The dealer was new. You could smell the inexperience beneath the gallons of cheap cologne. He was young—maybe early twenties. Blond. Twitchy. Sweated like he’d just been caught texting the boss’s wife.
He gave us a stiff nod. “Ladies.”
I smiled, trailing my fingers across the table like a caress. “Gentlemen,” I purred to no one in particular.
Around us, the sharks circled. Two older men in tailored suits. One with a pinky ring so large it could knock someone out. The other with the dead eyes of someone who used to run black market deals in Prague.
I sat, slowly, crossing my legs so the slit in my dress did all the talking. “Let’s play.” I placed a moderate bet. Just enough to look confident. Not too much to draw suspicion.
He dealt.
Queen of Hearts.
I looked at him. Straight in the
