Aria's POV
Damien Cross walks toward my table like he owns the room.
He probably does.
My heart hammers so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it. This is the man who destroyed my father. The man whose business card is burning a hole in my apartment. The man I was supposed to meet this morning but didn't.
And now he's here.
"Gentlemen," Damien says, his voice smooth as expensive whiskey. "And lady. Don't let me interrupt your game."
He pulls out the chair directly across from me and sits down.
I can't breathe. Can't think. His eyes are the coldest blue I've ever seen—like ice that's been frozen for a thousand years. They pin me in place.
"Deal me in," he tells the dealer.
The man to my left, a silver-haired businessman who'd been winning before I showed up, immediately folds his hand. "Actually, I'm out. Cash me out."
Two other players stand up too. Within sixty seconds, half the table empties.
Now it's just me, Damien, and three other players who look like they'd rather be anywhere else.
"Your bet, miss," the dealer says.
I look at my cards. A pair of eights. Not great, not terrible. I have fifteen thousand dollars in chips in front of me. Enough to change my life.
But my hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the cards.
"I fold," I whisper.
"Wise choice," Damien says. He hasn't even looked at his own cards yet. He's looking at me. "Though I wonder what brings Thomas Moretti's daughter to an underground poker game. Especially when she missed our appointment this morning."
The other players glance at each other. One of them stands up. "Yeah, I'm done too."
Soon it's just me and Damien at the table.
The dealer looks nervous. "Should I... continue?"
"Yes," Damien says. "Miss Moretti and I have unfinished business."
I should leave. Should grab my chips and run. But my legs won't move.
"I don't want to play with you," I manage to say.
"Then you shouldn't have come to my casino." He leans back in his chair. "Did you really think I wouldn't know? I'm notified every time someone enters one of these games. Especially when that someone owes me two million dollars."
"Two point three million," I correct him without thinking. "With interest."
His eyebrow raises slightly. "You've been keeping track. How responsible."
The dealer shuffles the cards, his hands moving fast. He deals us each two cards.
I look at mine. Ace and King. A strong starting hand.
"Five thousand," Damien says, pushing chips forward without checking his cards.
My mouth goes dry. Five thousand dollars. That's a third of what I have.
But if I win this hand, I'll have twenty thousand total. Maybe enough to convince Child Services I can support Marco. Maybe enough to buy real time.
"Call." I match his bet.
The dealer lays out three community cards: Ace, King, Seven.
I have two pair. Aces and Kings. My heart races.
"Ten thousand," Damien says calmly.
He still hasn't looked at his cards.
Everyone knows the rule: never bet what you can't afford to lose. But I can't afford to lose Marco. Can't afford to lose our apartment. Can't afford anything anymore.
"Call." I push my chips forward.
The dealer reveals the fourth card. Another Seven.
Now I have two pair, but there's a pair of sevens on the board. If Damien has a seven, he has three of a kind. But he hasn't even checked his cards. He's bluffing. He has to be.
"All in," Damien says, pushing his entire stack to the center of the table.
My vision blurs. He's betting at least fifty thousand dollars. I only have five thousand left.
"I... I don't have enough to call."
"Then fold." His voice is emotionless. "Walk away with five thousand dollars. That's more than you came with."
Five thousand won't save us. Won't even cover one month's debt payments.
"Or," Damien continues, "make a side bet. Put up something else as collateral."
"I don't have anything else."
"You have yourself."
The room goes completely silent.
"What?" I whisper.
"If you win, I'll give you fifty thousand dollars cash. Right now. Enough to buy yourself some time." He finally looks at his cards, his expression revealing nothing. "If you lose, you come work for me. The same deal I offered you this morning. Five years as my personal assistant in exchange for erasing your entire debt."
"That's insane."
"That's the offer. You have thirty seconds to decide."
My mind races. If I fold, I walk away with five thousand. Not enough. If I take the bet and win, I get fifty thousand. Real breathing room. But if I lose...
Five years of my life. Belonging to the man who killed my father.
"Twenty seconds."
I look at my cards again. Two pair, aces and kings. It's a strong hand. Really strong.
But I don't know what he has.
"Ten seconds."
I think of Marco doing homework by flashlight. Of the eviction notice. Of the Child Services hearing in six days.
"I'm all in," I say, my voice barely audible. "I accept your bet."
Damien's lips curve into something that might be a smile. "Show your cards."
I flip them over. "Two pair. Aces and kings."
For a long moment, Damien just looks at me. Then he flips his cards.
Seven and Two.
Three of a kind. Sevens.
He beat me.
The room spins. I can't breathe. Can't process what just happened.
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no—"
"You lost." Damien stands up, buttoning his suit jacket. "Which means starting tomorrow morning, you work for me." He pulls out the same business card he sent to my apartment. "Nine AM sharp. Don't be late again."
"I didn't agree to the original deal! This was just a game!"
"You went all in. You accepted the terms." His voice is cold, final. "A bet is a contract, Miss Moretti. And I always collect on contracts."
He starts walking toward the door.
"Wait!" I jump up, my chair clattering backward. "You can't do this! I'll go to the police—"
Damien turns back, and for the first time, I see real emotion in his eyes. It's not anger. It's something darker.
"Go to the police and tell them what? That you participated in an illegal gambling ring?" He steps closer, towering over me. "You signed in with your real name. You're on camera. You made the bet freely. No one forced you."
Tears burn my eyes. "Please. I can't leave Marco—"
"Your brother will be taken care of. Best boarding school in the state, all expenses paid. That was part of the original offer." His expression doesn't soften. "Be grateful, Miss Moretti. I could have had you arrested instead."
He walks out, leaving me standing alone in the empty room.
I've just gambled away my freedom.
And the worst part? I think he planned this from the beginning.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number: The car will pick you up at 8 AM. Pack light. You won't need much.
Another text comes through immediately after. This one makes my blood freeze.
P.S. - I never bluff. I knew what cards you had the moment they were dealt. You never had a chance.