"How does he cheat?"
"He reads people. He is the Treasurer of the Syndicate because he knows the price of everything. He smells desperation." Alaric steps closer, his chest brushing mine. "We are going to sit at his table. We are going to bleed him dry. And then, when he is desperate... we are going to offer him a way out."
"The invitation."
"The Key to the Gilded Cage," Alaric confirms. "It’s a physical token. He wears it around his neck. Without it, the yacht’s security will shred us before we get within a mile."
He takes my hand. He brings it to his lips, kissing the bite mark on my palm. It has faded to a white crescent. "Tonight, you are not Elodie Fray. You are not the Asset."
"Who am I?"
"You areLady Vengeance," he whispers against my skin. "You are the distraction. While I play the cards... you play the man."
"Comms check,"Kaiser’s voice cuts in, clear and crisp in my ear."The car is downstairs. A Rolls Royce Phantom. Try not to get blood on the upholstery, children. It’s a rental."
Alaric smirks. The wolf smile. He offers me his arm. The good one. "Shall we go to the slaughter, my love?"
I take his arm. "Lead the way."
The Casino de Monte-Carlo is a temple of excess. Frescoes on the ceiling. Gold leaf on the walls. The sound of money changing hands—the softthwipof cards, the clatter of roulette balls, the murmur of languages from every corner of the globe.
We walk in. The silence spreads outward from us like a ripple in a pond. Heads turn. Drinks pause halfway to lips. We are a striking pair. The dark, scarred lord and his scarlet queen. We move with a predatory grace that doesn't belong here. We don't look like tourists. We don't look like gamblers. We look like trouble.
A floor manager intercepts us. He is sweating. "Monsieur, Madame. The main floor is—"
Alaric holds up a hand. He produces a black card—Kaiser’s card. "We are expected in theSalle Médecin."
The manager blanches. He bows. "Of course. Right this way."
He leads us through the velvet ropes, past the gawking tourists, to the heavy double doors at the back of the casino. The doors open. The Private Room. It is quieter here. Darker. The air is thick with cigar smoke and tension. There is only one active table. Four men sit around it.
And there he is. Silas Vane. He is a small man. Rotund. Balding. He wears a white tuxedo that is too tight, straining against his gut. His fingers are adorned with rings. He is sweating, dabbing his forehead with a silk handkerchief. But his eyes... his eyes are reptilian. Cold. Calculating. He is stacking a tower of chips. He is winning.
"New players," the dealer announces.
Vane looks up. His eyes slide over Alaric. Dismissive. Then they land on me. They stop. They widen. They devour. He licks his lips. A quick, unconscious flick of a tongue.Got you,I think.
"Buy in?" Vane asks, his voice oily.
Alaric tosses the black chip onto the green felt. "Fifty million."
The table goes silent. Even the dealer pauses. Vane stares at the chip. Then at Alaric. "That’s a steep entry fee, stranger. Do you have a name?"
"Count Graves," Alaric lies smoothly. "And this is my wife. Lady Elodie."
Vane’s eyes narrow. "Graves? I knew a Graves once. A doctor. Had a nasty habit of playing with things he didn't understand."
"Common name," Alaric says, pulling out a chair. He doesn't sit. He pulls it out for me. I sit. Alaric sits next to me. "Deal the cards."
The game begins. It is boring at first. Small blinds. Folding. Watching. Alaric plays conservatively. He loses a few hands.He lets Vane win. He feeds the ego. I play my part. I lean over Alaric’s shoulder to whisper in his ear, letting my hair fall forward, letting the red silk slip. I feel Vane’s eyes on me. He is watching my cleavage, my neck, the way my hand rests on Alaric’s shoulder. He is distracted.
"Heart rate elevated,"Kaiser whispers in my ear."Vane keeps checking his watch. He’s on a schedule. He needs to be back on the yacht by midnight. Press him."
I signal a waiter. "Vodka martini," I say. "Dirty." I turn to Vane. "You have a lovely establishment, Mr. Vane. But it’s so... quiet."
Vane preens. "Money prefers silence, my dear. Are you enjoying your stay in Monaco?"
"It’s charming," I say, meeting his gaze. "But I prefer the ocean. My husband promised me a yacht, but..." I sigh, glancing at Alaric with mock disappointment. "...he says they are hard to come by."
