Page 4 of The Love Language of the Cartel

The table erupted in laughter, and I caught Dominic’s approving nod. He knew as well as I did that in our world, showing weakness was a death sentence. And make no mistake, treating me like some prize to be won was a weakness I wouldn’t tolerate.

“Ouch. You wound me, woman,” Anatoly said, clutching his chest in mock pain. “But perhaps you’re right. I need a woman who knows her place, not one who’d challenge me at every turn.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. I leaned forward, my eyes locked on his. “And what place would that be, Anatoly? Behind you? Beneath you? Or perhaps in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant?”

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. I saw Malcolm and Thomas exchanging uneasy glances while Vincent suddenly became very interested in his cards. Dominic, always at the ready, looked willing to intervene if necessary.

Anatoly’s expression darkened, his jovial mask slipping to reveal the archaic misogynist underneath. “You forget yourself, girl. Your father may run this city, but you’re still just a—”

“Careful, mothafucka.” Dominic’s baritone voice sliced through the tension like a knife. “You’re talking to Cyrus Malone’s daughter inside of his club sitting at the table with his nephew. I’d choose my next words very carefully if I were you.”

I waved Dominic off, never breaking eye contact with Anatoly. “No, please, let him finish. I’mdyingto hear what profound insight he has about my role in this world.”

Anatoly opened his mouth then seemed to think better of it. He muttered something in Russian that I was sure was less than complimentary and threw his cards down. “I fold.”

I leaned back with a triumphant smile playing on my lips. “Wise choice.”

The game continued, but the easy camaraderie from earlier had evaporated. I felt the weight of unspoken words and simmering resentments hanging in the air. It was a familiar feeling in this world of ours, where alliances shifted like sand, and today’s friend could be tomorrow’s enemy.

As the night stretched on, I found my thoughts drifting to the marriage contract my father had arranged. The idea of being bartered off like a prized stallion had initially filled me with rage, but I’d come to see the strategic value in aligning with the Mexican cartel. Ozias ‘El Diablo’ Rivera was a force to be reckoned with, and the thought of standing beside him, rather than cowering behind him had started to appeal to me in ways I hadn’t expected.

I was jolted from my thoughts by a commotion at the door. Turning, I felt my stomach drop as I spotted a familiar face.

Harris. My bitch ass, cheating ass, allergic to telling the truth ass ex.

The sight of him sent a jolt of adrenaline through my system, but I forced myself to remain outwardly calm.Show no weakness. That’s the rule.

Still, I loathed the way his presence carried such an effortless confidence. It was like the nigga walked on air. His mahogany brown skin was smooth, and his jawline was sturdy, with a thick beard sculpted to perfection to give his face a rugged but polished structure.

His hair was cut clean with a fresh lineup done with expert precision, and his attire—a cashmere shirt draped over his frame and designer slacks with a sleek watch and blinging diamond studs in both ears. It was clear he still put more care into his appearance than he did our relationship.

As Harris made his way toward our table, I caught Dominic’s eye. He was already moving to intercept, his hand resting casually on the gun hidden beneath his custom-fitted jacket. I gave him a subtle nod, silently communicating that I had things under control, for the moment at least.

“Gentlemen,” I said, pushing back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment. It seems I have an unexpected guest to attend to.”

I stood, smoothing down my dress and plastering on a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. As I moved to meet Harris halfway, I felt the eyes of everyone in the room on us. In this world, every interaction was a performance, and right now, all of Chicago’s underworld was my audience.

“Harris.” I greeted him, my voice calm and controlled. “This is an unexpected surprise. I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list for tonight.”

He smirked, that same arrogant smile that once made my heart race but now only filled me with irritation. “C’mon now, Demi. You know a pretty mothafucka like me don’t need an invitation. Your father and I go way back.”

He spoke with such buttery smooth confidence, his voice deep and unhurried, always measured.I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Harris had always loved to throw around his good genes and supposed connections as if that shit impressed me. I carried five different currencies on any given day and had a passport in two different countries. The only language I didn’t understand was short money. “Be that as it may, I’m in the middle of a game. So unless you have urgent business with my father or something important to say, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Harris’s brown eyes narrowed to slits, and he took a step closer. I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Actually—”

I narrowed my eyes back at him, meeting Harris’s gaze with unyielding determination.

Ugh.Those fucking eyes—a shade of brown deep enough to drown in and long, dark lashes that made even the humblest gaze feel premeditated.

“Actually, what?” I asked as I tilted my head to the side. “Spit it out or get the fuck out, Harris. I’ve got a game to win.”

Turning on my stiletto heels, I strolled back to the poker table, feeling Harris’s brown orbs bore a hole into my back, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back. I wanted him to watch me sashay away, and made sure to throw my ass just a bit more to really make him want to eat his fucking heart out. I slid back into my seat with practiced grace, flashing a grin that exposed my teeth at the men around the table.

“Gentlemen, shall we continue?” I inquired while picking up my cards. “I believe it was your bet, Vinnie.”

Vincent chuckled as he tossed a stack of chips into the pot. “Always in a hurry, aren’t you, Demi? You should learn to savor the game, sweetheart.”

I arched my freshly waxed eyebrow at him with a smirk playing on my lightly sheened lips. “Oh, I savor it plenty. Especially when I’m winning.”

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