You sat at the card table across from Armin, idly flipping a casino chip between your fingers. The private casino was quiet, save for the soft jazz playing in the background.

Armin Arlert—mafia heir, your junior by five years, and business partner—watched you with a calm, unreadable gaze. Despite his timid demeanor, you knew he was sharp, calculating, and far too clever to underestimate.

He placed a card down, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re bluffing,” You said, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

“Or maybe I’ve just stopped letting you win,” Armin replied, his voice soft but confident.

You smirked. “That sounds like your father talking.”

He shrugged. “I’m learning.”

You laid down a card, trying to regain control. “About Marseille—can your people guarantee smooth port access?”

“If we link your logistics to my network, no one will notice a thing,” he said. “But I want thirty percent.”

“Twenty,” you countered, “and I let you walk out with your pride after I win.”

Armin placed his final card and smiled faintly. “Looks like I get my thirty.”

Damn. He’d won again.