“Call,” I said, casting my $25,000 in chips into the pot, pulling the 8, 7, and 9 away, and accepting three new cards.
Since no one had raised, it was Marion’s turn again to bet. I had noted he’d only taken one card. “Twenty-five thousand,” he said, his blue eyes zeroed in on me.
Casually, I placed my new cards in my hand and began looking: 6.
Shit.
A six would have given me an inside straight.
I fanned the remaining cards: 6, 5, 5, 5.
Willing my cheeks not to move, I pushed $25,000 in chips forward and added another $10,000. “I see your twenty-five and raise you ten.”
Julius called.
Grant Walters folded.
It was Marion’s turn.
“You did see that I took only one card,” he said pointedly to me. “If you were confident in your hand, you would raise more than ten.” He counted out his chips, gathering $100,000. “I see your measly $10,000 raise and raise you another ninety.”
Edward Bellows folded his hand.
It was my turn.
“Save your money, little lady,” Marion said condescendingly. “Sit on back and let us men show you how it’s done.”
I turned to the dealer, pushing out another $90,000 in chips. “Someone needs to keep him honest.”
Julius nodded. “I’ll let you keep that job.” He folded.
The dealer turned to Marion. “Mr. Elliott, you have been called.”
He laid his hand faceup. K, K, J, J, and 10.
Everyone turned to me.
“Well, thank you for the education,” I said. I’d been wrong in assuming he was bluffing. He had a winning hand, just not winning enough. I turned my cards. “Full house.”
The room erupted in muffled applause.
Back and forth the play went. Slowly the number of participants dwindled. Julius was the first to leave and then Mr. Walters. Our time limit was approaching when Marion won a hand with both black aces and black eights. As he pulled in his chips, Mr. Bellows nodded. “That’s a dead man’s hand.”
“Superstition,” Marion said dismissively.
The next hand was dealt.
I fanned my cards: K, K, 8, K, and K.
Four kings.
It was the hand I had when I lost to Patrick at the tournament in Chicago. I looked up at my two opponents. What were the chances that either of these men could beat the third-highest-ranked hand in poker?
Yes, technically, four aces would beat me and also a straight flush or the elusive royal flush.
“Ms. Miller,” the dealer said, “$25,000 to move on.”
I pushed the $25,000 forward.
“Cards?” the dealer asked from player to player.
Marion took two and Bellows one.
“Ms. Miller?”
“I’m good, thank you.”
The room around us seemed to be growing restless. I wasn’t certain if it was about our play or something else. My mind had to stay on the game.
“I think we need to move this night right along,” Bellows said as he pushed all his earnings into the center of the table. “All in, lady and gentleman.”
Fuck.
This was Chicago all over again.
And yet I couldn’t fold on four kings.
I pushed my chips forward. “I will call.”
Marion smiled. “Déjà vu, Mrs. Kelly. Congratulations, by the way, on your marriage. I call.” He pushed his chips forward
I nodded.
“Mr. Bellows, everyone has called your bet,” the dealer said.
With the tension high, I looked around, surprised to see the spectators looking at their phones and whispering.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Elizabeth’s voice came over the speakers. “Need I remind you that there is to be no communication from outside this room? Please put down your phones while play is in progress.”
“Mr. Bellows,” the dealer repeated a little louder.
With a grin, he turned his cards: J, J, J, J, and an A.
“Four jacks and an ace,” the dealer announced.
Yes, he had a good hand.
I was next.
K, K, K, K, and an 8.
“Ms. Miller with four kings, ladies and gentlemen,” the dealer said.
The room was growing louder.
We all turned to Marion.
“Well, son of a bitch.” He threw his cards upon the table, facedown. “I don’t need to show you.”
“Ms. Miller is—”
Marion stood and turned toward the gallery. “I’m ready for some entertainment. It’s too bad we won’t see—”
Everyone had their phones out as the volume of the room continued to rise.
If I hadn’t been avoiding Andros, I might have seen what was coming next.
“You fucking animal.”
I knew his deep voice. I recognized the accent.
I spun in my seat as Andros stood and leveled the barrel of his gun at Marion.
My mind couldn’t react as the bullet rang out. People around me screamed and scrambled as the armed guards pulled their guns.
From out of nowhere, a large muscular body pulled me from my chair, landing on top of me.
“Patrick?” I asked, my voice muffled by the bulk over me. Turning my head, my eyes quickly shut. As chaos erupted around us and men shouted orders, my stomach reeled.
I couldn’t unsee.
On the floor beyond the chairs was Marion Elliott, a single gunshot in the middle of his forehead as blood and splatter pooled around him.
“What’s happening?”
“Madeline...” It was Andros speaking above the mayhem. The rest of his sentence was in Russian. For our son and Ruby…
What?
A new round of shots rained above, much like a pack of firecrackers lit on the Fourth of July. Rapid fire vibrated the room.
I closed my eyes as the solid body kept me from moving.
Screams.
The scraping of chair and table legs.
More screams.
And then silence.
Nothing.
My ears rang from within.
I couldn’t move.
Finally, the body above mine shifted, reaching for my cheeks, his vibrant blue eyes shining down. “Are you all right?” Patrick asked.
I couldn’t process as my pulse raced and my skin cooled. “What happened?”
Patrick lifted his head, taking inventory of the room where voices could now be heard.
When he helped me to my feet, I stood motionless as pandemonium swirled in slow motion in every direction. My attention went to the center of the storm.
Tears refused to fall as I made sense of the surroundings. My safe place within the fire was no longer a haven. The fire had won, covering the ruins of what I’d known like snowflakes made of soot and ash.
My gaze scanned the crowd.
Despite the ricochet of firepower, it appeared only two individuals had fallen, succumbing to their death.
Marion Elliott.
Andros Ivanov.
The guards sent to protect the money, the ones who had turned fire on Andros, were now attempting to turn confusion to calm.
My eyes moved across the room. Relief came at seeing Sterling and Mason talking to Sasha as Patrick grasped my hand.
My gaze went back to Andros.
Unlike Marion who was shot once, Andros’s body was riddled with multiple shots.
Turning, I buried my face in Patrick’s chest as his arms surrounded me.
“You’re safe.”