Page 52 of Sinful Games

When I asked my father for some clarification, he gave me the old “Do what I say, and you’ll understand later” routine before hanging up.

So, here I am, walking into this glitzy hellhole like it’s just another Thursday.

Out front, parked in a sleek black SUV with tinted windows, is Drayi—looking like he’s been carved out of stone and would prefer to shoot first and never ask questions. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk in, knowing that if I slip up, I won’t be walking out.

No pressure.

I stepped into the casino, trying to look like I wasn’t about to pull off the most underwhelming heist in history.

Twenty-five thousand dollars?Sure, sounds easy.

I headed straight for the bar with its over-the-top disco balls reflecting light in every direction. Behind the counter, three bartenders—a blonde, a redhead, and a brunette—were busy serving drinks, their eyes briefly flicking to me as I approached.

Fighting back a wave of revulsion, I knocked back four lemon shots in rapid succession. The burn was sharp, each one worse than the last. The girls watched me for a moment, eyebrows raised as if expecting a meltdown, but quickly returned to their work, unphased.

Alright, Caia. You got this.

Just… make it fast, get the hell out of here, and try not to get caught.

A night in jail doesn’t exactly sound like a fun way to spend the evening.

I pressed my back to the bar and let my eyes scan the room, a parade of decadence and excess. Classy, over-the-top dressed men and women were mingling, each one a caricature of glamour. Silas’s monsters, politicians, entertainers, models, and businessmen were scattered around, laughing and playing poker, blackjack, roulette, craps, and slots.

The air was thick with smoke, and here and there, people were discreetly doing lines off their expensive surfaces. All of it was accompanied by the low hum of light jazz that seemed to float above us.

I had to find a prime target—a man I could manipulate quickly and effectively to get what I needed.

As I scanned the room, a tingling sense of unease prickled at the back of my neck. I felt eyes on me and turned my head to the side, locking onto a tall figure making his way toward me.His blond hair was slicked back, and his dark eyes glinted with a hungry glint. The tuxedo he wore was impeccably tailored, clinging to his frame in all the right ways. He approached with a slow, deliberate stride, a deep, confident smile stretching across his face.

Bingo.

“How can such a beautiful lady like you be left alone at the bar?”

I couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. “She’s obviously waiting for you.”

His smile widened, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. “Francesco Ricci. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

Ah, Italian. Of course.

“Anastasia Bolkiev.”

No chance I’m giving this guy my real name. Too risky.

He took my hand with a confident, practiced grace and pressed his lips to the back of it. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a flush creep up my neck. “A pleasure to meet you, Anastasia.”

I met his gaze with a coy smile.

He handed me a glass of champagne, the bubbles tickling my fingers, and a plump strawberry floating seductively on the surface. “Well, you’ve found me, so please allow me the pleasure of introducing myself properly.”

He extended his arm, and I slid mine around it, letting my fingers brush against his. His scent—rich, expensive, and dangerously mysterious—wafted around me.

We moved towards a poker table, his confidence practically a physical force that commanded attention. As we walked, I glanced around nervously, hoping not to attract too many curious eyes. I subtly adjusted my hair to partially shield my face.

He pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. I slid into the seat, and he made a show of helping me get comfortable, his hand lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

He settled into the chair beside me, close enough that our knees brushed. His voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “So, Anastatia, now that I’ve got you all to myself, tell me—what’s your idea of a perfect night? I’m guessing it’s not just playing nice with a stranger at a poker table.”

I tilted my head, letting a playful smile slip onto my face. “Well, that depends on whether the stranger is charming enough to make the evening interesting.”

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