Chapter 7
Ace
My pulse spikes as I enter Sin, a casino that lives up to its name. Strippers in cages are peppered throughout the vicinity, along with big-busted women in lingerie carrying trays. With the low lighting and thumping base, I can tell I’m going to have a migraine before the night is over.
I’ve only counted at this casino a handful of times.
The rules for blackjack aren’t as good here, and the male dealers don’t keep their hands to themselves, but I need to keep making the rounds, which includes Sin.
I’ve put off coming here for too long. It doesn’t matter that Burlone owns the place and makes my stomach churn anytime I see him.
I need to find out if the opportunity I’ve been anticipating is happening or not.
Scanning the walls, I search for an announcement of the tournament I’ve been prepping for but come up empty. With a sigh, I approach a blackjack table and get ready for a long night of counting while praying I don’t run into Burlone while I’m here.
Not yet.
The decks have been shit all night. I can’t get a solid streak of low cards played in order to justify raising my bet. Hell, I’ve been bleeding chips for the past three hours, and it’s been driving me insane.
In order to follow Rule #5: Be a machine, I need to bet the minimum until I see the deck get hot. That’s when I bet big. Unfortunately for me, it hasn’t happened yet.
Sucking my lips into my mouth in frustration, I watch the dealer shuffle the deck one more time.
“Fancy seeing you here,” a vaguely familiar voice calls from my right.
My head swivels in its direction before my jaw almost touches the ground.
Jack.
“Uh…hi?”
“Seems you and I share a similar interest.” He gives me a knowing smirk before dropping some cash onto the table for the dealer to exchange for chips.
My back is ramrod straight, as I consider my options.
Rule #3: If something feels fishy, it probably is. Trust your instincts.
He doesn’t feel threatening, just…smart. And observant. Like me.
“Seems we do,” I mutter under my breath. Refocusing on the dealer, I watch as he begins flipping cards.
The hands go by in a blur until a series of low cards start popping up. My gaze darts to Jack as he flips a chip between his knuckles like a seasoned pro. Glancing back at the table, I see a few more low cards revealed.
Slowly, my lungs expand to full capacity as I give myself a mental pep talk. Ace. If you’re gonna make up for the chips you’ve bled tonight, then you need to bet big on this next hand.
Again, I give Jack the side-eye. He seems pleasant enough.
Doesn’t give me any vibes that he’s an undercover pit boss looking to drag me away.
That’s a good sign, right? If I’m going to follow Rule #5, then I can’t let my emotions get in the way.
Be. A. Machine. The statistics work, but only if I play without my emotions.
However, if I tip Jack off to me being a card-counter, and he turns out to not be as friendly as he seems, I’ll be screwed.
With a gulp, I push the rest of my chips forward.
The dealer quirks his brow but doesn’t comment.
“Feeling lucky, Ace?” Jack teases by my side.
I toss a look his way before shrugging innocently. “Go big or go home, right? Plus, it’s getting late. I need to get going.”
Throwing his head back, he laughs. “I like your thinking.” With a casual flick of his wrist, he puts the rest of his chips onto the table.
The dealer ignores our banter as he starts placing the cards around the table. First, he puts a card face down in front of himself, then deals to his left, which is Jack’s card. Ironically, a jack of diamonds is shown. My turn. Nine of clubs.
Not bad. Not great. But not bad. It’ll calm my nerves when I see the dealer’s second card. A ten. In the blink of an eye, I’m running the probability of me coming out ahead, but it doesn’t look great.
Next, another ten for Jack. He’s in the clear.
Now it’s my turn. Again. A queen. I can work with a queen.
I’m at nineteen, and as long as the dealer doesn’t show a face card or a ten, then I should be good.
My head bobs up and down on its own accord as the dealer flips over his bottom card to reveal an eight of clubs.
With a fishy face, I release the gust of air I’d been holding in my lungs.
“Damn, Ace. If that’s not luck, I don’t know what is.” Jack winks for good measure as I laugh off his lame joke, relief pulsing through my veins.
“Thanks. I’m just glad the cards were in my favor tonight.”
The dealer collects the rest of the deck then pushes a separate stack of chips each for Jack and me. Tossing one back to the dealer as a tip, I collect the rest and stand from my chair before the pit boss catches on to me.
“Calling it a night?” Jack follows my lead, stacking his chips before rising to his feet.
“Yup.”
“Want me to walk you out or anything?”
Placing my hands, and subsequently the chips, into the front pocket of my hoodie, I shake my head. “Nah. Boyfriend is waiting for me so….”
“Boyfriend?” With a quirked brow, a knowing Jack smirks down at me.
“Yup. Boyfriend.”
“Does boyfriend have a name?” he teases.
Of course, it’s at this moment that my brain short-circuits, and I can’t come up with a masculine name for the life of me.
After a chorus of crickets, my voice squeaks, “Yup. Bye!” I turn on my heel to make my escape from a guy who’s becoming way too familiar with me then rush toward the cashier to exchange my chips for bills. Thankfully, only Jack’s laughter follows me.
After I collect my cash and intending to head to Dottie’s, I freeze when the sound of a voice that’s haunted my dreams since I was a little girl floats through the smoky air.
“I’ll be here with a thousand witnesses as I play in the tournament. It’s foolproof.”
My breath catches in my throat, making me feel like I’m choking as I glance over my shoulder.
It’s him.
He always did have a big mouth. After all, I learned the importance of Rule #8 from him in the first place.
Rule #8: Don’t discuss private shit in public. It’s bound to screw you over.
Idiots.
Swallowing thickly, I let Rule #1 and #2 flash like a neon sign in my mind as I pull out my phone and pretend to text someone. Keep your head down and your eyes up. It makes you invisible. But not stupid. And always be aware of your surroundings.
I listen closer while hiding in plain sight.
Again, I peek up to see the man whom I hate more than anyone else in the world.
He looks older than I remember, but I guess that makes sense since it’s been almost ten years.
His hair is thinner and tinted with gray.
His once muscular build has turned into a few layers of extra fat that hang over his polished belt buckle.
But his hands are the same. Decorated with gold embellishments.
Strong. Able to break things with a lazily clenched fist. Like my mom’s nose.
Or our family picture that once hung on our wall. Or a twelve-year-old’s arm.
I squeeze my eyes shut and push the memory away before gaining the courage to open them and assess the rest of his crew.
Standing next to Burlone is a clean-cut guy with a massive ‘X’ tattooed on his forearm and another man with a diamond tattoo printed below his right eye on his cheekbone.
I purse my lips for a split second, committing them both to memory before turning my gaze back to the blank screen on my phone.
My thumbs slide across the glass as I listen closely.
“I’m just saying we need to be careful. I think the Romanos know something’s up,” argues Mr. X as his gaze scans the casino in suspicion. “And I would suggest we take this conversation upstairs, Boss.”
Shit. Looks like we found someone with a brain.
“Stop being a pussy, Dex. They can think whatever the hell they want,” diamond guy states before pressing the elevator button. “The fact is, they don’t know shit. Let’s keep it that way.”
Burlone sets his big burly hands on their shoulders before shoving them into the lift. “Gentlemen, stop being so dramatic. I’ve designed this plan to be foolproof. And my plans never fail—”
The doors slide closed, cutting off his confident remark and leaving me with more questions than answers. The only useful bit of information was the mention of the tournament. The one I plan on winning so I can get out of this hellhole while simultaneously hitting Burlone where it hurts.
His pride––and his wallet.