Page 6 of Forced Prisoner By the Bratva

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes shifting across the table and my face. His fingers scratched his jaw, a gesture that mirrored his confusion. Connor was contemplating what to do, but time was running out.

“Tick-tock, Connor,” I reminded him, my gaze pinned on his puzzled face. “What's it gonna be?”

His throat wobbled as he swallowed, finally giving in. “Fine,” he whispered, defeat creeping into his tone.

“Good.” I patted his shoulder and rose to my feet. “Scoot over.”

He moved himself to the next vacant chair, handing me full control of the game.

A million ways to win this game flooded into my mind as my sharp, calculating eyes traveled across the table. While Connor had been in control, I studied the players from the background, taking notes of their strategies and how they executed their moves.

It seemed almost impossible to get back to the winning level, considering the amount of damage Connor's mistakes had caused us. However, we stood a chance with the plan I'd devised.

Our opponents were strategic thinkers—risk takers—and the good thing was that they seemed to each have a pattern of winning. I'd been watching them since the beginning of the game, learning their moves and figuring out ways to counter them.

In the game of chess, there was something called a discovered attack, and your opponents wouldn't see it coming until it was too late. This tactic applied here, and it worked. The other players had no idea what I was cooking up; they were unaware of the tricks I had up my sleeves.

Their ignorance of my plan was my most powerful weapon. Even though they had their eyes scanning the table, they wouldn't see what hit them.

My primary objective was to win, no matter what. Losing wasn't an option; it was a luxury that I couldn't afford. Securing this deal was my family's ticket to the next level up the ladder of success. It was also my one chance to prove my worth.

As I raised the stakes and placed daring bets that shook the table, the air became thick with tension. To some, I was mad for taking such risks, and even Connor, at some point, began to doubt my ability to win this thing.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Uh, Tessa, don't you think you're moving too fast?”

“I know what I'm doing, Connor,” I replied with the same tone, stealing a glance at him. “Just trust me.”

He pulled away, drawing a deep breath as he decided to let me do my thing.

I could feel their gazes on me—all the players at the table. However, I never flinched—never showed any sign of fear, stress, or anxiety. Instead, I just smiled, maintaining an aura of sophistication like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

My gaze was composed and confident as I swept my eyes across the players, their breaths lodged in their throats. The air was electric with tension and anticipation.

My lips curled into a triumphant grin as I savored the moment, revealing a straight flush that left them all in awe.

Murmurs rose among the players. Some were intrigued by the winning strategy, but the others…not so much.

Me, I didn't give a shit. The most important thing was that I won, fair and square.

The looks of surprise, shock, and disappointment on their faces were priceless. If only Dad were here to witness this victory, he wouldn't underestimate me ever again.

As proud of myself as I was, I maintained an aura of modesty, though my confidence shone through.

My smile was brief, a wave of satisfaction washing over me as I gathered my chips and leaned back in my chair. My expression was calm and collected, eyes fixed on the table.

“Way to go, Tessa,” Connor whispered to me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His lips curled into a charming smile. “You did really good tonight.”

I flashed him a faint grin, and my heart swelled with excitement. I felt adrenaline coursing through my veins.

A tall man dressed in a black suit approached me, his demeanor calm and reserved. “Well played, Ms. O'Brian.” He halted by my side, his voice smooth and polite.

I jerked my head to face him, eyes squinting as I wondered who he was.

“Edward,” he said, introducing himself. “Edward Cane.” His eyes, dark and hollow, locked onto mine. “I represent the organization your father's seeking to seal a deal with.”

My heart skipped a beat, my gaze meeting with Connor's in a fleeting moment.

“We've been watching you, Ms. O'Brian, and I must say, you're a good player, and my employer is impressed,” he confessed, a faint smile playing on his lips.

---