Page 2 of Heir

I glanced around. “Who’s Ivan Novák? Is he here? I’ll be sure not to make fun of him.”

The man surged to his feet and pointed at himself with a thick sausage finger. “I am Ivan Novák and you are making fun of me.”

“You’re Ivan Novák?” I asked, continuing to play dumb and enjoying the chuckles of entertained spectators around me.

“I am.”

“Oh shit! Well, I will be sure not to make fun of you then.”

His brows bunched and his face scrunched. Then one of his minions, or lackies, or whatever leaned over and whispered something into his ear. His face flushed red again, and he glared at me like he wanted to rip my head clean from my body. “You are making fun of me.”

With her arms full of the overflow of chips I couldn’t carry myself, Gemma whispered in my ear, “Maybe you should leave him alone. He’s getting a little scary. Do you see the vein sticking out in his forehead?”

I did see it. But I was a button-pusher by nature, and something about this guy just irked me. And it wasn’t the fact that he called me Big Baby Girl either. I mean, yeah, that was annoying as fuck, but it was the way he’d come into the wine cellar with his entourage, barking orders and leering at the waitresses. Then I saw him reach out and grab one girl, Danielle’s, ass. She giggled and smiled at him. Because what else could she do in a place with so many criminals and dwellers of the city’s seedy underbelly? The tips were good. She needed this job to pay for medical school.

I made a point of getting to know all the staff at all the venues I frequented. They were human too, and deserved kindness and respect. And Danielle was in her second year of med school and drowning in student loan debt.

So she put up with the handsy guests because she knew she had a better life coming to her and her son soon.

“Is Big Baby Girl going to stay, or what?” Ivan asked. “Or is it her beddy-by time? Run home to your mommy, Big Baby Girl. Waa! Waa! Waa!”

“Don’t bite,” Gemma gritted.

Too late.

“My mother’s dead,” I deadpanned, keeping my gaze locked with Ivan’s as I put down enough chips to buy in for the next game.

Gemma sighed behind me. “Shit.”

As I expected, I kicked Ivan’s ass at the table. And every other player there too.

The rest of them weren’t happy about it, but they weren’t sore losers either. They knew what they were getting into in the high-stakes underground poker world. They knew the risk.

I was well known. Famous in certain circles.

But Ivan wasn’t happy about his loss and he made sure everyone in that entire wine cellar knew about it. “She is a cheater,” he said as I scooped up my winning chips and the dealer collected the cards.

Damon huffed out his nose. “Mr. Novák, we have had many poker and card professionals come and assess Ms. Playfair and we can assure you, she doesn’t cheat. Nor does she count cards. She plays fairly and by the rules. I know it’s difficult to lose, but you must understand, we take this very seriously as well.”

Ivan wasn’t having it though. He reached beneath the table and flipped over the whole thing, sending nearly all of my chips flying in every direction.

Security was on him like rats on a brick of gouda, hauling him out. It took three security guards though. Ivan’s minions went without a fight, following after their cursing leader who kicked and screamed like a toddler being drug away for nap time.

With a weary sigh, I dropped to a crouch, along with several other people, and began scooping up my chips. I’m sure they wouldn’t all be accounted for. A few someones would pocket a chip or two. Whatever. Gemma and I would make sure we grabbed more than enough to cover rent for our loft, rent for Aunt Delia’s place, and groceries for the next few months.

Unlike Gemma, who liked to bare her pale midriff whenever she could, I preferred baggier clothes, at least when I played poker. An oversized men’s T-shirt was my top choice as it allowed me to scoop all my chips into it like a kangaroo pouch and carry it over to cash in. When I wasn’t working, I was happy to sport a crop top now and then.

I made sure to tip Damon before I made my way through the crowd. Conversations echoed around me like comforting white noise as I went to cash in my winnings. I spotted Danielle and gently grabbed her elbow, making sure it was not the arm carrying the tray of empty glasses. “Here,” I said, placing a yellow thousand-dollar chip into her free hand. “Thanks for all the club sodas tonight. Your kid deserves to go to music camp. Now you can send him.”

She blinked big doe eyes at me. “M-Ms Playfair, I can’t.”

“You’d better,” I said, giving her a wink before walking away.

We reached the cashier, and Gemma and I both dumped the chips on the table in front of him.

Enzo sighed. “Gonna take me a minute, Omaera.”

“I know, Enzo. All good.”

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