I wrapped the test in tissue, tucked it back in the box, and slipped it into my bag. Then I stood, smoothed my black Armani dress, and checked my reflection.
My eyes were bright. My cheeks flushed.
I looked happy.
The realization hit like lightning—Iwashappy. Truly, genuinely happy for the first time in my entire life.
I walked back into the casino with my head high and my secret burning warm beneath my heart.
Viktor walked me through the high-roller room's new security measures. Biometric scanners on the doors. Panic buttons wired directly to Dante's security team. Cameras with facial recognition software that flagged anyone on our watch list.
"Excellent work," I said, reviewing the specs on the tablet he'd handed me. "Implement the same system in the Monaco room by next week."
"Already scheduled, ma'am."
I signed off on the documentation and handed it back. "One more thing. I want quarterly audits of all cash handlers. Randomized. No warning."
Viktor's expression didn't change, but I caught the brief tightening around his eyes. "Of course. May I ask why?"
"Because trust is earned continuously, not once." I met his gaze. "And because anyone who thinks they're above scrutiny becomes a liability."
He nodded slowly. "Understood."
"Good." I checked my watch. Seven-thirty. Dante would be finishing his meeting with the West Coast distributors. "I'll be in my office if anything requires my attention."
My office. The words still felt surreal.
It had been Lorenzo's once—all dark wood and intimidation. I'd gutted it. Now cream walls held abstract art, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. A glass desk sat angled to catch afternoon light. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with strategy texts and legal codes.
I'd claimed this space. Made it mine.
I settled into the leather chair and pulled up the quarterly reports. Revenue was up eighteen percent since we'd absorbed Lorenzo's operations. Legitimate businesses—the casinos, three hotels, a chain of upscale restaurants—provided clean income and laundry services for the underground economy.
The underground itself had shifted. Dante's anti-trafficking network had expanded. We'd intercepted four shipments in the last month alone, redirecting sixty-three people to safe houses and legitimate employment.
Blood money funding salvation. The irony wasn't lost on me.
My phone rang. Dante.
"Where are you?" His voice was rough, edged with something I couldn't identify.
"My office. Why?"
"Stay there. I'm coming to you."
He hung up before I could respond.
I frowned at the phone, then at the closed door. Dante sounded...off. Worried? Angry?
I opened my bottom drawer and checked the Glock 19 nestled inside. Loaded. Safety on. Exactly as I'd left it.
Paranoia was survival in our world.
Three minutes later, my door opened. Dante filled the frame—six-three of controlled violence in a charcoal suit that cost more than most people's cars. But his tie was loose, his hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it.
His eyes found mine, and relief flickered across his face.
"What's wrong?" I stood, instincts firing.
