The gaming house of Duke Lorenzo de Carvalho was the embodiment of excess, luxury, and utter disregard for modesty. Its facade, adorned with light marble and golden decorative inlays, silently announced to all: this was a place where the rich, the powerful, and the shamelessly extravagant gathered. Inside, everything only reinforced this impression. The walls were lined with deep burgundy velvet, embellished with gold; the floor made of gleaming black stone reflected everything around it. The light from dozens of crystal chandeliers spilled softly across the hall, shimmering against the hundreds of gaming tables scattered across the space.
Roulette, cards, magical dice — all combined into a strange symphonic rhythm of excitement, where every sound — the clink of coins, cries of triumph, and sighs of defeat — became part of a deliberately chaotic backdrop. The guests, dressed in elegant attire ranging from light satin suits to dark emerald gowns with long trains, completed the atmosphere of festivity and simultaneously dangerous play. On their faces — masks. Delicate, silver, laced, sometimes eerily elongated or painted with symbols and colors. In this hall, no one was themselves — only a role, a part of the performance, where the stakes were always high.
At the very center of the main hall stood a massive staircase leading to the second floor. It was so wide that up to five people could walk side by side on each step. The polished wood, silver-inlaid railings, and the dark purple velvet carpet covering every stair spoke of the grandeur Lorenzo wished to impress upon anyone who ever set foot inside. The staircase seemed intentionally placed in the heart of this indulgent chaos — like a stage from which the leading man could descend to greet his audience.
Alex, dressed in a refined outfit — black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a black jacket casually unbuttoned at the chest — stood near the entrance of the main hall, silently surveying the luxurious setting. His face, half-hidden by an elegant silver mask, remained calm, though a faint glimmer of ironic amusement flickered in his eyes.
"And I thought the Montameris were the kings of throwing money around..." he mused. "Well, looks like they've been officially dethroned by the world's top spendthrift. Although... I must admit — Lorenzo has far better taste than Remil."
"Amazing what lengths some aristocrats will go to just to feed their egos," came the calm, familiar voice of the Siren in his mind.
A slight smile tugged at Alex's lips.
"Usually, wealth is the only thing such aristocrats have to show off," he replied silently. "This is already my second life, and I'm still baffled by their eccentricities..."
He exhaled deeply, his gaze shifting to the side.
"Though what surprises me even more is that I actually agreed to bring him here tonight..."
Not far off stood Rogan — in dark brown trousers, a white shirt, and a deep red bow tie. His mask covered the upper part of his face, but not even that could hide his slightly shocked expression. His jaw was slightly slack, eyes wide: it was clear he had never seen anything this extravagant before.
"First time seeing something like this?" Elizabeth asked with a smile, lightly patting the young man on the shoulder.
Rogan flinched and turned his head toward her.
"Y-yeah..." he mumbled uncertainly, lowering his gaze.
Elizabeth, wearing a stunning red gown with a deep neckline and a graceful mask, took his hand. His face instantly flushed — had it not been for the mask, the blush would've been hard to miss.
"Then come, let's take a stroll. I'll give you a tour of this temple of indulgence," she winked and led Rogan forward, skillfully weaving through the crowd.
Before disappearing into the throng, she glanced back at Alex.
"Care to join us?"
Alex gave a slight nod.
"Thanks for the invite, but I already have plans."
"Suit yourself," Elizabeth replied with a smile and vanished into the crowd with the bewildered Rogan.
"And what exactly do you have in mind?" asked the Siren's voice with a hint of curiosity.
Alex grinned broadly, shifting his gaze toward the gaming tables.
"I've got an idea..."
Alex sat at one of the central tables of the luxurious gaming hall. Around him were five other players — two men in their thirties, dressed in elegant suits and refined masks, and three women — all stunningly beautiful, each around forty, wearing expensive dresses with plunging necklines and adorned with jeweled accessories. Their masks were delicate, yet did not hide the sparks of excitement in their eyes. Each of them not only knew the rules of the game, but seemed to turn every gesture, every smile into a performance. Behind the table stood a female dealer in her mid-twenties, in a more modest burgundy dress and a simple mask. Her movements were confident and poised.
"Never thought I'd end up playing in a place like this," Alex thought.
"Do you really think this is the time for games?" the familiar voice of the Siren rang in his mind.
"If I just wandered the halls looking suspicious, the guards would've already noticed me," Alex answered silently, without altering his expression. "Best way to blend in is to do what everyone else is doing — and keep an eye on things in the meantime. Though… I will need your help."
The Siren sighed.
"Understood. Good luck at the table."
Her voice faded, and Alex shifted his attention to his cards. His face remained stone-cold — no emotion, no nervous ticks.
"Ha! Got dealt a weak hand, boy?" came the smug voice of one of the men to his left.
Alex didn't even raise an eyebrow. His eyes calmly studied the cards. The pause stretched out, and eventually, the man pursed his lips and clicked his tongue — clearly annoyed by Alex's silence.
"Please, don't be harsh on the young player," said one of the women sitting across from Alex, her voice smooth and theatrical, as if addressing an audience. "I'm sure he'll surprise us all."
"Highly doubtful," the man muttered, glaring at his cards.
Alex glanced at him sideways. "Well, that one's easy to read…" he thought. "No matter how hard you try, your emotions betray you. You're probably holding a hand just below average… but it's too soon to tell."
"Please place your initial bets," the dealer said calmly.
The man to Alex's left impatiently placed five gold coins on the table. One by one, the other players — including Alex — matched the bet. The game began.
"Bets are in," announced the dealer. She set aside the top card of the deck — the burn card, as per the rules — and dealt the next three face-up on the table: the flop — three of spades, eight of clubs, queen of hearts.
Alex looked at the cards, then back at his own hand.
"Bad… but not hopeless. Two rounds to go. For now, the goal is to figure out who's holding what."
His gaze fell again on the smug player to his left. Though the man was trying to maintain a calm demeanor, his involuntary reactions gave him away — the corners of his lips twitched upward, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Satisfied? Then you've got at least a pair".
The women, on the other hand, showed no emotion. They sipped wine, toyed playfully with their jewelry, and wore the cold-blooded masks of predators. Alex leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the edge of the table. The last man, seated a little to Alex's right, also maintained a calm expression.
"Relaxed. No clear emotion. Either they're bluffing, or they're holding strong hands... In this world, I'm not the strongest—yet. But in poker... he smiled inwardly, ...I've played against the best. And learned from those considered even better. I won't lose here."
"Please place your next bets," the dealer girl said calmly, delicately brushing her hand over the edge of the table.
The woman in the emerald dress was the first to move—slowly, almost theatrically. Her smile was gentle, her eyes sparkling with excitement behind her mask.
"Time to make things more interesting," she purred, placing forty gold coins in front of her.
"Tch," clicked the irritated man to Alex's left with disdain. He clearly didn't like that move.
The woman in the sun-yellow dress followed suit, calmly raising the bet in a show of partnerly solidarity. Her movements were precise, her gaze focused, though her smile never left her lips.
"I'll call," she said softly.
The man in the red shirt took a sip of wine from his glass, set it down, and, with almost no change in tone, simply said:
"Call."
His eyes remained empty, indifferent, as if he were playing more out of courtesy than any real desire to win.
The last in line was the woman in elegant black. She slowly took out a refined cigarette holder—a long, graceful piece of black ebony with a silver tip. With effortless grace, she inserted a cigarette, raised two fingers, and conjured a red magical ring. A small pillar of fire rose from her fingertips, lighting the cigarette. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, the white stream of smoke dissolving into the air.
Then, turning her gaze to Alex, she offered him another cigarette with a faintly mocking tone.
"Want one?"
Alex raised one hand in polite refusal.
"Thanks, but I'll pass."
"As you wish," the woman sighed barely audibly, and without breaking eye contact, placed her forty gold as well.
Only Alex remained. He was silent for a few seconds, as if weighing his options. Then a thought passed through his mind: Well, not like I have much of a choice… and he emotionlessly slid forty gold coins forward with a flick of his fingers.
"Call," he said curtly.
"Bets are placed," came the even voice of the dealer.
She burned another card and, slowly, without haste, flipped the next—fourth—community card. The queen of clubs.
Alex didn't raise an eyebrow, but a quiet, satisfied smile flickered in his mind: "Oh, two pairs already… If I'm lucky, might even hit a full house."
Still, he reminded himself: "Focus. No rushing. Remember what your mentor said—don't play the hand, play the player. Analyze first, then act."
Alex's gaze slowly scanned the table.
The irritated man to his left subconsciously began moving his lips again. Something about him suggested that queen helped him. "Could he have a set of queens? Or hoping for a flush? Clubs… very interesting."
The emerald lady—still mysterious, confident. Her posture hadn't changed. Either she was very skilled, or… she was holding something big.
The woman in black exhaled another plume of smoke. A gleam appeared in her eyes—was it excitement, or deception?
The man in red took another sip of wine, then said briefly:
"I fold," and set his cards aside.
Alex gently ran his fingers along the edge of his cards. "That's one out. And for me... this hand is perfect to make a move."
"Please place the final bets," the dealer's calm tone interrupted the brief silence among the players.
The woman in the yellow dress was first to act. She didn't rush. Her slender fingers, adorned with elegant rings, slowly traced the edges of her cards, her eyes fixed on their faces. Her posture remained graceful and calm, with only a slight tightening of the lips betraying the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind.
The silence stretched—first a few seconds, then a minute, then another. The soft noise of the hall, the murmur of spectators, the clink of glasses—all faded into the background. At the center of attention was her silent contemplation.
Finally, the tension got to the nervous man who had already fired off several comments during the game.
"Excuse me, madam," he said, trying to keep his voice indifferent, though nervousness still gnawed at every word. "Are we going to wait much longer for you to deign to act?"
The woman in yellow didn't respond immediately. Only after a few more seconds did she lift her calm gaze over the cards and reply in an even tone:
"I need time to weigh my decision. In games like this, haste rarely leads to victory."
"And what's there to weigh?" the man grumbled, frowning. "Four cards are already on the table. If you've got something—play it. If not—fold, like your neighbor to the right."
From the other end of the table came a soft, melodic laugh. The woman in black, who had already displayed cold elegance more than once, leaned forward slightly and, with her usual playful tone, said:
"Oh, after that, it's clear you're just an amateur—nothing more."
"How dare you—" the man began, but she interrupted calmly, without even raising her voice:
"Poker is a subtle game. It's not just about the cards. A strong hand doesn't guarantee a win. You have to think. Study your opponents. Observe. How they hold their cards. How their shoulders move, their brows, their fingers. The way their voice sounds. Even a single drop of sweat can tell you more than an ace in the hole."
She took a long drag on her cigarette, slowly exhaled the smoke, and smiled ominously.
"This isn't a game for those who just learned the rules. It's for those who've learned to read people. That's when it becomes truly thrilling."
Her gaze, dark and gleaming from under the mask, slid toward the nervous man.
"You, for example. If I'm not mistaken—you've got a set of queens. Am I right?"
A bead of sweat glistened on the man's forehead. His lips began to tremble slightly, moving like those of someone about to lie. He swallowed quickly, then forced a smile, where confidence battled with fear.
"Thank you," he said, "for... that little lecture. But if you knew how many games I've played—and how many I've won—you might be a little more careful with your assessments."
He paused, then turned his gaze to the woman in yellow and added, with a hint of challenge:
"But let's wait for this lady to make her move first. Then we'll see who's right."
The Lady in Yellow slowly took a sip from her champagne glass, as if intentionally stretching out the pause. Her elegant fingers touched the stack of gold coins, and in a calm, almost velvety voice, she said:
"I raise by fifty."
The coins landed on the table with a characteristic clink. From the side came a quiet:
"Well, finally..."
The words were nearly indistinct, spoken almost in a whisper, but Alex caught them clearly. So did the Lady in Emerald, who raised an eyebrow ever so slightly but said nothing.
The Woman in Black slowly inhaled from her cigarette. Her eyes gleamed again with that predatory spark that promised nothing good. She licked the corner of her lips, then said with a touch of playful charm in her voice:
"For the final bet, you need a bit of show... don't you think?"
She leaned forward slightly, her cigarette holder nearly touching the edge of the table.
"I raise by one hundred gold," she added proudly, pushing the stack of coins in front of her with graceful flourish.
"O-o-oh, now the game gets even more interesting," came the playful voice of the Lady in Emerald.
The Woman in Black smiled again—this time wider—and dipped her head slightly in a gesture of thanks.
"Thank you, my dear."
Then her gaze shifted to Alex—direct, cold, yet laced with challenge.
"I hope you won't spoil the game, Mister Unknown. Chaos is the sugar of life, isn't it?"
For a few seconds, Alex simply stared into her eyes. Two players—two masks—two unfamiliar souls playing not only for stakes but in a delicate psychological duel. In his thoughts, a voice echoed:
"She's bluffing. She has nothing strong. I could just call and ride it out calmly, but... the mentor always said—only those unafraid to lose can truly enjoy the game."
"I raise by five hundred," Alex said with a smile and slowly pushed a heavy handful of gold coins onto the table.
The Woman in Black's eyes sparkled with delight. Her smile widened fully, and her slender fingers tapped lightly on her cigarette holder. She said nothing—just silently enjoyed her opponent's boldness.
"You fell for her words so easily, kid," the irritated Man growled hoarsely. "She's playing you, and you're falling for it like a puppy. Don't be surprised when you walk out of here with nothing in your pockets."
"Thanks for the concern," Alex replied with a faint smile. "But I can assure you—I know what I'm doing."
That phrase was the last straw. The man's face twisted with rage.
"You're an overconfident brat. Those coins aren't even yours—they're your daddy's. You're not a player—just some rich boy here for a thrill."
Alex kept smiling.
"Instead of counting someone else's coins, perhaps you should place your own bet. And don't stall the game."
The man turned red, his fists clenched for a moment—and it seemed he might snap—when suddenly the calm yet firm voice of the female dealer cut through the air:
"I remind you that in Duke Lorenzo's gaming house, any use of force or magic is strictly forbidden. Please show respect for the other players."
The angry man shot a sharp glare at her.
"Don't you dare give me orders! Do you even know who I—" he began but stopped abruptly.
After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again, much more calmly, but still with condescension:
"What does it matter. You're just Lorenzo's servant girl—you've probably never even seen the world outside this house."
Alex glanced at the dealer. She still stood with perfect posture, her expression calm—neutral, even. As if she hadn't heard the insult at all.
The Man in Red finally grew tired of the drama. He set his glass on the table and asked with a threatening undertone:
"So? When are you planning to make your move, Mister? I'm quite eager to see how this game ends."
"I raise," the irritated man rasped. "Seven hundred."
The coins clattered onto the table. In his mind, the man thought confidently:
"That'll scare the kid. And the Lady in Yellow—she'll definitely fold. I can feel it. The rest I'll outplay easily, and the win will be mine."
The Woman in Black laughed—lightly, clearly, elegantly—covering her mouth with refined fingers. Her shoulders shook slightly, as if from a delicate joke, not a crude display of masculine ego. When her laughter faded, she simply waved a hand toward the other players.
"Apologies... truly, I couldn't help myself." Then her gaze locked onto the irritated man's eyes, and tilting her head, she asked with feigned concern:
"Are you really sure of your actions, sir?"
The man, barely containing his inflated pride, straightened his shoulders proudly.
"Of course! With a hand like this..." He paused dramatically, "...it'd be hard to lose."
Alex allowed himself the faintest smile. In his mind, the words rang out with a touch of irony:
"He's lying. And not even blushing."
The smile didn't go unnoticed. The man glanced sideways at Alex, and with a strained tone, snapped:
"What, something funny, boy? Laughing at your own stupidity for stepping into a grown-up game?"
Alex didn't let his expression change. His voice was calm, steady, almost indifferent.
"No. Just remembering your words… and now, I'm more certain than ever." He smiled gently, leaning back slightly in his chair.
For a moment, something flickered in the man's eyes. The mask of confidence cracked—just barely—but in a psychological game, even that was more than enough. He said nothing, simply looked away.
The next—and final—move was the Lady in Emerald's.
She silently took another elegant sip from her glass, licked the rim, and with a soft smile said:
"I'll call."
Her hand gracefully slid seven hundred gold to the center of the table.
The Lady in Yellow, still composed and cool-headed, said nothing. She simply added another six hundred and fifty gold to match the bet.
The Woman in Black did the same—almost with a fire in her gesture, tossing another five hundred gold atop her previous stake.
Alex noted inwardly:
"No one folded. Interesting... Either everyone really does have a strong hand, or no one wants to look weak. In any case... it's time to end the game."
His gaze drifted to the irritated man. The man sat pale, his lips slightly dry, fists clenched tightly under the table. Even his posture—awkwardly stiff—betrayed inner panic.
Alex lowered his gaze to the coins already lying in front of him. Then, without saying a word, he raised the bet.
The clink of coins echoed across the table. Silence hung in the air—tense, like a drawn string.
The female dealer calmly announced:
"All bets are placed. Time to reveal the final card."
From beneath her fingers, the last card slid onto the table—a five of clubs. For a moment, the air in the room froze. Someone sighed almost imperceptibly, someone else—on the contrary—seemed to hold their breath.
Alex quickly scanned the other players. The man in red—unshaken, still sipping his wine as if the game didn't concern him. The lady in emerald—faint smile on her lips, calm, composed, confident. The woman in yellow—serene, nearly cold. Her face like a mask—impossible to read. The lady in black merely took a gentle drag from her cigarette, casually observing the table. And only the irritated man sitting to Alex's left was glowing with joy, as if already counting his winnings in his head.
"All cards are revealed," the dealer repeated softly. "Now it's your turn. Who would like to start?"
"I will," said the man in red. "I've got nothing left to lose."
He turned over his cards. King of diamonds and nine of diamonds.
"Next," the lady in yellow raised her hand silently. She revealed a king of hearts and a king of spades.
The lady in emerald arched her brow slightly.
"May I ask… why did you raise the bet if you only had a pair?"
For the first time in the game, the woman in yellow smiled warmly, her voice softening.
"I hoped to win on a bluff. Especially after that lovely little performance we witnessed. Besides…" she glanced at the irritated man, "it was worth the try. Considering your behavior, I must admit it was quite hard to maintain a mask of indifference. No offense."
He gave her a sly grin.
"I don't care. Everything went according to plan."
"According to plan?" the woman in black laughed again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "If your plan was to entertain us all, then I must say—you've done brilliantly."
The man glared at her.
"Instead of giving lectures the whole game—which were incredibly annoying, by the way—you should've shown your hand."
She took another drag, then, as if satisfied with herself, flipped her cards. A two of hearts and an ace of spades.
The man burst out laughing.
"Is that all? So much flair—and a loss? Brilliant. Just brilliant."
The woman shrugged.
"For me, poker isn't about winning. It's about the atmosphere. The game. The company of interesting people." She exhaled another puff of smoke and added, "And besides, my favorite hasn't revealed his hand yet. The best part is yet to come."
The lady in emerald, maintaining her calm, raised her hand gently.
"Then I'll go next."
She unfolded her cards—a four of clubs and a jack of clubs.
"Club flush," the man in red said aloud. "Not bad. First real contender for the win."
"Haven't had such a tense game in a while," she replied with a smile.
"A truly strong hand," said the irritated man, nodding with feigned respect. "But, as expected… the victory is mine."
He dramatically flipped his cards: queen of diamonds and five of hearts.
"Full house!" he proclaimed proudly. "Well, I must admit—you all did your best. But, as I said, the win is mine. I was just playing the part of an amateur. In reality—"
"Oh, spare us, please," the woman in black interrupted with mock weariness in her voice. "Only luck saved you. If it weren't for the five of clubs, you'd be stuck with just a set of queens—and that's it. Besides…" She turned her gaze to Alex, "we still have one more player."
"Him?" the man grimaced. "Don't make me laugh. Young, overconfident, inexperienced. He's got a lot to learn before sitting at a table with me."
He looked over at Alex.
"Well then, kid. Show your cards. Prove me right."
All eyes turned to Alex.
Alex didn't rush. His fingers softly touched the corners of the cards still lying face-down on the table. Then—one smooth motion of the hand—and revealed to all were the queen of spades and the eight of diamonds.
"Full house," Alex said calmly. "And higher than yours. So the victory is mine," he added with the faintest trace of superiority.
The irritated man jolted as if he'd been slapped. He jumped up from his seat, his eyes still locked on Alex's cards.
"I don't believe it! Impossible! This is absurd!" he shouted. "You cheated! That's it! This is a scam!"
His outburst was cut short by the dealer, whose voice remained composed:
"That's impossible here. The procedure was followed. No violations occurred."
The woman in black burst into laughter, tossing her arm dramatically onto Alex's shoulder.
"A worthy game, young mister in a suit," she said with delight. "No wonder you caught my eye from the start. Tell me, what tricks did you use to beat four professionals and one… well, let's say amateur?"
Alex looked at her and smiled.
"No tricks. Just cold calculation and one simple rule that has always helped me."
"A rule?" the lady inquired with interest. "And what might that be?"
"Only the one who's not afraid to lose can truly enjoy the game."
The dark-haired lady smiled softly, removing her hand from his shoulder.
"I'll remember that."
Suddenly, the man in red spoke, now standing beside Alex.
"Thank you for the game." He extended his hand.
Alex stood up, shook it, and replied politely:
"It was a pleasure playing with you."
The man bowed to the other ladies and disappeared into the crowd.
Alex turned to the irritated man, who was still standing, mouth agape and eyes wide with shock. Alex held out his hand.
"Thank you for the game."
His tone was calm, sincere, and without a hint of mockery. The man scowled bitterly, but after a brief pause, shook the hand. Yet before letting go, he leaned in toward Alex and whispered:
"You'll regret this win."
Then he let go and vanished into the crowd.
"Gladly believe it," Alex replied just as quietly, with a faint smile.
The dealer girl was already standing beside Alex with a pouch of coins. Leaning slightly, she handed it to him.
"Congratulations on your win."
"Thank you," Alex replied politely, accepting the prize.
Her face showed no emotion—only a short nod and flawless posture.
Alex glanced at the three ladies at the table.
"Thank you all for the game," he said, giving a slight bow.
"It's us who should be thanking you," the lady in yellow replied. "You made the game truly exciting."
"Would you care to join us for another round?" asked the lady in emerald, calmly, though there was a spark in her eyes.
"I would be delighted to keep such elegant ladies company," Alex answered courteously. "But, unfortunately, I must take my leave."
"A pity..." sighed the lady in black. "But if you change your mind—you know where to find us."
Alex bowed once more and walked off into the crowd, searching for Elizabeth and Rogan.
The women began chatting among themselves, but the lady in black glanced back, watching Alex disappear into the crowd.
"What an intriguing young man..." she thought.
Alex stood in the brightly lit hall, holding a pouch of winnings in one hand and touching the edge of his jacket with the other. His gaze slid to the side, and in his thoughts, he addressed Siren:
"Well, did you notice anything strange while I was playing?"
Siren was silent for a couple of seconds before replying with a faintly ironic accent:
"I'll just remind you that you were also supposed to be watching the surroundings from time to time."
Alex paused, caught in thought, not quite sure how to respond. But Siren spoke again, this time more gently:
"That was a joke. I understand. The game was... genuinely important. But no, nothing unusual happened during that time. The guests are behaving as expected — drinking, playing, flirting. The security is calm as well. Everything seems a little too... normal."
"Thanks," Alex replied mentally. "I can always count on you."
"That's what I'm made for," Siren replied with a light smile. "So, what's the next step?"
But Alex didn't have time to answer.
"May I have your attention, please!" a loud male voice echoed through the hall.
Alex turned toward the sound and saw two men standing atop a grand staircase. One of them — around thirty years old, dressed in an elegant suit — had a magical artifact in the form of a sphere floating beside his head, amplifying his voice. The other stood calmly beside him.
It was the Duke.
Slicked-back silver hair. Deep brown eyes. A confident posture. He looked to be around fifty, but in an outfit of deep sapphire with golden embroidery, he appeared regal — and above all, completely self-assured.
As all eyes focused on him, the Duke stepped forward.
"Welcome, my friends!" he began loudly, smiling. "It brings me incredible joy to see you all here on this festive evening. Thank you for making time in your busy schedules to join me. I hope you've already warmed up a little, because this is only the beginning of our night."
The Duke spread his arms slightly.
"Tonight will be one to remember. Play, win, enjoy yourselves — make sure your memories of this evening become the best gift you could give me, your birthday boy... and your host. Now, let the real celebration begin!"
The hall erupted in applause.
Lorenzo bowed slightly, thanked the guests for their attention, and added:
"And now, you're free once again to do whatever your hearts desire."
With that, the Duke began descending the stairs toward the guests gathered below.
Alex kept a close eye on him — when suddenly he felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned sharply and saw Elizabeth's familiar face.
"Sorry," she said with a gentle smile. "Didn't mean to startle you."
"It's all right. No one startled me," Alex replied, relaxing a bit. "How was your little tour?"
Rogan, wearing his mask, shrugged.
"Nothing interesting. No hidden doors, no strange rooms. Everything's... ordinary."
"As expected," Elizabeth murmured. "I doubt Lorenzo would keep anything important out in the open."
She glanced at her nephew.
"And you? Notice anything?"
"No," Alex shook his head. "Just a luxurious gambling hall. Like all the others, but ten times more expensive."
Elizabeth smiled again.
"By the way, if we still have some time, I wouldn't mind a round of poker."
Alex gestured broadly with his hand.
"Straight ahead. There's a table with three ladies — in black, emerald, and yellow dresses. If you're looking for a challenge, you won't find better opponents."
"Ah," Elizabeth said with irony. "So that's what you've been doing all this time. Well, I won't judge you."
She turned to Rogan.
"Ever played poker?"
"I have, but… I'm more of an amateur, and—"
"Enough," his aunt cut him off. "That's all I needed to hear. Just follow my lead, and we'll figure out the rest."
She grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him along.
Alex watched them go, then turned his gaze once more to Lorenzo, who was still strolling among the guests, handing out smiles and handshakes.
And then — he addressed Siren mentally:
"You asked what I'd do next?"
He smiled slightly.
"The answer's simple — wait for the real game to begin."