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“Why bother, then?”
He puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes, putting butterflies in my stomach in an instant. I swallow hard, trying to push downthe conflicting emotions swirling inside me, but it does little to help.
“Because,” he says, his voice a low rumble, “it’s not about the outcome. It’s about the game itself. The tension, the thrill of it all. You know it’s rigged. You know I get to make the choice, but you still don’t know what my choice will be.”
I nod, though I’m not sure I fully understand. Or maybe I do, and that’s what scares me the most. The power dynamic between us is a precarious balance, and with every passing day, I feel myself slipping further into his world, his influence.
“You choose. I don’t even care what color.”
“Red for you, and black for me. It’s fitting,” he says, letting go of the bullet.
The croupier spins the wheel, and I watch the little white ball dance around the numbers, my heart pounding in sync with its erratic movements. Viktor’s grip tightens slightly, and the ball bounces over the numbers.
How would the croupier know what color Viktor wants it to land on? Is it really rigged, or is he just playing games with my mind?
I wish I could see into his head, but he’s just as much of an enigma as when I first met him. He hides so much, but one day I’d like to know what’s really going on in his mind.
As the wheel slows, my eyes are locked onto the ball, hoping that it lands on black. When it finally does land, it’s on red.
I knew this would happen. Fuck, he’s really going to make me shoot someone today.
“Looks like you get to fire the shot,” Viktor says, his voice laced with satisfaction.
I inhale deeply, letting it all out in a big gust. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t turn the gun on you,” I say, and part of me actually means it.
15
Viktor
Johnny is late, but he arrives, nonetheless. His tardiness annoys me more than anything. How many times does someone have to be told to arrive on time before they get their act together? Don’t I pay enough here?
I stay at the roulette table with Sage, having a smoke and a drink with her as he’s intercepted by my guards at the door. By the time he realizes he’s in danger, he’s already out of the public eyes and in a soundproof room in the basement.
“It’s about that time,” I say, standing up from my stool with a sigh. Age hasn’t made my knees any better. They still ache when I sit too long.
I envy the way Sage jumps up after me, her drink sloshing in her glass and her eyes wide with anticipation. “They already got him, right?”
I nod. “He should be downstairs. Are you ready for another interrogation?”
“Are you kidding? Two in one day? It’s like Christmas morning,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You’ll be less emotionally attached to this one, at least. That’s why I let you have the gun,” I say as I take her hand. I’ve gotten into the habit of holding hands with her wherever we go. Previously, I thought it to be a little too cute, but I’ve changed my mind. Sage’s hand belongs in mine.
“You should let me rig the table at some point,” she replies, flashing a winning smile. “You might enjoy the thrill of losing for once.”
“I enjoy playing. I always win.”
“There’s only so many times that can happen,” she replies as we walk toward the elevator.
“Not in my world, Sage. Not in my world.”
The mood changes the second we step into the elevator. It’s not meant to be used by anyone but official Bratva personnel, so it’s not luxurious like the rest of the casino. The walls are thin sheet metal, and there’s a singular tube light on the ceiling that flickers when I thumb the button for the basement floor.
The air is stale here, growing colder as we descend. I feel the sweat in Sage’s palm cool down and turn to a clamminess that reminds me of winter rain. She gets cold easily. She’s already shivering as the doors roll open on the basement floor.
One of my guards is waiting outside of a room with an iron door. It looks more like a prison now than a casino, but that’s because we often have hold people until they’re able to pay. It’s like bonding out of jail. Sometimes, people don’t have the moneythey gamble with, and they have to call family members to get them out.
It’s not my fault these people fall into this mess. They’re addicted to easy money, women of the night, and drugs. Unfortunately, that comes at a cost. I’m pretty sure the average lifespan of any one of these gambling addicts is half what a regular person’s would be.
