bChapter /bb278 /b

The female guest serving bas /bbour /bbneutral /bbdealer /bbtook /bbthe /bbcards /bbwith /btrembling fingers. The crowd around bour /btable had bgrown /b

b, /bdrawn by bthe /bbsight /bof bHunter’s /bbloodb–/bbstained /bhandkerchief bwrapped /bbaround /bhis bforearm/bb. /bHer beyes /bdarted bnervously /bbetween Hunter’s brage/b–filled face band /bbmy /bbimpassive /bbexpression /bas bshe /bshuffled the deck.

bThe /bbwoman’s /bbhands /bshook bvisibly /bbas /bshe bdealt /bbthe /bbcards. /bHunter had bforced /bhis date Cynthia back binto /bthe chair bacross /bbfrom /bbme/bb. /bHe bgripped /bher bshoulder /bwith enough bforce /bto make her wince, bhis /bfingers digging into the bare skin exposed by her evening gown.

b“/bby/bb,/b” he hissed into her ear.

Cynthia reluctantly epted her cards: a bten /bbof /bdiamonds and a four of clubsb. /bFourteen points. Her mascara had smudged beneath her beyes/b, leaving dark shadows that matched the fear in her gaze.

“Hit or stayb?/b” the dealer asked, her voice barely audible.

Cynthia hesitated, looking up at Hunter. He nodded sharply, his jaw clenched.

“Hit,” she whispered.

The dealer slid another card across the table. Nine of clubs. Twenty–three. Bust.

“Fuck!” Hunter shouted, clutching his injured arm. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air of the ballroom. “Show your cardsb,/bb” /bhe demanded, ring at me.

I flipped over my cards without changing my expression. Ace of spades. King of hearts. Perfect ckjack. Twenty–one.

The crowd gasped collectively. Hunter’s face contorted with rage, veins bulging at his temples. His breathing became rapid and shallow, the kind of hyperventtion that precedes violence. The elegant guests nearest to our table stepped back instinctively, sensing the impending eruption.

He suddenly grabbed a silver dinner knife from a nearby table and, before anyone could stop himb, /bplunged it into his thigh.

Several women screamed. A man in a military uniform stepped forward but stopped when Night raised his hand slightly. Blood immediately soaked through Hunter’s expensive tailored pants, the dark stain spreading rapidly against the light gray fabric.

“Another round,” Hunter growled, shoving Cynthia so hard she nearly fell from her chair. “I’ll y myself this time.”

bI /bgathered the cards and handed them back to the dealer, my fingers brushing against hers deliberately, offering silent reassurance. “Would you like to continue with ckjack?” I asked, my voice steady as if I were merely asking about the weather rather than watching a man stab himself twice in the span of five minutes.

–

“bYes/bb,/b” Hunter spat, pushing Cynthia aside. She stumbled backward, caught by a concerned guest who guided her away. Hunter took her bseat/b, his face pale but determined, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. The blood loss was beginning to affect him his movements were bing jerky, and a sheen bof /bsweat covered his forehead despite the room’s perfect temperature.

bThe /bdealer, visibly disturbed, dealt two cards each. Hunter picked up his cards carefully, his movements deliberate despite the blood bseeping /bfrom his leg. A smile spread across his face as he examined his hand.

b“/bbTwenty/b,” he announced triumphantly, flipping over a ten of diamonds and a jack of spades. “Almost unbeatable.” He raised his bchampagne /bss in a mock toastb, /bthe golden liquid sloshing over the rim as his hand trembled slightly.

Night moved to turn over my cards, but I shook bmy /bhead slightly. Chris also reached bforward/bb, /bbut I bstopped /bhim with a subtle gesture.

1 examined bmy /bcards without revealing bany /bemotion.

‘Show your cards, Hunter demanded impatiently, reaching bacross /bto bflip /bthem himselfb, /bdesperation evident in his bloodshot eyes.

bAce /bof hearts. Ten of hearts. Another bperfect /bbckjack/b.

The ballroom berupted /bbin /bmurmurs. Two ckjacks in a row. The odds were astronomicalb. /bsses froze midway to lipsb, /bconversations halted midb–/bsentence, and all eyes focused on our table.

b1 /b

Hunter stood up so quickly his chair toppled backward with a loud crash against the marble floor. “She’s cheating!” he shoutedb, /bpointing a trembling finger at me. “Nobody gets ckjack twice in a row!”

Nightughedb, /bthe sound cutting through the tension. “The cards were dealt by a neutral party, and you turned them over yourself. How exactly would she cheat?b” /b

A middle–aged man in an expensive suit–presumably our host–approached cautiously. “Mr. Whitmore, perhaps we should tend to your injuries. This game has be… excessive.” His eyes darted nervously between Hunter’s bleeding leg and the growing audience of horrified yet fascinated guests.

“Mr. Whitmore isn’t a sore loser,” Night remarked, sipping his champagne with casual elegance. “He’s already stabbed himself twice. What’s one more? Or I wonder how his reputation in Russia will hold up after this disy.”

Hunter’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the staring faces of Moscow’s elite. With a sudden movement, he grabbed a fruit knife from a dessert tray and drove it into his other thigh. Blood immediately soaked through the fabric, but he seemed beyond feeling pain now, his face locked in a rictus of fury and humiliation.

He jabbed the bloody knife into a pastry on the table and fixed us with a venomous stare. “You’ll regret this,” he snarled, his voice low and threatening. “All of you.” fn039a Latest content published on f?ndnovel/fn039a

Two men in dark suits–his security detail–rushed forward to support him as he limped away, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the polished marble floor.

As the crowd dispersed into clusters of excited conversation, Night, Chris, and I moved to a quiet corner of the ballroom.

“That was entertaining,” Night chuckled, loosening his tie. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card–the king of hearts I’d supposedly been dealt.

Chris smiled despite his still–healing wrists, producing his own card–the ace of hearts. “Sleight of hand never fails.” He twirled the card between his fingersb, /bthe motion fluid despite his injuries.

I held up the real cards I’d kept hidden: a six of clubs and a four of diamonds. “He never stood a chance.” The three of us had orchestrated the swap during that brief moment when they’d both reached for my cards.

Night’s phone appeared in his hand, and he showed me the screen. “Got some excellent shots of you. You look positively cial.” The photos showed me at the ckjack table, face impassive as Hunter raged, blood dripping onto the pristine tablecloth.

b‘/bSend them to me,” I said.

b“/bAlready done.” Night’s smile widened. “I have a collection bof /byour photos saved on my phone. Want me bto send /bthose too? bFor /bnostalgia’s

sakeb?/bb” /b

b“/bbYes/b,” bI /bbreplied /bsimplyb. /bZach bwould /bbenjoy /bbseeing /bbthose/bb. /b

bI /bpulled my phone bfrom /bbmy /bclutch and checked my bmessages/bb. /bNight had indeed sent several photos. bI /bselected one where bI /blooked particrly unbothered while Hunter was midb–/btantrum and sent it bto /bEthan Haxton.

Immediately after sending bit/b, I had bsecond /bthoughts band /btried to recall the message.

A reply came instantly.

Ethanb: /bbSaved /bbit /bbbefore /bbyou /bbcould /bbtake /bit bback/bb. /bbYou /bblook /bbstunning/bb. /bbAnd /bbdangerous/b.

bEthan/bb: /bbMore /bbphotos/bb? /b

I selected three more and sent them without overthinking.

bEthan/bb: /bbAt /ba bparty/bb? /b

bJade/bb: /bbYes/bb. /bbRussian /bbDeputy /bbPrime /bbMinister’s /bbanniversary/bb. /b

bEthan/bb: /bbWith /bbJensen /bband /bbNight/bb? /b

bJade/bb: /bbYes/b.

There was a pause before his next message arrived.

bEthan/bb: /bbHave /bbfun/bb. /b

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