Page 46 of Wicked Embers

My mind races, sketching out ways to adaptThe Gambler’s Crossto my situation. As the pieces start to fall into place, exhilaration bubbles in my chest. But then, beneath the excitement, there’s a tug—a dull, insistent ache. The piece of my heart and soul Radomir has twisted my resolve, planting doubt where there should be none and making me hesitate. I close my eyes and pull from the cold, ill-gotten wisdom of my father.

Remember, Leigh. His voice cuts sharp and clear through the years.When you’ve decided on a play, act with cold, ruthlessprecision. No distractions. No second-guessing. Block out the noise, trust the plan, and wear your best poker face throughout the game. Mistakes and hesitation—they’ll cost you. And when you’re playing a high-stakes dangerous game, they can get you caught—or killed.

I bury the flicker of doubt. The flicker of Radomir. Emotions are luxuries I can’t afford—not in this game. I crush the traitorous feelings stirring for the Prince of Darkness—flatten them until there’s nothing left. I will NOT live my life under the thumb and at the beck and call of anyone again. I’ve paid my dues in a stolen childhood. No one will take my adulthood.

Especially not when it’s destined to be signed with Matriarch fucking Records.

If I can pull this off, I’ll finally have what I’ve worked for my entire life.

But my heart squeezes, and guilt seeps in, whispering warnings as faces flash through my mind—the people I love, the ones who will inevitably be caught in the crossfire of my bid for freedom.

I close my eyes and grit my teeth, swallowing the rising bile. Another of my father’s twisted lessons resurfaces like an unwanted tutor:

Don’t play the game if you’re not willing to risk the stakes. Always ask yourself—are you in it to win it? If you’re not, walk away before you lose something you can’t afford.

Am I ready for this? Is it going to be worth it?

Because this time, it’s not just money or an object I’m risking. It’s everything I hold dear. The price is the people I loveand care for most in this cruel, fucked-up, unforgiving world. Going through with this means never seeing them again.

And do I have the nerve to follow through, knowing the consequences if I fail?

Because this is going to be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.

Especially when the mark is the king of the seedy underbelly of Vegas, the head of the Russian mob. One of the most dangerous men alive. I’m about to lock him into a ghost game of my making, where I’ll move the pieces, manipulating the players with clever lies and calculated moves.

Before the Prince of fucking Darkness even realizes he’s playing, I’ll have vanished with my prize—my freedom—and moved on to the final stage of my plan: securing my contract with Matriarch Records and slipping into a new life.

A flash of memory gives me a bit of comfort—a lifeline I hid long ago, something I created knowing that one day, with the kinds of people my father crossed, it might save me. That day has come, and soon,Leigh Dalton will no longer exist.

Restless, I throw back the covers and storm into my writing room. Sleep is impossible with my mind racing—caught between the promise of Matriarch Records and the risky, reckless plan taking shape in my head. I may as well be productive and get some more songs written while I’m tunneling out of this fortress. My gaze falls on my songbook.

I can even start the song I lied to Radomir about earlier today. Thinking of my lie takes me back to the steamy sex we had in the pool and how fast he became a grade-A jerk afterward. His dark threats echo through my mind, along with a name that, for some reason, sparked an inkling of recognition whenhe mentioned it—Nikolas Vasilikis!As hard as I try, I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before.

As always, in the midst of turmoil, an idea for a song suddenly pops into my mind. I grab my book and sit at the desk, searching for a pen. When I can’t find one, I start rifling through the drawers when my hand freezes.

My heart slams into my chest when I spot the leather-bound book with gold lettering:Song Journal. Along the spine, also in gold, are the remnants of what was once a number, but I can’t make it out. It’s one of my mother’s song journals.

Tears sting my eyes as I reach for it, and I wonder where Radomir found it. I’d asked my father for her song journals, but he’d told me he couldn’t find them. My fingers trace the soft leather, and I hug the book to my chest.

A memory springs from nowhere—I’m transported back in time to our old house, where my mother’s desk stood in a small studio, and I’m sitting right beside her.

Her voice fills my mind, as soft and warm as the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“What are you writing about, Mama? Is it a song about a princess?”

“No, it’s about a little duchess named Lulu-Petal.”

“That’s me! I’m Lulu-Petal!”

“Yes, you are, my darling. Do you want to sing it with me?”

“Yes!” I bounce up and down, clapping in glee, my favorite white princess dress swaying around me.

I clutch the book tighter, barely noticing the tears slipping down my cheeks. Softly, I start to sing the song she always sang to me:

Where golden keys and ink entwine,

A throne unclaimed, a hidden sign.

---