat. There aren’t any. It’s all blade.
“What do you want, then?” he asks finally. “You backing Gutierrez for free out of the goodness of your heart?”
I huff out a breath that might almost be a laugh.
“Nothing’s free,” I say. “Not for me. Not for you.”
“So what’s the price?” he presses.
The dealer starts another hand. Ayla doesn’t look at me, but she tilts her head the tiniest degree, like she’s listening. Like she’s curious what I’ll say.
I let my fingers trail once more along the back of her neck, my pulse spikes when I feel her shiver.
“The price,” I say, “is that when you lose, you lose quietly. No tantrums. No investigations. No speeches about corruption and crime in my city. You shake Gutierrez’s hand, you smile for the cameras, and you pretend this is what you wanted all along.”
His mouth opens, then closes.
“You’re asking me to…concede?”
“I’mtellingyou what survival looks like for you now.”
He stares at me for a long moment, something like hatred simmering under the surface. Then his gaze flicks to Ayla, to the stack of chips in front of her.
