Page 7 of The Bratva King

“I’ve got four more bodies starting tomorrow night,” he says. “Two on the construction site rotating shifts, two here.”

“Here?”

“Precaution.”

I look at him.

“If they’re getting bold on the construction site, they get bold here next,” he says. “I’d rather have the people in place before I need them than after.”

He’s right. “Do it.”

We move toward the back corridor and the elevators to the executive floor.

A voice rises above the casino noise. I stop mid-stride.

Male. Angry. Coming from the main dealer stations near the center of the floor.

Pasha stops beside me. He hears it, too.

People get loud all the time, but I know the difference between noise and threat.

And this is a threat.

3

Gabby

The guy has been at my table for forty minutes, and he’s fucking hammered.

I’ve dealt with enough of them to recognize the particular drunk that turns mean. It starts with the muttering, then the sighing, then the insults under the breath.

I shoot a look at the server coming toward my table. She changes directions immediately. She knows better. There’s a fine line between buzzed and drunk. We want them buzzed so they spend more, but some people just can’t handle their liquor.

“That’s not possible,” he says for the third time in five minutes. His voice has climbed another notch. The couple at the far end of my table exchanges a look and quietly cashes out.

“Sir, I need you to tone it down.”

“You’re pulling from the bottom.” He jabs a thick finger at the shoe. “I’ve been watching you.”

I take a slow breath through my nose. “I’m not.” I keep my voice level. I’ve spent the past five years working jobs that demand I put up with assholes.

“I just saw you! You’re cheating!”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t.” I point at the black dome in the ceiling above us. “There are at least four cameras on this table.” I gesture toward the two security guards flanking the floor twenty feet away, as a warning and a reminder. “There’s a whole team of people whose entire job is watching for exactly what you’re accusing me of.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay,” I say pleasantly. “Would you like to place a bet? Or maybe you’ll find better luck at another table.”

“Deal the damn cards.”

I deal the cards. He gets a nineteen and still looks at me like I’ve ruined his day. I slide his chips over, but he doesn’t touch them. Just stares at me.

I glance at the clock on the far wall. I was supposed to be done ten minutes ago. My feet are screaming inside my heels. I’ve got forty minutes to get across town, pick up Luke from the babysitter, and get him fed and into his bath routine before the whole night falls apart. Routine matters. Routine is an anchor for kids like Luke.

But the pit boss came to me fifteen minutes ago and let me know my relief was running late. It’s the third time she’s been late this week. I agreed to stay because every five minutes is a little more money in my pocket. A little more money for groceries.

“Again.” He slaps the table.