Page 28 of Power
I take a slow sip of my drink, letting him come to me. Sure enough, within minutes, he’s hovering near my table and wearing that look he always has—like he knows something noone else does. I set my glass down and lean back, offering nothing.
“Yuri Zaytsev,” he drawls, hands in his pockets. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Funny,” I say. “I was just thinking the same about you. And it’s Dario Bellini now. A brand-new me, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
Of course he does. Nothing moves through this city without him knowing. The minute my luggage cleared, I’m sure he had word of it.
His jaw tightens. “Of course, you always did hate your origins. I didn’t realize you had such a fondness for charity.”
"I have a fondness for good investments," I say. "And for making sure people don’t forget I exist."
His smile thins. "Oh, no one’s forgotten you. Trust me." His smirk falters for half a second before he gestures toward the poker table. “Since you’re here, why don’t we make it interesting?”
I exhale through my nose, amused. “What’s the buy-in?”
“Fifty grand,” he says, and when I don’t react, he adds, “Unless that’s a little steep for you.”
Rafa huffs a quiet laugh beside me, but I don’t take the bait. Instead, I finish my drink and stand. “Let’s play.”
The game begins, and I play it like I do everything else—with patience. Enzo is reckless, predictable in his arrogance. He plays like a man who believes he’s untouchable, throwing chips in with a flourish, flashing his teeth when he wins. But it’s all bravado. He doesn’t like uncertainty. He needs to be in control.
So, I take that from him.
I fold hands that look promising. I call when he expects me to bow out. I let him think he’s ahead, let him ride that high just long enough for the fall to hurt.
Then, when the pot is at its peak, I make my move.
Enzo leans forward, eyes glinting as he slides more chips in. “All in,” he says, voice smug.
I let a small smile play at my lips. “You always think you have the winning hand, don’t you?” I say, almost lazily. “Must be exhausting, living in that delusion.”
His smirk twitches, but he holds his ground as I match his bet. The room watches expectantly as we reveal our cards.
A straight flush beats his full house.
The dealer confirms it. The chips—all of them—are pulled my way.
Enzo’s jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out as he stares at the table. His temper is predictable, too.
I pick up a single chip, rolling it between my fingers. “Nice game.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, shoving back from the table. “What’s your angle, Dario? You’ve been gone for a long time. You think you can just waltz back in and make everyone lick your ass in my city?”
“Your city?” I raise an eyebrow. “Last I checked, you weren’t the appointed mayor.”
He sneers. “Last I checked, you couldn’t even afford a suit. Funny how a stray dog suddenly learned some new tricks and thinks he’s got the whole world watching.”
“I have no need for theatrics, Enzo. You’ve always been the one to put on a show.”
His hand flexes, like he wants to hit something—maybe me. “Well, I suppose I should be glad you’re back, Bellini. Your return makes things more entertaining. Just like old times.”
Old times. I let out a low chuckle, brushing off the weight of history between us like it’s nothing. “An amusing little memory,” I say, watching his face tighten. “Over a decade later and you’re still looking back. You never learn, Enzo. Never did.”
“You still think you're better than me, don’t you? Still trying to prove you're the hero? The good guy?” Enzo leans in, venom dripping from every word. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but you’re no different. You’ve always been the same—you just hide it better.”
“How could you think I’m the same as you? I’m more man than you’ll ever be.”
Enzo’s lips curl into a smirk, he moves in a little closer.
