Page 52 of High Stakes

Mikhail smiles, a thin, predatory curve of his lips. “A simple matter of business,” he replies. “We’ve come to discuss a certain… mutual acquaintance.”

Leone’s eyes flicker with a hint of confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Russian’s smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it. “Devon Penso,” he says, the name dripping with a sinister undertone, and I instinctively press closer to Leone, the sight not missed by Mikhail as his eyes dart to me before moving back to Leone.

My blood runs cold at the mention of Penso. I can feel Leone tense beside me, his nails digging into my hip.

“What about him?” Leone asks, his voice low and dangerous.

The Russian chuckles a dark sound that paralyzes me. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Milo demands.

The man smiles wickedly. “Penso is my brother,” he says, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. “Illegitimate, of course, but blood nonetheless.”

Leone’s eyes narrow, the realization settling in. “I didn’t know that,” he says, his voice measured. “What does that have to do with me?”

The Russian’s gaze hardens, the smile fading from his lips. “Penso has gone missing,” he says coldly. “And a little birdie told us he was last seen at your casino.”

Leone’s expression doesn’t waver, but I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. “I haven’t seen him,” he lies smoothly. “And if he was here, I wouldn’t know why. Penso wasn’t exactly welcome in my establishment; he was even kicked out of Verdigris.”

The Russian’s eyes bore into Leone’s, searching for any sign of deceit. “He’s my brother,” he repeats, his tone sharper. “And I want to know what happened to him.”

Leone meets his gaze head-on, unflinching. “If I knew, I’d tell you,” he says evenly. “But I don’t.”

The Russian studies him for a long moment and his lips curve into a thin smile. “Perhaps,” he says. “But that’s not the only reason we’re here.”

Leone’s eyes narrow further. “What else?”

The Russian’s smile widens slightly, a glint of amusement in his cold blue eyes. “We’ve come to propose a deal,” he says. “A truce of sorts.”

“A truce?” Leone repeats, his tone skeptical.

“Yes,” the Russian replies. “We’ll stop interfering with your shipments, your business… everything. In exchange, we want you to back out of your deal with the Mexicans.”

Leone’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see the wheels turning in his mind. The deal with the Mexicans is crucial—it gives him a significant foothold in the city’s underworld, a position of power the Russians clearly want to undermine.

“Why should I do that?” Leone asks, his voice is deceptively calm.

The Russian’s smile fades, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. “Because if you don’t, things will get unpleasant,” he says, the threat hanging in the air like a guillotine blade.

The tension between them crackles like electricity, the air thick with unspoken threats and promises. I can feel Leone’s anger simmering beneath the surface, a barely restrained beast that’s ready to lash out at any moment.

“You have to give me more reason than that; you’ve been a pain in the ass, but nothing we can’t handle,” Leone tells him.

“Think of it as building a connection. I have other business with the Mexicans that?—”

“You want on the strip,” Leone answers, cutting him off. The man doesn’t answer, but it’s clear Leone figured it out.

“We can speak more about it later; I just came to present the offer and also to look for my brother.”

“He’s not here,” Leone answers flatly.

“Then you won’t mind me looking around,” Mikhail says, and Leone watches him carefully. Leone casts a glance around at all the full tables, and I know he is calculating whether to cause a scene or potentially cause a fight to break out in his casino.

“Knock yourself out,” Leone tells him.

With that, Mikhail turns on his heel and stalks away, his men following close behind. The tension in the room eases slightly as they leave, but the unease in my chest only deepens.

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