Totally Not A Game Novels & Stories

Right before the syndicate's power handover, I flew back to New York after a year of studying jewelry design in Europe. But the night before the ceremony, my secret boyfriend of three years—the Rossi family's new second-in-command—sent me a text: [Sorry, Chloe. I lost a card game, and you were my chip. You're his problem now.] Before I could even breathe, I got tagged in the family's encrypted dark-web channel. The top thread was blowing up: [The Mafia Boss Just Won a Fat Pig for a Girlfriend!] Pinned right at the top was an old photo of me from a few years ago. Back when I was 180 pounds. The comment section was ruthless: [If the Boss knew what he actually won, he'd regret making that bet.]

The moment those words left the speaker, the lively atmosphere around us died instantly. The room fell into a suffocating silence. Brady Campbell snatched the phone back and hung up immediately. His face had gone deathly pale, the look of a man who had no idea how to explain himself. Then his phone rang again. Whoever was calling seemed terrified that something had happened to him and kept dialing without pause. A chill spread through my entire body as I slowly lifted my head.

Progress. "Earlier, you said we'll play the part of a loving couple in public and warned me to, quote-unquote, get rid of any romantic notions I may have of us falling in love. But we never discussed what our private lives would look like beyond separate bedrooms," I said. "Do we eat dinner together every night? Discuss our work problems? Go grocery shopping and argue over which brand of wine to buy?" "No, no, and no," he said flatly. "I don't grocery shop."

While most people were busy freaking out, two stepped forward—chill and confident. They said they were mages. Seasoned pro in the game. They gave us the rundown: We were stuck in a horror game. Everyone here? Already dead IRL. The castle had thirty floors. Each floor had its own monster—or monsters. The higher you climbed, the scarier they got. Clear all thirty floors, hit the legendary 9,999 points, and you get a second shot at life. Bonus? A cash prize so massive, you'd never have to work again.

"Sure, it was good, but there was nothing special about it." "Are you kidding me?" "Nah, you are just jealous." Spencer said."You know very well not many can pull that shit off." "I can." Some of the guys laughed. "What? Y'all think I can't do it?"Finn snapped. "We don't think that. We know you can't." I didn't know what video they were talking about. I hadn’t seen it. After our game last night, I went straight home. Showered. Ate. Laid in bed thinking about how crap we actually were. I didn’t open my phone. I was too pissed to do anything else, really.

“Make it happen. And soon.” “Consider it done,” Nathan replied before ending the call. She exhaled slowly, satisfaction blooming in her chest. The game wasn’t over. Not yet. That evening, Amira sat at her desk, the glow of her computer screen illuminating her tired eyes. Papers were scattered across her workspace, her pen scribbling notes at lightning speed. She was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the door open, nor the measured footsteps crossing the carpet. Suddenly, strong arms slipped around her waist from behind. She gasped, instinctively stiffening until his familiar scent of wood, smoke, and something uniquely Montez. It calmed her in an instant.

Shane’s voice was steady, though his hands clenched tightly. “She looked out the window when the voice said not to. They don’t like it when you disobey.” “The what?” Shane didn’t answer her question right away. His eyes lingered on the girl with the rose blooming from her mouth, then slowly turned back to Farrah. “The ones who run this… whatever it is… they call it a game,” he said quietly. “But it’s not a game anyone wants to play.” Farrah’s hands clenched into a fist… “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“One point five million.” A woman in a tailored emerald dress lifted her paddle, calmly but alert. “One point eight.” Another voice followed almost instantly. Then another. “Two million.” “Three.” “Four point two.” The numbers climbed too fast for an object whose history is supposedly almost erased. Within minutes, the price surged past reason. Seven million. I didn’t move. Neither did Vincenzo Romano. The dagger that was meant to be reclaimed quietly for Lola had turned into a competition….because people like to gamble when they think they’ve spotted hidden treasure.

Max tensed up and then let out a long sigh. "I hadn't seen it from that perspective," he confessed again. "It must be that," Max said, getting up from his seat and circling the desk to lean against the edge, facing her. "It's not love, that's for sure. It's just... sexual attraction." "I believe the details of your intimacy are not my concern, sir," Katharina said. "I know, I know. It's just that you're the closest thing I have to a woman who I trust completely," he said, and she raised an eyebrow.

I feel pity for the big guy. Right now, Roman and I are in a stand-off against his cousins Menandro and Lara in a game called Sapo. It meant Choke the Frog, but without an actual frog. A figurine frog sat on top of an erected log in the middle of the garden. Each team has ten gold coins and all we have to do is aim for the frog’s mouth, choke the figurine. It was easier said than done. Each team hasn’t been able to choke the freaking open-mouthed frog yet. We only have four coins left for each team. Menandro missed another shoot. Lara’s aim was no good as well.