“She is my daughter. She will do as I say.”
I smile at him. “She’s my wife, Federov. That means you deal with me.”
23
India
When I walk into the high-stakes poker area of Mallorca’s most exclusive casino, I feel different. Maybe because I arrived via helicopter, was whisked up to my suite, met by my glam squad, and was then escorted down with one bodyguard ahead of me carrying my chips and two trailing behind in an attempt at looking innocuous.
So this is what it feels like to be a billionaire. Or at least the wife of one. I’m not complaining.
The men standing around the table that has been set up for our game stare as I approach. My sapphire-blue dress hugs my curves and is going to be the perfect distraction. I can’t help but wonder what orders Forge gave the personal shopper. Somehow, I doubt it was buy something that will have the men looking at her tits and not their cards. But with this dress, that’s exactly what the outcome will be, and I’m not complaining about that either.
“Ms. Baptiste, it’s a pleasure to have you at our game.” Julio Gallardo, the game’s organizer and the source of my invitation, steps forward and offers a hand. I shake it and can’t help but think that it’s smooth and womanly compared to Forge’s strong, calloused grip.
Why am I thinking about him? I’m here to play. I can’t help it, though.
Forge has been on my mind every second while I was getting ready, because he arranged for all of it without my knowledge. If another man had done that, I’d say it was sweet and thoughtful, but I’m still trying to figure out Forge’s angle. But I’m not letting that distract me from my game.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” I say to Julio as he releases my hand. “Thank you for the invitation.”
He steps away, and I catch sight of a familiar face just beyond him.
“Mr. Belevich, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
The Russian I played against the night I lost to Forge eyes me. “Ms. Baptiste. I do hope your luck has not yet returned.”
I keep my well-practiced fake smile in place. “I suppose we’ll see, sir.”
“Like you’d have a chance to beat her on even her worst day, Belevich.”
I freeze at the mocking words coming from behind me. Bastien. I turn toward him slowly, denying the urge to touch the knot on my head from his stupid boat.
What the fuck? He has a black eye and his shoulders aren’t quite square, like he’s nursing some kind of injury I can’t see.
“What the hell happened to you?” I ask.
“I ran into a door,” Bastien deadpans.
Was Forge the door? No. He couldn’t have been. Goliath, maybe? He was only a minute behind us when we climbed into the chopper, or so I thought.
“You should be more careful,” I tell him, and we both know I mean he should stay the hell away from me.
One corner of his mouth curls. “Maybe you should take your own advice.” He glances behind me. “But then again, I suppose your bodyguards take care of any doors in your path.”
Okay, now this conversation is turning cryptic, and I don’t have time for distractions. Focus on the game, Indy.
“I didn’t expect to see you playing tonight,” I say carefully, my tone measured and even.
“I’m not playing. I’m just here for the entertainment,” he says with his trademark smug smile, and I can’t help but wonder what the hell I’m missing.
Something about this feels . . . off.
“Enjoy the entertainment, then.” Wanting to put as much space between Bastien and me as possible, I turn back to Gallardo and ask for an introduction to another player I’ve not yet met.
“Of course, Ms. Baptiste, I’d be happy to introduce you to—”
“It’s Mrs. Forge now, Gallardo,” Bastien says, interrupting. “You wouldn’t want to accidentally offend your favorite billionaire by calling his wife by the wrong name, would you?”
Gallardo’s dark eyebrows shoot up to his receding hairline at the announcement. “Mr. Jericho Forge?”
Fucking Bastien. Of course he had to go there.
“Yes, Forge took a wife. Shocking, isn’t it?” Bastien grins broadly, and I hope it strains his black eye, because now Belevich is staring at me intently as well.
Fabulous. Just fabulous.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Forge. I’ll have the server fetch a bottle of champagne so we can toast your nuptials,” Gallardo says, and I smile sweetly at him.
“Actually, I’m ready to play.” I gesture to the table. “Gentlemen, shall we?”
We select chairs, but before I take mine, Bastien stops at my side. Batman takes a step toward me from across the room, but I hold up a finger to halt his movement.
I face Bastien. “If I were you, I’d stay far, far away from me.”
“Good luck, Indy,” he says with an enigmatic expression. “You’re going to need it. And I’m not talking about the game.”
24
Forge
From the way Federov goes through the contract, line by line, scratching things out and scribbling in the margins, you’d think he’s never seen it before in his life, which isn’t the case. Page after page, he slides them across my desk, each one changed in some way.
I read over the revisions and make a list of counterproposals on the notepad beside me. I haven’t done business like this in years, maybe ever. But sometimes, when you reach that upper echelon, billionaires do things the old-fashioned way.
Hell, if I’d turned India over to Federov, there’s a hell of a good chance that he would have agreed to my deal with just a handshake and nothing else. His irritation and the number of changes he’s making are in direct proportion to his anger at being thwarted from seeing his daughter tonight.
When he reaches the end, he pushes the final piece of paper across my desk. “When you agree to all of those changes, then I will consider signing your deal.”
I scan the remaining sheet for his objections before adding it to the stack. “You realize you’ve completely reversed several of your positions that we negotiated previously.”
Federov leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest, reminding me enough of his daughter to be uncanny. “Because we made a deal and then you changed things. I will not let you manipulate me, Forge.”
I rest my elbows on the arms of my chair and lace my fingers together in my lap. “Sir, under any other circumstance, I wouldn’t hesitate to manipulate you in every possible way to achieve my aims.”
The Russian’s stare intensifies, and I’m lucky he left his bodyguards outside the room. “Why would you tell me this?”
“Because this is a completely different situation than I normally find myself in, and I’m trying not to manipulate either of you more than necessary. In fact, your daughter doesn’t want to know anything about you. As far as she’s concerned, you don’t exist, which is exactly what she was raised believing.”
Federov’s nostrils flare as he jerks forward and slaps a hand on my desk. “This is not my fault!”
“And it’s not her fucking fault either,” I say, my voice dropping into a growl. “I have to make the right decision for her too, because she’s . . . she’s . . .” I trail off, trying to think of how to describe the most complex and intriguing woman I’ve ever met in my life.
Federov lifts his chin and narrows his gaze. “Why did you marry my daughter, Forge?”
I look down at the papers in front of me and push them into a neat stack, not sure how the hell to answer that question. “Because it made sense.”
He shakes his head, his lips parting like he’s just realized something crucial. He lifts his hand and points at me across the desk. “You wanted an advantage over me, and maybe even to protect her, though she does not need protecting. But now . . . now I think the reason you are keeping her from me is something else. It is not only business anymore. This is personal now.”
I press my lips together, not ready to have thi
s conversation with Grigory Federov now . . . or preferably ever.
“What do you want to hear, Federov? That I have an attachment to her that has nothing to do with business? Is that going to change your mind somehow?”
His faded blue eyes twinkle, and I can’t help but assume that’s the color Indy’s will likely be in fifty years.
Federov uncrosses his arms and sits back, his posture shifting from aggressive to relaxed. “I should have expected no less from a daughter of my loins. Only such a woman could throw the mighty Jericho Forge off his coldblooded negotiations.”
At first, I think his words carry a note of mockery, but they don’t. It’s pride.
“She’s an extraordinary woman.”
“Of course she is. She descends from the blood of nobles . . . one of whom was so entranced by his servant girl that he made her his wife. My Illyana could charm me into giving her whatever she wanted at three years old. She was the heart of my heart. And when she was taken from me by that deceitful whore, my heart failed to beat again until the day I heard she might still live.”
Federov pauses, his gaze focused on nothing for a moment before returning to me. “Whatever you think I have planned for my daughter, Mr. Forge, it is not in bad faith. I am an old man. I am sick. My days are numbered. In fact, I would not have picked you as a husband for Illyana because they say you want nothing but revenge.”
He regards me for a few seconds before he continues. “But my Illyana has changed you already. Perhaps . . . perhaps all is as it should be. Who am I, at this age, to question what fate has in store?”
I study the old man’s features, looking for evidence of the illness he just admitted to, but I see no signs. Whatever it is that ails him, he still carries himself with pride, and his ox-like build hasn’t lost enough of its bulk to raise concerns.
“How many people know you’re ill?” I ask, hoping I don’t offend the man.
“Very few. In my world, when they know you are weak, the vultures begin to circle, waiting to pick your bones clean.”
Which is exactly my concern. “Who stands to gain the most from your death?”
Federov’s gaze sharpens on me. “My daughter will inherit everything.”
It’s the answer I expected, but it won’t help me protect her. “Who else? If she hadn’t been found or didn’t survive you . . . then who?”
His lips flatten as he considers. “I know what you are asking, but you do not need to worry. The threat to my Illyana’s life has been handled. The man behind the kidnapping has been identified and eliminated.”
There’s not a single doubt in my mind that the man was not just identified and eliminated. He was probably tortured until he wished for a bullet to the brain. And yet, I still can’t rest easy. Someone always has a motive.
“Are you certain?”
The Russian’s brow dips. “Do not question me about such things. I am Russian. I handled it. The threat is no longer.”
I brush my knuckles along the stubble of my jaw. “You’re willing to bet your daughter’s life on that?”
“You are falling in love with my daughter, Mr. Forge. That is why you will not believe me when I tell you she is as safe as I can keep her without having her by my side. You are lucky that I do not make her a widow right now for the way you went about securing her.”
The death threat, handled with such nonchalance, isn’t what makes me sit straighter. It’s the other statement he made with such certainty. “You are falling in love with my daughter.”
How the hell would he know? What would make him think that?
When I don’t reply, his knowing smile grows.
“You do not see it yet, Forge. But you will. Trust me. Russians feel things more intensely, even if we are trained not to show it. Now, get the vodka. We shall toast to the Federov line being continued, even if it has to be mixed with your American blood.”
25
India
The stacks of chips rise and fall as the game progresses. Belevich’s play is shrewder and smarter tonight, but I’m still better. I let him think he out-bluffed me on two early hands, strictly to lull him into a false sense of superiority. The other men at the table were strangers to me hours ago, but not anymore.
It’s one thing that has always fascinated me about poker—you can sit down at a table with people you’ve never seen before in your life, and by the end of the game, you may know some of them more intimately than most people in their lives. At least, that’s the way it works for me.
Read the man, play the man . . . and then I lure him in and take his money using everything I learn. That’s how I earned the ridiculous name Queen Midas, when in reality, there’s nothing magic about it. It’s truly a simple equation that has always worked for me—until I played Jericho Forge.
If there were a real-life King Midas, it would be him.
I’ve never let a man’s sheer presence send me into a tailspin the way his did. He sent all my senses spiraling, and I played like I didn’t have a single iota of skill or strategy that night. How could I be so affected by a man?
Looking back on the last week, I shouldn’t be surprised at all how he affected me at the game. Jericho Forge is not a normal man.
How else could he have possibly gotten me to bet myself at the table, make me lose, tempt me with a million dollars, not kill me when I double-crossed him, but marry me instead—and then finally tell me it’s all because I’m a means to an end because of the man who brought me into this world.
My father.
I shake off the thought, because if I go any deeper down that rabbit hole, my concentration will suffer, and I’m winning tonight.
The waiter comes around taking drink orders, but I wave him off. I have water, and that’s all I need. As a rule, I never drink while I play because I don’t want to risk losing my wits.
Belevich orders a vodka, which is typical for him. I’ve counted the drinks he’s already had tonight, and this is number six. Maybe it’s true what they say about Russians and vodka—that it’s like mother’s milk and doesn’t affect them at all.
His play hasn’t changed enough for me to think he’s drunk, but with each drink, his attention fixates on me more and more. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten about the other three men at the table. Something burns in his icy blue eyes that I can’t quite describe, but I refuse to let it unsettle me.
He tries to goad me into betting a bit more than I normally would for this hand, but I’m impervious to that kind of peer pressure anymore. And when the time comes to show our cards . . . I win again.
Belevich’s broad forehead creases with lines of frustration. “You have the luck of the devil with you tonight, Mrs. Forge. I suppose it only seems right, as you’re now the devil’s mistress.”
I’m not exactly sure how to reply to that comment, but whatever the Russian needs to say to salvage his masculine pride is fine with me.
I rise halfway off my chair to sweep the stacks of chips in the center of the table toward me. “I’m just playing like I always play, Mr. Belevich.”
“You didn’t play this way last time. I suppose it was because your skill was muddied by your concern for your sister.”
Startled, I knock the chips over. They spill toward me as my head jerks up to meet Belevich’s stare. “What did you say?”
He sprawls in his chair, sipping his vodka, like he’s finally got the advantage over me. And maybe he does, because there’s no way he should know anything about my sister.
“I heard Little Sister had some trouble and needed Big Sister to bail her out with a chunk of cold, hard cash. But that’s no longer an issue, clearly.”
Blood roars in my ears as my mind spins. Did Belevich have something to do with Summer’s kidnapping? Did he know about the game she planned to play? Did he know who arranged for her to be taken?
The only thing I want to do right now is jump out of my seat, march around the table, and drag him away by the hairs of his beard to question him, but I forc
e myself to sit and arrange my chips like there’s not a single thing on my mind other than winning this game. Belevich caught me off guard with his bomb, and I’m not going to let him see me falter more than he already has.
Whatever he knows can wait until we’re not flanked by two Spaniards and a Frenchman, whose glances dart from me to Belevich like we’re more interesting than the cards the dealer shuffles.
“How about we continue this discussion after the game, sir?”
Belevich salutes me with his vodka glass. “I look forward to it, Mrs. Forge.”
26
Forge
“Thank you for your hospitality, sir.”
Grigory Federov and I stand a few yards from his chopper as the pilot starts the engine. I extend my hand, and he grasps it in a firm grip.
“You’re welcome anytime. I just need to give India—”
He interrupts to correct me. “Illyana.”
I want to tell him that I can’t call her by that name because there’s no way in hell she’ll ever answer to it, but instead, I rephrase. “I need to give your daughter notice and see if she’ll consent to meeting you.”
“She will consent, or there will be no deal,” he says as he straightens his shirtsleeves, as though he’s oblivious to the fact that refusing to sign the deal will cost him hundreds of millions in lost profit. “I return to Saint Petersburg in the morning to attend to matters that cannot be postponed. I will tell you when to bring her there. She will see me there, in her home, and it will help her remember who she is.”
And India will win every hand she ever plays with a royal flush, I finish in my head, because the odds are about the same.
However, if he wants to believe it, I’m not going to crush his hopes right now. No, I have to find a way to give him what he wants and close the deal . . . without doing something that will ensure my wife will hate me for the rest of my life. That’s a consequence I’m no longer willing to risk.
Luck of the Devil Page 8