Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,31

worried that Nero has a Ten. Which means Siberia must not have one himself—I put him on Ace/King. That would mean he has two pair, which would lose to three of a kind.

Siberia checks, not wanting to bet out of position.

Nero smiles. Thinking he can take the pot down, he bets another thousand.

Siberia grunts and shakes his head. He’s changed his mind—he thinks Nero’s full of shit, and he’s not gonna let him buy the pot. He re-raises to $3k.

Nero’s gotten himself in trouble, I’m sure of it. He doesn’t have that Ten and Siberia knows it.

Nero calls anyway—now there’s almost $9k in the pot.

The river is another dead card—Three of Clubs.

Siberia, trying to control the pot-size, simply checks.

Without a flicker of hesitation, Nero shoves in his entire stack.

The table is dead silent.

Siberia sits and stews, his eyes darting back and forth from the mound of chips to Nero’s calm, triumphant expression. The Russian knows he’s supposed to call. But his pride is at stake—if Nero has a Ten after all, Siberia will look stupid. He’s only into the pot $4300. He can’t bet his whole stack without knowing for sure. Nobody tries to bluff him—they know it’s impossible.

I can see how angry Siberia is, though he doesn’t want to show it. He hates to admit that he wasted all those chips.

After a full two minutes of tanking, he mucks his cards, refusing to show them.

It doesn’t matter. Nero knows exactly what he had.

Nero flips over his own cards: a Jack and a Queen. No Tens in sight.

“Fucking hell!” Maggie shouts.

Nero laughs. “You gave up too easy,” he says to Siberia.

The man’s face turns as red as his beard. His pale blue eyes are bloodshot and bulging. He’s too furious to speak. I don’t know if he’s ever been successfully bluffed before.

Nero doesn’t even have the decency to hide his glee. If anything, he’s trying to make Siberia angrier.

“Beginner’s luck,” Nero says in his most mocking tone.

I want to tell Nero it’s time to go, but leaving right after a hit like that would only make the Russians angrier. I stuff my hands in my pockets to hide my agitation.

Nero stacks his winnings, preparing for the next hand. He refuses to look at me. He knows this is a very bad idea.

I see him glance at Siberia’s stack again. Now Nero has the bigger war chest—$14k to the Russian’s $11k. More importantly, he has Siberia right where he wants him: tilted.

When someone’s on tilt, it doesn’t matter what the next hand is. They’re in. Siberia’s blood is boiling—he wants to battle. He takes a swig out of the bottle of gin next to him and gets ready to play.

The button moves over to Siberia. He has position on Nero. Sure enough, he places a blind bet on the button—a $100 chip on the straddle, before a single card has been dealt. It’s a silent challenge to Nero.

The dealer lays the cards. Everyone else at the table knows Siberia is out for blood. They want to get out of his way—he’s not after them, just Nero. The Russian on the small blind folds, as does The Matador and Maggie the Mouth. Action goes to Nero.

I hold my breath, hoping he’s got nothing and he’ll lay his cards down.

Instead, Nero raises to $500.

“You want to dance with the devil again, boy?” Siberia growls.

“Abso-fuckin-lutely,” Nero says. “As long as you found your courage in the bottom of that bottle, comrade.”

Nobody at the table wants to touch this hand. Action Jack folds, and the other Russian after him.

Siberia and Nero face off.

Siberia hasn’t even looked at his cards yet. He bends up the corners, taking a glance. The red in his face fades just a little. Fuck. He’s got something good, on the button, in position. Sure enough, he smooth calls. He doesn’t want to give away that he’s got a monster hand. He wants to trap Nero into bluffing him again.

And Nero’s in just the right spot to be tricked. Because Siberia’s tilted, and because of his straddle, Nero probably assumes he’s got a shit hand.

The flop comes out Queen, Queen, Ten.

Nero is first to act. Insouciantly, he says, “I’m gonna bet here. I hope it won’t scare you away, Siberia.”

He bets the pot—$1000.

Siberia throws in the $1000 without hesitation.

“Dig your own fuckin’ grave, boy,” he growls.

He thinks Nero is chasing a straight again.

The turn is another King.

I’m watching Siberia’s face as the card comes out. And I think I see the smallest