Jacob Weinstein lived in a modestly inconspicuous, but nice house in Sugarland. He was a tall man with a massive gut that comically looked like a beach ball attached to his front. He was now in his sixties with a graying bald head and a close-shaved beard.

According to the IRS he was a “consultant.” His real occupation was a bit more complicated. There were quite a few endeavors he was involved in, which meant he knew anything there was to know about everything that went down anywhere. It helped that he made a point of staying perfectly neutral, never picking one side over the other or betraying anyone’s trust. He often played the role of mediator when two parties were in conflict.

Which meant he was the perfect person to go to before war started.

“Chance McCoy,” he said looking him over with a rueful expression. “I’m sorry. I heard about Chip. Come. Come,” he said bringing a hand around to guide Chance into his house.

“I suppose that’s why you’re here,” Jacob sighed, closing the door behind them. “I was just enjoying my paper on the patio.”

He led Chance through the house to the backyard by the pool. Chance took the seat opposite where Jacob had been sitting with his New York Times and coffee. They were underneath an awning that extended from the house.

“So a lot has been going on since you and Chip took up residence on the rig. How are you liking that by the way?”

Chance just raised his eyebrows as if to say: it is what it is.

Jacob gave a hearty chuckle. “I know. You miss poker. Which gets us back to the point of your visit, no?”

“What’s Leo up to?” Chance asked, getting to the point.

“Dmitri’s death shook things up a bit. No one has any real faith in Leo; they think maybe he’s too green to take over. It gives his enemies a lot of ammunition to maybe step in. Hell, even the Italians are trying to reclaim the territory.”

Chance’s eyebrows went up. That one was a surprise. The Italians hadn’t run things for at least as long as he’d been alive.

“What about Peter Antonov?”

“He’s one of the players in the game,” Jacob conceded.

“All the way from New York?”

Jacob gave him a reproachful look. “Don’t tell me you have no idea why he might make this personal.”

“Mom.”

“Like Helen of Troy. I can say first hand, those legs of hers could still to this day launch a thousand ships.”

“You mean the legs that are attached to my mother,” Chance said with a slight warning tone in his voice.

Jacob just laughed and shrugged. “As it is, she’s just started a mini turf war. One that was already in the making, grant you.”

“What about the Vasilievs?” Chance asked and watched Jacob with a sharp eye to see what his reaction would be.

Chance had never had to use his ability to read people on Jacob before. The man was very upfront with what he would and wouldn’t reveal, and was an expert at keeping that which he wouldn’t reveal very well hidden.

Jacob gave him a wry look. “Don’t tell me you boys are thinking of getting involved in this. Keep in mind, to them you are McCoys, not Vasilievs.”

Chance gave a vague tilt of the head, noting that Jacob was now looking at him with a sharp eye.

Jacob sighed. “Viktor had to cut her off for the sake of peace. But it’s true, he has a soft spot for his daughter, even to this day. Is that what you wanted to know?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

That was exactly what Chance wanted to know, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to confirm that with Jacob of all people. Who knew whose ear it might end up in. “I just wanted to know if the Vasilievs are involved at all.”

“Not yet,” Jacob said, reading right through him.

“Did Peter have my father killed?”

Jacob was too slow to catch himself at the sudden change in topic. He stared at Chance for a moment then shrugged. “It’s already out there so you might as well know. Yes, he did.”

“Did you know?”

Jacob leaned in with a sympathetic smile. “If I did why on earth would I tell you of all people?”

Chance gave him a hard look.

“And if I did know, would it matter? Your father would still be dead.”

Chance felt his anger rising. What right did this man have deciding what the McCoys should and shouldn’t have known?

“You want my advice?”

“Not particularly.”

Jacob just laughed. “I’ll give it to you anyway. Stay out of this. I’ll tell Leo that you have no intention of bringing the Vasilievs in to fight his battles for him. You forget what you know about Peter Antonov and get on with your life. By the time you’re finished paying off Leo—”

“That fucker still expects us to pay after what he did to Chip?” Chance interrupted.

“A debt is a debt, my boy. And from what I heard it was self-defense.”

Chance gave Jacob a hard look, telling him they both knew there was a fine layer of bullshit over that truth. A gun against Chip’s fists was no fair fight.

Jacob shrugged, then gave Chance a considering look. “You’re intent on doing something about this, yes?”

“I am.”

“I might have a solution for you.”

Chance waited, keeping a straight face even though his heart was beating faster now.

“A poker game.”

“Poker?”

“Peter and Leo.”

“They’re playing a game with one another?” Chance couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“No one wants a war, Chance.”

“You mean now that Leo fucked up, trying to use Chip against Peter, he wants a truce,” Chance corrected. The look on Jacob’s face answered that. “And Peter doesn’t have much power down here yet, so it makes sense to play nice. But why poker?”

“They both play, it seemed like the best solution.”

“Winner gets the whole territory?” Chance asked incredulously.

Jacob just laughed. “Neither of them is that crazy. No, but Leo will give up a portion of it if he loses. Peter loses, he goes back to New York, with one caveat.”

“What’s that caveat,” Chance asked, feeling that bowling ball in the pit of his stomach prepare to drop.

Jacob gave him a sympathetic look. “The McCoys are out, as far as playing poker in Houston. In fact, I should tell you, he’s slowly making his way along the southeast closing off all avenues for you, my friend.”

Chance fell back in his chair. He’d seen grudges before, but this was going too far.

“Don’t give up hope quite yet,” Jacob gave him a cunning look. “I may be able to get you into that game.”

Chance blinked in surprise. “Why on earth would they agree to that?”

“Think about it,” Jacob said, leaning in. “You have every reason to hold a serious grudge against both of them. Leo almost killed Chip. Peter most certainly did have your father killed.”

“And what? They think I’m going to come after them?” Chance actually laughed at the idea. As much as he wanted both of them dead, the idea was suicide. No one from the outside could touch them.

“Not you,” Jacob said meaningfully.

Chance gave him a direct look. “The Vasilievs.”

Jacob pressed his lips together in agreement and fell back. “Viktor is not allowed to talk to his daughter, nor she to him. But that doesn’t stop you from getting in touch. You are her son after all, and Katherine has always been a daddy’s girl.”

Chance kept his face perfectly neutral in response to that, knowing that Jacob was feeling him out for any bit of information he could use. In his position, information was its own currency, much better than money. If one of the McCoys was even hinting at running to the Vasilievs to intervene, having that knowledge would be like winning the lottery.

“Besides their deal, how much is the buy in?”

“A million dollars.”

Now Chance laughed out loud. “You do realize that I’m not even done paying off one-fifth of that?”

Jacob just nodded his head in agreement. Then he gave Chance a considering look. “Your mother has the house…?”

“Forget it.”

“She has almost as much reason for you to be in this game. There are plenty of people who would be more than happy to give her a quick loan with the house as collateral. Myself for example. Or perhaps Leo or Peter could offer you a loan?”

All of those ideas were their own versions of Fuck No. Chance would worry about raising the money later on.

“What do I have to do to get into this game?”

Jacob gave him a cunning grin. “That depends on what your terms are.”

* * *

When Chance got back to his mother’s house he sat her and Juliet down and told them everything, holding nothing back.

His focus was all on Juliet, watching her reaction. She fell back in her chair in a daze, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling as though trying to process everything. He could sympathize. Frankly, Chance was feeling completely out of his depth himself. All he wanted was his old simple life of playing poker, blowing all the winnings, and going back to the tables to play again. That life was gone now, perhaps forever. Even when this debt was paid, how could he go on playing the tables under Leo’s domain, knowing what he’d done to Chip? Or worse, if Peter won, knowing what he’d done to his dad?

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m playing the game.” He looked to his mother to assess her reaction: lips pressed firmly together grimly; brow wrinkled with worry; arms crossed over her chest protectively.

But those eyes told him everything. She knew what was at stake. This was something he had to do.

“Are you sure about this Chance?” Juliet said pulling herself forward. He didn’t need to read her to sense her legitimate fear. “What if…?”

She let it hang, but Chance knew what the rest of that sentence was. “That’s not going to happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

He leaned in and brought both her hands into his much larger ones. “They’re not going to kill me because right now they think we’re just the pawns in their game.” Chance turned to each woman and gave them a hard look. “So we have to figure out how to become the players.”