Page 315 of Don’t Say Mafia

Maddox swore and slid chips across the table. Gage, who had appeared a few minutes after we’d come into the room, leaned back, studying the spread like he could undo it through sheer focus. Cruz barely reacted as he adjusted his stack with quiet precision.

I smiled, watching Lawson enjoy his very temporary moment.

Two days ago, I would’ve been standing behind him with a tray balanced on my palm, tracking whose drink was low and who needed another refill. I would’ve memorized their betting rhythms without ever touching the cards myself.

Now, my elbows rested on the table, and chips were stacked neatly in front of me.

And I was winning.

“Your turn,” Maddox said, glancing at me.

The dealer slid two cards my way, and I picked them up smoothly, barely lifting them from the surface. In high school, my math teacher had turned poker into a lesson plan—applied probability, expected value, risk assessment under uncertainty. We’d calculated outcomes on whiteboards before we ever shuffled a deck. The class had loved it so much that we started an after-school club, setting up metal chairs around a table and playing until the janitor kicked us out.

I didn’t need to look at Jagger for reassurance.

Cruz was still riding the high of his last hand; it showed in the way he tossed chips forward without hesitation. Maddox tightened up after a loss. Gage observed everyone but sometimes overanalyzed when the stakes climbed. Lawson concealed everything—until the very end.

The first three community cards hit the table, and I had to force myself not to smile. I added to the pot without pause.

Cruz’s eyes narrowed. “That was quick.”

“Should I stall for suspense?” I asked.

“Bluffing already,” Maddox muttered.

“I don’t bluff,” I said lightly.

Jagger’s hand settled against my knee beneath the table, and I had to forcefully ignore it so I wasn’t distracted. Another card turned, and Gage tapped his cards with his thumb. There it was . . . I matched his raise.

Lawson studied me, his gaze narrowing slightly. “You caught Gage.”

Gage looked up immediately. “Caught me doing what?”

I grinned, and Maddox’s mouth twitched. “You’ve been exposed.”

“I have not been exposed,” Gage said flatly.

Lawson folded his hands on the table. “You’ve got something you do.”

“I don’t do anything. It’s literally my job to not do anything,” Gage snapped, looking highly offended.

Jagger made a scoffing sound beside me, and Gage turned toward him. “Don’t encourage this.”

“I’m not,” Jagger replied, though the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

Gage pointed at me. “Are we talking an eye twitch? A lip bite? A weird breathing thing?”

“Everyone breathes weird,” Maddox said. “So that’s not it.”

I snorted and tucked my cards closer to my chest. “Let’s keep playing. I’m not telling you what you do because then you’ll fix it.”

Gage leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and pouting. “I don’t like this.”

“Yes, it’s tragic,” Cruz said as the final card landed.

Silence gathered over the table.

Cruz looked at the table. Then at me. Then back at the table again like it might rearrange itself out of pity.