Page 19 of The Bratva King

“Good, you deserve it.”

“Call me next week. Same time.”

“I will.”

“And Gabby?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you can tell me if something’s wrong.”

I almost tell him that I need help. He’s sent me money before.

But I need to do this on my own.

“I know.”

“Take care of yourself, Gabby. Not just him. Yourself, too.”

“I will. Night, Greg.”

“Goodnight, kiddo.”

I take a deep breath. Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

6

Nikolai

The seventy-three monitors in the surveillance room run from floor to ceiling, each divided into multiple live feeds. Six operators watch them at all times. I can pull up any angle of the casino floor, the cage, the parking structure, or the service corridors from my office computer.

Screen fourteen has my full attention.

Gabby.

She’s on a table near the center of the floor, running a game with four players. I watch her hands. Dealers develop a rhythm, and after a few days, I can read it the way I can read anything else.

Nothing about her movements gives me pause. She deals the way a hundred other dealers do. Fast. Clean. No wasted motion.

But there’s something she does the others don’t. She doesn’t keep her head down. Her eyes are constantly moving, scanning the floor, checking the entrances and corridors, and watching the people meandering through with drinks in hand. It’s systematic. She does it without breaking her rhythm at the table.

I’ve seen that kind of scanning.

I do it myself.

It’s the habit of someone who learned that danger can come from any direction and exit strategies matter.

Pasha appears at my shoulder. He looks at the screen, then at me.

“How long have you been standing here?” he asks.

“A while.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I want a deeper dive,” I say. “On the blonde.”

He reaches inside his jacket, pulls out a folder, and sets it on the desk.