Page 14 of The Bratva King

The disinterested expression on his face almost makes me laugh.

We lock eyes for a moment. He isn’t frightened. He isn’t particularly interested, either. Most people, regardless of age, have some kind of reaction to me walking into a room. This child is giving me the same energy he’d give a piece of furniture.

It’s unexpectedly disarming.

Mila talks constantly. From the moment she sees me, she's pulling on my sleeve, telling me about school, or asking if I want to see what she can do now. She fills every available silence with noise. Her presence is enormous for someone so small.

This child is the opposite.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

He studies me. Considers the question. Looks back at the screen.

I wait.

He doesn’t answer.

I’m not going to interrogate a four-year-old. I’m also not going to stand here while one ignores me. I turn and walk back out into the corridor.

Davis is passing at the far end of the hall.

“Davis.”

He stops and turns and walks toward me.

“There is a child in my break room,” I say.

He blinks. “Sir?”

“A child. Small. Dark hair. Watching cartoons on my television.” I pause. “Someone brought a child to work. In a casino. Or he’s lost. Do we have a missing kid report?”

Davis panics. His throat works as he fumbles for the radio clipped to his belt. “I’ll find out right now.”

“Do that.”

He walks away, talking into his radio. I lean against the wall with my arms crossed and wait. The cartoon is audible through the break room door.

Davis returns a few minutes later, and the look on his face tells me he doesn’t have an answer.

“Find out,” I say. “I’ll stay here. I don’t want a kid wandering the casino floor.”

“On it, sir.” He scurries away.

And now I’m pseudo-babysitting a kid that wants nothing to do with me. Never just a regular damn day.

5

Gabby

The pit boss’s eyes find mine across the floor, and my stomach drops.

Raymond’s got a radio in his hand, and he’s looking at me the way people look at you when they already know the answer to the question they’re about to ask.

I’m in trouble. Did they find out who I am? Did my ID fail? Greg promised me that I could keep it. He told me it was real enough.

Greg also warned me about trying to work at a casino. The background checks were a lot harder to pass than a basic inquiry at a minimum-wage job.

Shit, shit, shit.