*Scarlett*
In the days following the Tempest ball, when I finally have a chance to have a moment alone with Sam, I ask him if he has visited the gaming hell that Prince Chambers mentioned. Indeed, just as I suspected, he has been frequenting the club to meet gentlemen and use the opportunity to sell them on the notion of our business. Or so he claims that to be his endeavor.
But we barely walk through the door when he is standing behind those sitting at the roulette table and placing his bets. I find myself intrigued by the spinning wheel. Surely it can’t be as simple as I envision. The wheel spins one way, the tiny ball traveling in the opposite direction circles the bowl until it loses its momentum and drops into a slot. Shouts of joy mingle with groans of despair, filling the air. Sla
