DAMIAN
Soon, Genovese and I are seated opposite each other. His smile is tight and his fingers drum an unsteady rhythm on the table.
“You've got a nice place here, Damian,” he comments, voice oozing false charm.
“Glad you think so,” I reply, shuffling the cards. In that moment, I can't wait for the day where I'd have to put a bullet through his skull. “I hear you've been struggling though. The debts your little billionaire boy left behind—messy.”
His face twitches just for second but it's enough to know that I hit a nerve. I deal the cards and the game begins.
The air thickens with tension,the pile of chips in the center growing. Genovese keeps glancing at Sergei like he's waiting for a signal. I don't let it distract me.
By now, the hum around us has risen which means more people
