Page 57 of Spock’s Snare

“This is Vegas.” Spock lifts one shoulder. “A casino was the best option. Puma already had millions, so he used some of his money to help get it established. The club brought in other investors, but we kept the majority share.”

I glance toward the entrance, where another elegantly dressed couple is being escorted to their table. “That was a risk.”

“It was, but it turned out to be the best investment the club ever made.”

“The casino has to bring in a fortune.”

“It does, and not only from the gaming floor or hotel rooms.” He gestures around the dining room. “1% owns a piece of every business operating inside the casino. Restaurants, bars, shops, entertainment venues. They get premium space and a steady stream of customers. We get a percentage of their profits.”

“That includes Cerebus?”

He nods. “The casino provided the location and helped with the initial investment. The chef and her partner own the majority of the restaurant, but the Demon Dawgs own a third. They get a cut of the profits and access to some of the best food in Vegas.”

I sit back, genuinely impressed. I expected an explanation involving luck, intimidation, or possibly both. Instead, he describes a smart, carefully structured business empire.

“That’s brilliant.”

“That’s Puma.”

My gaze travels over the luxurious dining room once more before settling on the man across from me. Every new thing I learn about the Demon Dawgs challenges what I thought I knew about them. They’re dangerous men. I do not doubt that.

But they’re also loyal, strategic, and far more successful than they let outsiders see.

“I’m impressed,” I admit.

Spock leans forward, his eyes locking with mine. “Good. But wait until you taste the food.”

After we place our orders, the server collects our menus and leaves us alone, surrounded by the low murmur of conversation.

Spock takes a sip of water, his gaze remaining on me over the rim of his glass. “Why construction?”

The question catches me off guard. “What?”

“You could’ve started any kind of business. Why did you choose a construction firm?”

There’s genuine curiosity in his voice. He isn’t making conversation merely to fill the silence while we wait for our food. He wants to know.

I trace one finger through the condensation on my glass. “My dad was a woodworker.”

“Cabinets?”

I nod, surprised he remembers what I told him about Dad’s work. “Mostly custom cabinetry. He built everything from kitchen cabinets and bathroom vanities to bookcases and entertainment centers. He did the installations himself, too.”

“Sounds like he was good with his hands.”

“The best.” Warmth spreads through me as memories fill my mind. “When I was little, I used to sit in his workshop and watch him work. I grew up loving the smell of freshly cut wood. “

Spock’s attention never wanders. He doesn’t glance around the crowded dining room or check his phone. With the way he focuses on me, I can almost believe we’re the only people in Cerberus.

“When did he start letting you help?” he asks.

“How did you know he let me help?” I ask.

“Because you and your dad are close. I can’t see him not wanting to share his gift with you.”

I smile at his comment as the server delivers our food. “Not until I was older. Before that, I was only allowed to hand him tools and sweep up sawdust. Eventually, he taught me how to measure and sand. Then he let me use some of the smaller tools.” I pause, remembering how proud I’d been the first time he trusted me to work without him hovering. “By high school, I was working for him after school, on weekends, and during the summers. I started going along on installations.”

“That’s when you got interested in the rest of the building process?”