Two hours and three signature cocktails later, I’m tipsy as hell and up sixteen hundred dollars. My coding brain is all over the roulette wheel. There are easy rules to winning with it. I bet red—for the lucky dress—every time. If I lose, I double the bet the next time. The only way the method doesn’t work is if you run out of money before you make it back. Fortunately, that hasn’t happened. I’m not sure Paolo would even let it happen. He stands at my back playing sugar daddy. Protecting me, ordering me drinks, making small rumbles of approval every time.
The cocktail waitress comes by and hands me another drink, but Paolo takes it from my hand.
I turn to run a fingertip over his fine Italian suit jacket. “Am I cut off, big man?” I might be slurring slightly.
“Let’s get some food into y
