Page 47 of Bratva Knight

She knew what I was doing. She was just trying to get me to talk about it in the hopes of making me feel better.

“Why are you up?” I asked instead of answering.

Her lips pursed. “You’re deflecting.”

I was, but I needed to. I couldn’t think about it anymore. I couldn’t think about what my failure to protect my family had resulted in, what was happening to my father right at this moment. If he was even alive—which, if I was being honest, I didn’t really believe.

Aleksandr turned down Dominik’s offer, and my uncle’s last words consumed my thoughts every second. “Last chance, little nephew. Hand over control or your father suffers.” “What happens next is on you.”

I’m not sure what Tatiana saw on my face, but she must have realised how desperately I wanted to avoid talking about it.

“You want a distraction,” she nodded, a look of determination in her eyes as she disappeared back into her room, returning a moment later with a deck of cards. She slammed them down onto the table, taking her seat.

“What’s this?” I asked, pushing my laptop to the side and bracing my elbows on the table.

“I’m giving you what you want. We’re going to play poker.”

I cocked my head, arching an eyebrow as she shuffled the deck. “Poker?”

“Yep.”

“No offence, but I don’t think a game of poker is going to help distract me.”

“Why not?” she began to deal out the cards. “It’s always worked in the past.”

“That’s because we playedstrippoker, Tatiana. It wasn’t the game that was distracting. It was you. Naked.”

Her eyes slammed on me, hand frozen in the air. Sexual tension snapped between us, hot and full of burning, sizzling energy. It was something we used to do all the time. We couldn’t go out like regular couples. Hiding our relationship was an idea we were both happy with, but it came with negatives. So, we’d come up with ways to entertain ourselves. After sneaking her into the main house (and let’s be honest here, fucking in the hidden passageways in the walls), we’d lock ourselves away in my bedroom and do all sorts of filthy, depraved things. Things a nun would have a heart attack over. Sinful, dirty things.

Our version of “strip poker” wasn’t the same as what I’m sure everyone else’s was. Whoever lost the hand didn’t just have to take off an article of clothing. They also had to do a dare, usually of the sexual nature, because those were the best ones.

Fuck, I was getting hard just thinking about it.

We stared at each other, neither one of us saying a word. The tension continued to build and build, so thick that it suffocated the air around us.

Tatiana resumed dealing. “Five card draw? Same rules?”

Despite the excitement pulsing through my veins, I had to say, “we don’t have to do this.” The last thing I wanted was for her to feel pressured, like it was her job to distract me. It wasn’t.

“Shut up and pick up your cards.”

A chuckle slipped free and I did as she demanded.

We both looked at our cards. Tatiana dumped one and I dumped three. Since she was the dealer, she dealt out the replacement cards before glancing at her hand again, lips pursed.

“I bet socks,” Tatiana said, projecting an air of nervousness I didn’t entirely believe. Like I mentioned before, our rules for strip poker differed from the way other people played. One person bet an article of clothing. Depending on how confident you were in your hand, you could match their bet. If you won,theyhad to remove the piece of clothing they originally bet. Or you could raise it by betting a different piece. Like pants. They could either fold, which meant they’d lost the hand and had to remove whatever article of clothing they’d originally bet, or they could match. Whoever had the lowest playing set of cards had to remove their pants.

You could play several different ways. You could bluff your way through, pretend you have a shit hand so the other person feels overconfident and bets higher, thinking they’ll win. Which was what I had a feeling Tatiana was doing at that moment.

Or you could come out hot, bet high, and hope you had the better hand.

I studied her closely, tapping my fingers on the table. “Raise. Shirts.”

Tatiana smiled. “Match.” She showed her cards.

Four of a kind.

Sighing, I got to my feet and unbuttoned my shirt, rolling my shoulders back as the fabric slipped from my body.

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