Page 52 of Gambler's Fallacy

Virgil is a handsome man, but I have no doubt that he’s as controlling and domineering in the bedroom as I am. When I’d been younger—before Seven—I had considered doing a shared scene with him, but I doubt it would have gone well. He would never have deferred to me.

“You need to have your promoter send me information about your upcoming events,” I say blandly. “I’m happy to send potential party-goers your way.”

Virgil smiles. “Of course. Although I hope you aren’t going to tryto fill my club with illicit consumables again. It put astrainon our relationship.”

Internally, I roll my eyes. I don’t deal with the drug trade, but I’d heard some of the others had tried to push drugs through the Club of Clubs. Grandfather had had them disposed of, even delivering one of them to Virgil for a more personal punishment, but apparently Virgil isn’t one to let bygones be bygones.

I don’t particularly blame him.

The server arrives, smiling perkily. She’s a young woman with perfectly styled make-up, and I’m certain the restaurant sent her specifically to make nice with the important businessmen. I guess somebody hasn’t been keeping up on their gossip, or they’d have sent a man for me instead.

“What can I get for you?” she asks, and I wonder if those top two buttons on her shirt were always undone or if she’d unbuttoned for our sake.

“The lobster fettuccine,” I answer curtly. “And your finest white wine for the table.”

Virgil gives a small shake of his head. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. He’s always in a bad mood. What do you recommend for today?”

She runs through the daily specials, and then tells Virgil all about the wines, too. Virgil asks questions about several of the dishes, until I know he’s just trying to annoy me.

I wait quietly, because showing emotion would mean losing this petty game.

“The way you spoke about the truffle ravioli made it sound divine. I think I’ll have that,” Virgil finally says.

I’m pretty sure the truffle ravioli was one of the first dishes she’d mentioned.

The server writes it all down, asks about salad preferences, and finally leaves.

“I thoughtIwas charming,” I comment, shaking my head. “But you really go all out for everybody.”

Virgil laughs. “Well, there’s no reason not to be nice to everyone. Is she any less deserving of my good will than my worthless underlings?” He glances back at his bodyguard. “No offense.”

The scarred man shrugs. “None taken, boss. Most of the guysareworthless.”

Vortex doesn’t so much as twitch, but I know he has his own thoughts about my underlings — Havoc in particular, who I know he’s still pissed off at over the whole incident that had led us here in the first place.

We make small talk while we wait for the food; I ask about his mother, he asks about my grandfather, and overall it’s a banal conversation that I’ll probably forget as soon as the lunch is over.

Only once the server has returned with our food, and we’re finally at peace in this private room of the restaurant, does Virgil ask, “How’s your uncle? I haven’t seen Earl recently.”

I snort in amusement. “No, you wouldn’t have. He’s recovering from the beating your men gave him.”

There’s a small hesitation before Virgil says, “Is he now? Interesting. I thought he was in fine health when your men dragged him out of my club, but maybe he was stupid enough to come crawling back another day.”

Next to me, Vortex shifts — subtly, but enough to where I notice his reaction.

The way they’d told it, Virgil’s men had handed out a beating to Earl, but now I wonder what was left out of their story. I’ll have to question them later.

“He is stupid enough for that,” I say to Virgil. I take a bite of the exquisite lobster dish. “Let’s stop beating around the bush. You want something.”

I hate that I’m once again left to negotiate without holding all the cards.

Virgil finishes one of the ravioli before he responds. “Three million dollars would be nice. That’s how much Earl owes us.” Hepokes at his plate. “But if that’s too rich for you, I wonder if you’d hand over that new pet of yours.”

My heart freezes.

“My cat?” I answer, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “If you want a black cat, there are plenty in the shelter. Or if you need one with pedigree, I can help you find a good cat breeder.”

Virgil laughs and shakes his head. “No, I’m more of a dog person.” His expression goes predatory. “There are a lot of people who want that pretty little pet you’re keeping. If you don’t intend to make use of those connections…”

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