Luck of the Devil

by March, Meghan

  But if I win . . . I swallow before meeting his tumultuous gray gaze. It could be everything.

  I can’t let down my guard yet, though. I choose my words carefully to respond.

  “Why should I believe you? How do I know that this isn’t just another elaborate ruse to keep me under your thumb? A way to get what you want?”

  Forge pulls his phone from his pocket, taps on the screen, and holds it out in front of him. “I’ll call your father right now and tell him the deal is off.”

  Again, it could be a ploy. I step forward and take it out of his hand. The screen reveals the contact info for Grigory Federov.

  My father.

  I touch the screen to initiate the call. Forge’s expression is impassive as the phone rings.

  “This is Federov.”

  Oh my God, that’s my father. His voice is deep and thickly accented.

  Goose bumps rise on my arms as I let it wash over me. There’s no question that he’s Russian, which is so strange, because I don’t feel Russian. I just feel like . . . me. A lump rises in my throat as Forge reaches for the phone. I know that if I let him take it, he will do everything he said.

  “Forge?”

  I tap the screen to end the call just as Forge’s fingertips touch the phone.

  “Dio mio, the anticipation is killing me, Indy. Are you going to stay with him or not?” Ruccio asks.

  “I also wonder this,” Sofia Russo says from the black boat where she holds a garment bag. “And not only because I have my newest designs at your disposal.”

  The phone vibrates in my hand, and Forge and I lock eyes. It’s my father calling back. My father. The reason Forge married me, but not the reason he wants me to stay. My head screams at me to run, but my heart begs me to grab my husband and never let go.

  “What do you want me to tell him, Indy? It’s up to you.”

  I take a deep breath and make my decision, hoping like hell it’s one I can live with. “Apologize for calling him by accident.”

  Forge sucks in a deep breath. “You won’t regret this. I swear it on Isaac’s grave.”

  55

  Forge

  She still doesn’t trust me. It’s obvious as the jet takes off, bound for Prague.

  Indy’s pretending I don’t exist, even as she sits across from me, flipping through a stapled sheaf of papers. It’s been her MO since she thanked her friend for coming to her rescue and apologized for wasting his time. After he left, she led Sofia Russo down the pier with her head held high and her shoulders back, just like she was fucking royalty.

  India Forge is absolutely incredible, and coming this close to losing her taught me an important lesson. It’s something I never want to risk again.

  Although, I haven’t made much progress in getting her to unbend. I’ve never experienced such an uncomfortable silence in our lavish surroundings at the rear of the jet. Goliath, Donnigan, Bates, and Koba sit up front, no doubt feeling the awkwardness as well. I considered leaving Koba at home, but I decided I’d rather keep a close eye on him until I’ve either confirmed or refuted my earlier suspicions.

  “Can I get you a drink, sir? Madam?” the flight attendant asks politely, and Indy looks up.

  “Coffee. Black.”

  “Scotch. Neat. Thank you, Monique.”

  The flight attendant moves away to prepare our drinks, and I focus on Indy. “What are you doing?”

  Her attention stays firmly on the papers in front of her. “Studying the list of players. Trying to remember who I’ve played before. I usually have more time to prepare, but this’ll have to do.”

  “I can help.”

  This finally gets me eye contact. “Unless you have a list of their tells, then you can’t.”

  Monique returns with our drinks, and I swirl my favorite vintage of Scotch in the glass. “Is that usually what you do? Study the players?”

  “Of course,” Indy replies, taking a sip of her coffee and then wincing when it hits her tongue. “Hell, I used to make flash cards of faces and write everything about them on the back. Details about their kids, wives, dogs, drinks, and obviously all their strengths and weaknesses at the table.”

  “Play the man, not the game,” I reply as I lift my glass to my lips.

  When Indy sets her coffee mug aside, I’m grateful she’s allowing it to cool, because I didn’t like seeing even that little discomfort on her face. Yep, that’s where I am. Well and truly fucked if I can’t win her back.

  “Exactly. I’m not arrogant enough to think that I have this superior skill at poker that magically makes the right cards appear in front of me. If I had that, I wouldn’t need to know anything about the person across the table.”

  The plane shudders briefly as it hits a patch of turbulence, and I lower my Scotch. “I know a lot of people. Try me.”

  Indy tucks one leg beneath her and her teeth clamp down on the end of the pen in her hand. “Not yet. I’m going to work through this, and I’ll circle everyone I’m not familiar with. Then you can tell me what you know.”

  “I’m at your disposal, Mrs. Forge.” I lean forward with the glass dangling from my fingertips. “Always.”

  At least that gets me a sharp look before she dismisses me completely for the rest of the flight.

  56

  India

  I’ve been to Prague before, but it was under much different circumstances. For starters, I didn’t arrive in a private jet that was met by a chauffeur-driven blacked-out SUV.

  No, back then we struggled through the crowd after jumping off a packed train, and Mom immediately got lost because she didn’t speak Czech. Actually, she spoke English and German primarily at home, but both were shit compared to her Russian, which she only used if she was pissed.

  Now it makes more sense. I don’t know why I didn’t question it as a kid. Probably because I was too busy worrying about where our next meal would come from.

  Why did she run from my father? It’s a question that’s been plaguing me, but I’m not ready to ask it yet. The answer changes nothing now, and I have more important things to worry about—like the game ahead of me.

  As we drive from the private airfield into the brightly lit streets of the city, the architecture is familiar. As a child, it seemed so ornate and royal to me because I didn’t know anything but a hand-to-mouth existence and was quickly learning to live by my wits.

  Which is exactly what I plan to do this time too.

  Forge sits in silence beside me, and I’m not sure if that’s for my benefit or his. Any trace of the easiness that existed between us before our fight is gone completely, and in its place is an awkward stiffness that I don’t know how to banish, or even if I want to.

  I know if I start to let him in again, it won’t be partway. That’s not how he’s built. He’s an all-or-nothing kind of man, and quite frankly, that terrifies me. If I give him that kind of access, he’ll have the power to destroy me.

  Marriage shouldn’t be a minefield, but that’s exactly what ours is.

  “I secured us a penthouse at the event hotel. I thought you’d prefer convenience rather than staying somewhere more opulent.”

  I glance at him on the left side of the vehicle. Goliath sits up front with Donnigan, and Koba and Bates follow behind us in a second SUV.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. I prefer to waste as little energy as possible when I play, so staying there makes my life easier.”

  “If there’s anything else I can do to help you, all you have to do is ask.”

  He sounds so . . . amenable, which puts me on guard. His face is cleanly shaven, and I wonder if that was for my benefit since I’ve never seen him like that before. He’s always had that swarthy piratical look about him, and I’d obviously grown too attached to it.

  As I drag my attention away from things that shouldn’t matter, another question occurs to me. “What about your work and your schedule?”

  “What’s the point of being CEO if you can’t have flexibility?”

&n
bsp; It’s not exactly the nothing’s more important than you answer I was hoping for, but maybe that makes him a good CEO, as opposed to a shitty one who’s willing and eager to run from his duties.

  He leans back in the seat and continues. “I’ve also delegated everything possible to free up my time to be at your disposal for this event. Whatever you need, I’ll take care of it.”

  Okay, so maybe I jumped to conclusions too soon.

  “You don’t need to trouble yourself. I’m here. You ensured my wardrobe will cause plenty of distraction at the table, and all I need to do is stay focused and play smart.”

  “I have faith that you’ll do exactly that.”

  I look away from his intense gaze and out the window. “I guess we’ll see,” I say, but my response is clipped.

  The SUV slows in front of a grand-looking hotel, and Forge leans toward me. I catch a hint of his sandalwood cologne, and my body is altogether too aware of his proximity and his scent. And by too aware, I mean I like it too damned much.

  I don’t know whether to trust this new version of the man I married. Until I have a better handle on it, I’m determined to protect my bruised heart.

  I check the time on my phone and see we have four hours until the welcome reception begins. This may be an unsanctioned event, but the organizers have ensured it includes enough pomp and circumstance to impress the participants into parting with the hefty $100,000 entry fee, which is astronomical when compared to the other tournaments that take place all over the world.

  This one also doesn’t follow traditional rules, and doesn’t include the preliminary qualifications because it’s invitation-only. We’ll play according to the rules the organizers set, which means two days of elimination games, and then a final evening with the top players. It doesn’t matter how good a player is, we all start at the exact same place and must fight for survival and our seat at the final table.

  Under other circumstances, I would be confident that I’ll have one of those chairs, but I haven’t had enough time to do all the homework that I would normally do.

  I’m going to be fine. I’ll learn quickly, and I’ll win.

  The valet attendant wearing a red jacket with gold braid opens my door and smiles. “Welcome, Mrs. Forge. We’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

  57

  Forge

  Other than the hour it takes for the makeup artist to enhance Indy’s naturally beautiful features and the hair stylist to turn her blond hair into a sleek arrangement, Indy spends the entire time before the welcome reception with her gaze glued to her laptop as she watches video footage of the different players. I check my email for the dozenth time, and what I’ve been waiting for still hasn’t come through. But it will, or heads will roll.

  Indy has barely spoken to me, and I hate it.

  I make myself a promise as she disappears into the bathroom to change into her dress. If I can’t earn her complete trust, I will let her go.

  It’s a promise that will shred me to keep, but I have no other choice. However, it doesn’t mean I won’t do every goddamned thing in my power to prove to her that she can have everything she wants out of life with me at her gorgeous side.

  It’s the strangest fucking thing in the world. I’ve never had to prove my worth to someone—at least, not since those early days aboard ship when I feared Isaac would send me back if I couldn’t pull my weight.

  This woman, this complex, mysterious creature, has made the ground shift beneath my feet in a way I never thought possible.

  When she opens the door from the en-suite bathroom and steps out on sky-high heels, I nearly swallow my tongue. She’s wearing white, and I immediately picture what she would have looked like as a bride, walking down the aisle to me, if this marriage had started off differently.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Indy looks at me when I grate the words out under my breath. “What? Is something wrong?” She glances around the room as if scanning for a threat.

  But of course, there isn’t one, unless you count my urge to strip the dress off her and miss the welcome reception completely. But that’s not what we’re here for. This is about her.

  “You look . . . beautiful.” My voice roughens as I pay her the simple compliment that doesn’t begin to do her justice.

  She’s a fucking siren. A goddess. And she doesn’t even realize it.

  Indy drops her gaze to her dress and then lifts it back at me. “As long as it makes them forget how good I am at the table, then it’ll do.”

  I can’t help but smile at her response. To Indy, her drop-dead-gorgeous appearance is a tool to be deployed strategically, which should have been just one more clue that she’s the only woman who could flip my entire world upside down.

  “Then by all means, let’s go make them forget how dangerous you really are.”

  * * *

  We enter the reception, which is already in full swing, with waiters moving with flutes of Cristal and canapés through the gamblers and guests milling around the blue water of an Olympic-size swimming pool. Immediately, I start looking for the players on the list I borrowed from Indy.

  Over a hundred card players are here, including all of Europe’s best, all after the extravagant pot and bragging rights. Only two of the twenty top players are women, and one of them is my wife.

  As Indy engages in conversation with people she knows, I step back and let her lead. I’m here for her.

  “Part of me wondered if you would let her come,” a Russian-accented voice remarks from beside me, and I turn my head to see Belevich.

  “You clearly don’t know my wife if you think she needs my permission to do anything.” As soon as I say the words, I realize it’s the honest truth. There’s nothing I could stop her from doing if she set her mind to it. I tried and failed at that already.

  He grunts as Indy steps a few more feet away from me to hug a woman I don’t recognize. I remember what she said about memorizing details of opponents’ lives, down to their wives, kids, and dogs. She doesn’t just deploy that information at the table as she’s playing. No, she uses it to charm everyone with more effectiveness than I’ve ever experienced.

  “You Americans don’t know how to handle women. You should keep a tight leash on her. Someone is bound to try to steal her away from you, if you’re not careful,” Belevich warns.

  Summoning my self-control, I turn to face him, using the bulk of my frame to tower over him. “Someone like who? You?”

  He smooths his blond goatee, camouflaging his sly grin. “I don’t have a wish to be ruined slice by slice like you’ve been doing to de Vere. She isn’t worth it.”

  That’s where he’s fucking wrong. She’s worth everything.

  I’m not about to correct him, though. Belevich doesn’t need any additional incentive to go gunning for Indy beyond trying to beat her at poker.

  “But not everyone thinks like me, Forge. Not everyone is as smart. Remember that.”

  Belevich slips away, and I step forward in the crowd and position myself at Indy’s back.

  “Yes, yes, I did get married. Amazing how fast news travels in small circles, isn’t it?” She turns around as if looking for me, and her lips form a small o as she sees me standing behind her. “Mrs. Benedetto, this is my husband, Jericho Forge.”

  I incline my head at the older woman who rests her hand on the arm of a stocky man in a tux. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” the Italian man says. “You’re in ships.”

  “What a handsome man. Such a catch. You did well, my dear.” Mrs. Benedetto lifts her champagne flute. “Cheers.”

  Indy clinks glasses with her.

  “Yes, in shipping,” I say as I slide my arm around Indy’s waist. “But she’s the catch, not me.” Indy stiffens slightly within my hold. “I assure you, I’m the lucky one in this marriage.”

  “Oh, and his flattery is effortless. Hold on tight to that one, India.”

  58

  Indi
a

  We move away from the Benedettos, and I’ve already lost my patience for tonight. I want to get the hell out of here and back to our room so I can watch more video footage, but I know I can’t make an early exit without making people talk. It’s like playing chicken. Most of the players, the smart ones, would rather not be here, but no one is willing to leave first because it’s a sign of weakness.

  Or at least, that’s what I tell myself, and it’s the only reason I made sure I came.

  Forge lifts a glass of champagne off a tray. He looks unbelievable in a tux, but there’s no chance of the formal wear civilizing him completely. His long black hair brushes the white collar, and the gold of his earring winks when it catches the light. The five o’clock shadow already shades his strong jaw, and every time I catch a glimpse of him, my mouth goes dry and I’m reminded that I’ve got nothing on under this dress.

  Nipples, down.

  When he holds the champagne out to me, I wave him off. “I don’t need to be tipsy. I have too much work to do after we get the hell out of here.”

  He wraps my fingers around it anyway. “Don’t drink it. Just hold it. It’s part of networking. If everyone else has a drink in their hand, you look suspicious without one and make them rethink how much they’re drinking. Which is exactly the opposite of what you want. You want them walking into the games tomorrow with their heads pounding and stomachs sour from too much booze.”

  He makes a point, one that I should have thought of myself. “How do you know so much?”

  “I live and breathe strategy.” He winks at me, which makes him look even more piratical.

  “You could be playing, you know. I’m sure the organizers would fall all over themselves to kick someone off the roster to add your name. You’re better than almost everyone here, but you know that too.”