“I don’t understand.” Is Roman being set up to lose? Is that how he makes money?
“They’re both cocky, but Riviera is smarter. No one in this room knows he’s already won. We’ve got the key that will make him win.”
“What is it?”
“You.”
My brow line flattens at his answer.
“People fight for all sorts of things: money, power, glory,” he continues. “Copper will fight for money and to add another win to his belt. Riviera will be fighting for you. And that is why you, me, and Rico are going to be rich tonight.”
I down the rest of my drink, willing the night to move faster. Or better yet, come to an end.
I’m not sure what to make of what Damien said. Like any person who’s told they’re a lucky charm, I feel special. But at what cost? I want Roman to win, but I don’t want to watch him get beaten to a pulp just to get there.
“And what are you?” I ask when the alcohol hits my bloodstream. “They’re Bratva, and what does that make you? Cartel?”
“Who said I’m part of anything?”
“Deflection doesn’t answer the question.”
The corner of his lips tip. It’s barely noticeable, and I’m not sure if my alcohol-addled brain is making it up. “Alvarez Cartel.”
“Never heard of them.” It’s a stupid thing to say, because I’ve never heard of any of the cartels. The only cartel I know about is the El Chapo Cartel that had all those exotic animals at their mansion. Or is El Chapo just a person? I can’t remember.
“Keep it that way. The less you know, the better,” Damien says, his attention only partially on me as he glances around. “You see the man with the scar on the top row to your left?”
I look at where he said, and sure enough, there’s a man clad in black, sporting a scar from his forehead to the other side of his cheek.
“What about him?”
“Pay attention to everyone sitting around him. Never cross paths with any of them.”
“Who are they?” My blood roars in my ears as I subtly try to ingrain each one of their faces into memory.
“Riviera lost them a lot of money. And people like us hide our weaknesses so someone else doesn’t hit us where it hurts.”
He doesn’t need to say what he means.
I think I need another drink.
“Mu?eca.” Rico plops down into the empty seat next to me, sandwiching me between him and Damien. He shoots me a lopsided grin. “Your man is fucking insufferable when you’re around. It makes pissing him off easier. Thank you.”
Words die on my tongue. What do I say to that? Men who want to have casual, non-creepy conversations with me are few and far between. What would I say to Mickey if he said that? Am I meant to laugh? Say you’re welcome?
“You never answered my question before.”
I inhale sharply. “What?”
“The tattoo on his chest, Bella.” He purrs my name in a joking way.
My brows hike up my forehead. “You did that?”
He nods proudly. “Thought it was fuckin’ weird that he wanted ‘beautiful’ tattooed on his chest. Gave him shit about it for a few months. Then I saw him drawin’ you. Connected the dots after that.” He shrugs.
The lighting changes before I respond, then Rico pulls me onto my feet without warning.
Copper comes running in wearing a red silk robe when the MC calls out his name. True to his name, Copper has copper hair. How original. The crowd goes wild as he waves his hands and beats his chest like a neanderthal. Girls giggle, and men cheer, some chanting his name. There isn’t a single person here other than the two men beside me who isn’t eating up his performance.
His face is riddled with the evidence of his battles. Scars mar his porcelain skin, cutting through his lip and splitting his brows. Another sits on his crooked nose. What’s more daunting is the patchwork of tattoos covering his fingers and arms, especially the Oskal tiger baring its teeth on his neck. The man is a full-blooded criminal.
I think I’m going to throw up.
How is Mickey going to win against him?
There's no grandeur or cheering when Roman—Ares—comes out. No one is jumping up in their seats, the air not buzzing with electricity or excitement the way it did for Copper. Because Ares isn’t walking out from the shadows. He stalks out of it. The darkness seems to follow as he moves, reaching for him and blending into his obsidian robe. The air around him vibrates with danger; not even a knife could cut through it.