Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sophie
That Evening
“What exactly are we doing here?”
Lucian doesn’t answer as we continue down yet another private corridor, this time at the Bella Rosa.
Since meeting them, I’ve learned that billionaires move through a different version of the world than I do.
At the end of the hallway, a silver-haired man in an immaculate tuxedo waits beside what appears to be a mirrored wall.
He inclines his head as we approach. “Gentlemen. Madam.”
Then he holds out a shallow tray lined in black velvet.
Lucian and Caleb place their phones on it, and they wait for me to do the same.
The attendant locks our devices in a compartment concealed in the wall, then places his palm against a dark panel. A blue light travels beneath his hand, followed by the quiet disengagement of a lock.
The mirrored wall slides open.
Beyond is what appears to be a gaming salon.
A massive chandelier spills light over black lacquer, pale marble, and a single baccarat table positioned beneath it.
Arched windows overlook the Strip, reducing all that noise and neon to a glittering ribbon in the distance. There are no slot machines, no crowds, no cocktail servers weaving through tourists.
There are only a handful of men in tuxedos speaking quietly around the room, and their conversations fade as we enter.
A few hours ago, I was eating tacos from a paper basket, and now I’m dressed in a midnight-blue gown that’s deceptively modest from the front, the silk falling in a smooth line to the floor.
But my entire back is bare, and thousands of tiny crystals sewn into the fabric catch the chandelier light whenever I move.
We are the focus of everyone’s attention.
What the hell is happening here?
Caleb spreads his fingers against my back and leans in closer, speaking so quietly that no one can overhear him. “Don’t shrink.”
Immediately I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin.
Lucian moves to my other side, and together we enter the room.
Lorenzo approaches from near the bar, and I exhale when I see the familiar face.
He’s different tonight, though, in his tailored tuxedo. He’s less of a host and more of an owner. His eyes are focused, missing nothing. A shudder goes through me. Right now, I have no trouble seeing him as a mafioso.
As we exchange pleasantries, another man joins us.
I stiffen, immediately recognizing Malcolm Voss.
He controls data-brokerage companies, private-credit funds, political consultancies, and enough other interests that his name regularly appears near powerful people without anyone ever being entirely certain what he does for them.
He is lean, elegant, perhaps fifty, with iron-gray hair and a tuxedo so simple it probably cost more than my first car. Dark-red stones gleam at his cuffs.
His gaze moves over me, taking in my dress, my rings, and my position between Lucian and Caleb.
“Hawthorne. Pierce.” Voss shakes hands with each of them in turn, the greetings brief and practiced.
“Malcolm,” Lorenzo says, “you haven’t met Sophie Hawthorne-Pierce.”
“Ah.” Voss’s attention sharpens slightly. “Mrs. Hawthorne-Pierce.”
He offers his hand, and I reluctantly accept.
He’s warm, and his smile invites trust. And I’m convinced that makes him even more dangerous.
Lorenzo gestures toward the baccarat table. “Shall we?”
The men begin taking their seats as if everyone but me already knows exactly where he belongs.
Lucian pulls out the chair in the center. “Sophie.”
I stare at it. “I thought I was observing.”
“You are participating.”
“In what?”
“Our side,” Caleb says.
What?
My heart thunders so hard that I’m sure everyone has to hear it. I don’t gamble, and I don’t want to be anywhere near whatever the hell is going on here.
He takes the chair to my right while Lucian settles on my left.
Voss sits directly across from us.
A woman enters, carrying a locked black case, and places it beside Lorenzo. When she opens it, I see stacks of rectangular gaming plaques rather than ordinary chips.
One hundred thousand.
Five hundred thousand.
One million.
My stomach tightens.
She places identical stacks before Lucian and Voss.
“Ten million each,” Lorenzo says.
Oh my God. This cannot be happening.
Shaking my head, I turn to Lucian. As quietly as I can, I demand, “You’re gambling twenty million dollars?”
“Not exactly.”
“The money controls the game,” Voss says. “It isn’t the real stake.”
I look across the table at him. “Then what is?”
He removes a slim black card from inside his jacket and places it on the felt.
Caleb’s expression changes.
So does Lucian’s.
I frown, and Lucian explains. “It’s a decryption key.”
“For what?”
He levels me with a cold, hard, unblinking gaze. “A copy of your father’s private ledgers.”
For a moment, I can only stare at him.
“Everything he kept off the books,” Caleb says. “Loans. Property transfers. Political contributions. Offshore payments.”
No… My pulse is frantic now.
Voss rests one hand beside the card. “Your father was not as careful as he believed.”
I look at Lucian. “And you’re gambling for this?”
“We offered to buy it.”
Voss smiles. “I declined.”
I’m struggling to understand what’s happening. “You don’t have to do this, Lucian. Whatever is in those ledgers belongs to my father.” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “If it destroys him, maybe he deserves it.”
Lucian turns toward me. “I have no interest in protecting Richard.”
“Then…?”
“They don’t know who else is in the ledger,” Voss says, sitting back. “I believe your mother was involved in his business.”
My mother?
Everything inside me goes cold.
I look at the black card again.
I may be willing to let my father live with whatever he’s done.
But not my mother. Never my mother.
And Lucian knows that.
Voss regards him across the table. “I want one unfettered use of your intelligence network.”
My stomach tightens.
“Shall we play?”