Page 51 of Bratva's Mercy
Aistov, Popov, and Gusev sat at the center table, a tower of chips already forming between them. Aistov lounged back in his chair like he owned the place, one arm draped lazily over the back, the other flicking a chip between his fingers with restless energy. Gusev sat opposite him, solid and unreadable, while Popov leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, his attention fixed on the cards in front of him.
I approached without hurry. “Gentlemen.”
Three sets of eyes lifted.
“Sergei,” Gusev greeted with a nod.
“Finally,” Aistov drawled, his grin quick and sharp. “I was starting to think you were avoiding us.”
“Unlikely,” I said evenly. “I had to take care of some business downstairs, but you seem entertained. Finding everything to your satisfaction?”
“Depends.” Aistov dragged his gaze over me in a way that would have irritated me on any other day, if my mind wasn’t already occupied. “Are you going to join us, or are you here for me to admire?”
Aistov’s attempt to flirt rolled right off my back. I knew better than to take him seriously. I was there when Maxim discovered him, little more than a kid, but with grit enough for Maxim to take a chance on him. He was hardly my type, being too colorful and social. I preferred spiteful and angry, dressed up in scrubs.
“Business first,” I said. “If there’s anything you need?—”
“Oh, we need something,” he cut in, leaning forward. “A fourth player to drive the stakes up.”
“Find someone else.”
“What if I only want you?”
Popov huffed out a quiet breath. “Are you looking for a poker player or someone to take home tonight?”
“Oh, if he offers, I’m okay with both,” Aistov said, batting his lashes at me. When he smiled, dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you don’t gamble, Sergei. What’s the sense of running a casino?”
Gusev glanced between us, then sighed. “One hand,” he said to me. “Just to shut him up.”
Aistov shot him a look. “I don’t need shutting up.”
“You do,” Popov muttered, not looking up from his cards. “Constantly. It’s a wonder you get anything done when you run that mouth of yours.”
Aistov ignored their banter, his attention snapping back to me. “One hand,” he agreed, softer now, almost coaxing. “Unless you don’t have the money to bet?”
I stared at him for a long second. Then, because refusing would drag this out longer than I cared for—and because Maxim wanted me to get closer to the three brigadiers—I pulled out the empty chair and sat.
“Deal.”
Aistov’s grin turned victorious. “Great. Now there’s another handsome face at the table besides mine.”
The dealer moved immediately, shuffling with deft hands before distributing the cards. Chips slid across the table, and bets were placed without hesitation. The numbers climbed fast, but I didn’t mind. A small price to pay for them seeing me as one of them.
I wasn’t an expert poker player, but I could hold my own. I watched each player, reading the subtle shifts in posture, the flickers of tells that most people thought they hid well. Aistov didn’t bother hiding anything. He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a casino.
He played like he did everything else in his life—reckless,bold, and a little too eager. His gaze kept drifting back to me, a smirk tugging at his mouth every time he orchestrated it so that our hands brushed over the table.
“Are you distracted?” he said.
“Not in the least.”
“Liar.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Thinking about something else?”
“Play your hand.”
He chuckled, clearly entertained. “Touchy.”
“Focus,” Gusev snapped.
