Page 53 of Sinful Games

And let me steal 25 grand from him.

Francesco’s eyes sparkled with a sense of challenge as he leaned in. “Charming, you say? I must say, I’m quite skilled at keeping things interesting. Care to put that theory to the test?” He took a slow sip from his champagne glass, his gaze never leaving mine, daring me to take the bait.

Before I could say another word, the deep rumble of the bouncer’s voice filled the air, announcing the start of the game.

My gaze snapped up, following the sound. And then—NO freaking way.

I froze, my blood running cold as my eyes locked onto the man sitting directly across from us.

Lucifer himself, leaning back casually, his hands resting on the poker table, those cold, blue, merciless eyes fixated on Mr. Italian Playboy beside me.

I blanched. Of all the gin joints, of all the poker tables in this hellhole of a casino, it had to behim—the one person I couldn’t afford to cross paths with tonight.

Francesco's hand, completely unwanted, slid to my chin,his fingers caressing my cheek as if he hadn't just pulled us into a lion’s den. "Something wrong?"

I stiffened under his touch, barely holding back the urge to slap his hand away. My eyes darted back to Lucifer, who looked like he was about five seconds away from ripping Francesco apart.

"Oh, nothing," I muttered, forcing a smile. "Let's play."

Francesco’s lips curved into a satisfied smile, far too pleased with himself. "I’ll bet 15 grand for the lady," he winked.

I felt my pulse spike, my chest tightening as the bouncer handed him his chips. I tried to keep my eyes focused on the table, but my fingers were fidgeting uncontrollably in my lap. The chips were piling up in front of me, taunting me, while the weight of Romaniev’s dark chuckle across the table had my heart racing.

Damn him and his plan to ruin my life every chance he gets.

Why the hell is he even here?

Then it dawned on me—itwasthe Silas' casino after all. Of course, he'd show up.

I could feel the sweat starting to bead on my chest, my hair sticking slightly to the back of my neck.

This was going to be impossible. Stealing from Francesco had already been a nerve-wracking challenge. But with Romaniev right here? My brain was practically screaming at me to cut my losses and run.

This was going to be like threading a needle while being hunted by a wolf.

Fantastic.

"I'll bet 50."

The crowd that had gathered around the table reacted with a mix of gasps, claps, and clinking glasses, the noise blendinginto a cacophony of excitement and disbelief. My gaze, almost against my will, slid over to Romaniev.

He raised his glass, taking a swift gulp before slamming it back down on the table with a sharp clink. His eyes locked onto mine with a smoldering fury that was downright terrifying. The way he looked at me made it clear he wasn’t just pissed—he was out for blood.

Francesco, sensing the thick tension in the air, tried to lighten the mood with a smirk. “Well, looks like we’re really getting the party started, aren’t we?” His voice was dripping with mockery, and the room erupted in laughter. It was a cheap shot, but it worked—everyone else laughed, clinking glasses and exchanging amused glances. Except me and Romaniev.

The room felt suddenly too small, too suffocating.

As the dealer shuffled the cards and dealt them out, my mind was racing faster than the dealer’s hands. I glanced around, calculating how far I was from the exit. I was trying to stay cool, but with Romaniev lurking like a shadow over us, staying calm was easier said than done.

Francesco was flaunting his chips like he was king of the casino, but his eyes betrayed him—nervous, like a kid who’s just realized he’s forgotten his homework on test day. Every bet and raise felt like they were slowly tightening the screws on my sanity.

When the final hand was revealed, the room seemed to collectively hold its breath.

Francesco’s earlier swagger had turned into a full-blown panic attack. The guy was now all tight lips and fidgeting fingers. Romaniev, on the other hand, had a face as cold and unfeeling as a glacier, with a glint in his eyes that said he was enjoying this way too much.

Romaniev pushed a massive stack of chips into the centerof the table. Francesco hesitated, clearly struggling with the crushing weight of his own misplaced confidence.

With a resigned sigh, he shoved his own stack forward, meeting Lucifer’s bet.

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