Chapter 13 – Kieran
I step into the underground vault beneath the High Royale Casino, boots echoing on polished stone. Two guards flank the steel door, rifles slung across their chests, faces blank. They don’t move as I pass, but their presence presses against me.
Inside, the room drips with wealth—gilded walls gleam under soft lights, velvet chairs line a long poker table, and the chill of air-conditioning bites my skin. Above, the Strip bakes under a blazing sun, but down here, it’s a golden tomb.
Dante Veyra sits at the table’s head, a deck of antique cards fanned out in front of him like he’s preaching. His suit is crisp, burgundy tie knotted tight, gray hair slicked back. His eyes lift to mine, sharp and unyielding.
Gia lounges off to the side, legs crossed, a champagne flute dangling from her fingers. Her red dress hugs her frame, and her eyes sparkle with something dangerous—knowledge she’s itching to use.
I set the forged ledger on the green felt, a thick packet sealed tight. It’s clean, flawless, every detail Sylvara carved into it precise. My hand stays steady, but my gut twists—for her.
Dante reaches for it, fingers brushing the cover. He flips it open, pages rustling as he scans the lines. His voice cuts through the quiet, reading slow. “Veritas Holdings. Croce di Nero. Bellwether Safe.”
Each name drops like a stone, accounts tied to men who bleed gold and venom. He traces a finger down the columns, numbers aligning perfect. I stand there, watching, pulse steady but loud in my ears.
He looks up, eyes narrowing. A smile curves his lips, thin and cold.
“If this is fake, your girl dies first. Then you.”
I don’t blink. Don’t shift. But I flinch—internally. A flicker. Sharp and sudden. He knows.
About her.
My jaw tightens as I steady my breath. Gia. Of course it was Gia. She’s the only one who’d deliver that truth with a bow—gift-wrapped in venom, just to watch me burn from both ends.
Dante leans forward, gaze like a scalpel.
“Don’t lie to me, Kieran.”
“I didn’t,” I say, voice flat and sure. “That ledger’s cleaner than your vault.” My hand slides into my jacket, pulling out a second envelope.
I push it across the table, paper whispering on felt. “You’ll want this too,” I say. “Secondary account trace. Ties up loose ends.”
Dante’s smile fades, replaced by a hard stare. He takes the envelope, tearing it open with a flick of his thumb. Pages spill out, more numbers, more names—another layer of the web Sylvara spun.
Gia shifts, glass clinking as she sets it down. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, lips curling sharp. “Funny how quick you switch sides when lips get involved.”
Her words stab, aimed to cut. She knows too much. My face stays stone, but fury simmers beneath it.
“Keep your guesses to yourself,” I say, eyes flicking to her. She laughs, soft and biting, leaning back with her champagne again.
Dante ignores her, flipping through the second set of papers. His finger pauses on a line, then moves on. The room stays quiet, just the rustle of pages and the hum of the vents overhead.
I stand there, hands loose at my sides, every muscle coiled tight. One slip in that ledger—one digit off, one name wrong—and Sylvara’s blood stains this deal. I see her in my head, stitched thigh, fierce eyes, alive.
Gia sips her drink, watching me over the rim. Her gaze digs, searching for cracks. She’s enjoying this, the power of knowing more than she lets on.
“You’ve been busy,” Dante says, flipping the final page before closing the envelope. He places it atop the ledger, tapping the stack with two fingers—deliberate.
“This matches the accounts we’ve been watching. For now, Santoro... you’ve bought time.”
“Time’s all I need,” I say evenly. My chest tightens—not for me, but for her. Sylvara’s out there, waiting, trusting me to make this count.
Dante leans in, folding his hands. The cards between us sit untouched now—just props.
“You’ve always been sharp,” he says, voice like gravel. “But sharp men cut both ways. I don’t trust blades that swing on their own.”
“Then trust the numbers,” I reply, nodding at the ledger. “They don’t change their story.”
Gia scoffs softly, swirling her champagne. “Numbers don’t save lives,” she says, eyes gleaming. “And they sure as hell don’t bleed for you.”
I turn, meet her gaze, calm but cold.
“No. But people do. And you’d know all about that.”
Her smirk fades—just a flicker—but she says nothing more.
Dante chuckles, a dry sound that fills the space. “Enough,” he says, waving a hand. “You’ve delivered. For now.”
He pushes the ledger aside, leaning back in his chair. His eyes stay on me, calculating, peeling me apart. I hold his gaze, unflinching, but my mind races—Sylvara’s life hangs on this moment.
“You’re playing a tight game,” he says, voice dropping. “Hope you’ve got more than paper to back it up.”
“I’ve got what you need,” I say, stepping closer to the table. “Always have.”
In my mind, I am thinking fast. If the Veyras turn on us, I’ve got a choice coming—stick to the plan or run with her. Loyalty’s a chain, but escape’s a gamble. My gut says we’re not clear yet.
Dante rises from his chair, his movements steady and sure as he comes to me.
He stops in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder—warm, heavy, like a final stamp on a contract. His fingers press firm, then ease off.
“You’ve served me well,” he says, voice low and cutting through the chilled space. “But loyalty is a living thing.”
His eyes bore into mine, searching for a flinch I won’t give.
Gia cuts in, her smile sharp and gleaming. “And sometimes, loyalty bleeds,” she says, leaning back in her chair, champagne flute tilting in her hand. Her words hang there, taunting.
I stand rooted, face carved from stone, but my mind spins fast. Trust is gone—leverage is my only play now. Dante’s hand lingers in my thoughts, a signal I can’t ignore.
He steps back, arms folding across his chest. “If this burns me, I’ll bury you in this vault,” he says, voice dropping cold and hard. His gaze stays locked on me, unyielding.
I nod once, keeping my stance solid. Gia’s eyes follow me, hunting for weakness.
“You’ve got balls, Santoro,” Dante says, turning back to the table. He picks up the ledger again, flipping it open, fingers tracing a line. “Let’s hope they’re not just for show.”
I watch him study the pages. The guards by the door stay still, rifles catching the light, a quiet threat in the background.
Gia sets her glass down, the clink loud in the hush. She crosses her legs again, dress riding up her thigh. “He’s always been good at playing both ends,” she says, voice smooth and biting.
“Focus on your drink,” I say, glancing her way. My tone stays flat, but irritation flickers beneath it. She laughs, a sound that grates my nerves.
Dante shuts the ledger, dropping it onto the felt with a soft thud. “You’ve got my attention,” he says, facing me again. “Don’t waste it.”
I shift my weight, ready to leave. “I don’t plan to,” I say, keeping it short.
He waves a hand, dismissing me. “Go,” he says, turning back to his cards. “We’ll see how this plays out.”
I head for the door, boots striking the stone floor steady and loud. The guards part, letting me through without a word. Steel swings shut behind me, a heavy clang.
Gia follows, her stilettos clicking sharp on the corridor’s polished surface. She catches up quick, her presence a shadow I can’t shake. Her perfume hits me, floral and too strong.
She leans in close, lips near my ear. “She marks you, Kieran,” she whispers, voice soft but edged with poison. “You’ll die for her. They’ll make sure of it.”
My teeth grind hard, tension locking my face tight. We weren’t lovers—we were each other’s weakest link. And nothing has ever pissed me off more.
She hovers there, breath warm against my neck, then pulls back. Her heels echo as she retreats, fading down the hall. I keep moving, climbing the stairs, steps firm.
Casino noise trickles down—slots chiming, voices blending into a dull roar. I reach the main floor, pushing through the crowd, cigarette smoke stinging my nose.
Bright lights flash overhead, gamblers hunched over tables, oblivious to the stakes I’m carrying. My hands flex at my sides, restless, itching to grip something solid.
I weave past a row of slot machines, their bells ringing sharp. Sylvara’s face flashes in my head—her fierce eyes, her skin under my hands last night, her trust in me now.
Gia’s words claw at me—Sylvara marks me, and they’ll use it. My gut twists, not for me, but for her, caught in this web because of what we’ve become.
The vault’s chill sticks to me, even up here in the heat of the floor. Dante’s threat echoes—bury me in that vault, her first. I feel the edge we’re balancing on.
Protecting her means turning on Dante, cutting ties I’ve held for years. Staying loyal means risking her—her future, her breath, her everything.
I push through a group of tourists, their laughter grating against my focus. The ledger’s clean and passes for truth, but clean doesn’t mean safe—not with Dante’s games, not with Gia’s eyes.
My boots hit the carpet harder, driving me toward the exit. Sunlight waits outside, harsh and unrelenting, but my mind stays locked on her, on us.