Page 206 of Roulette Rodeo
I sink back into the hospital pillows, exhaustion hitting me all at once. The game is in motion now. Luca will handle Marnay because he has no choice—I hold the truth that could destroy him. Marnay will fall because his hubris makes him believe he's untouchable. And my pack will be safe.
My phone buzzes with a message from the group chat.
Shiloh: You okay? Thought I heard voicesRed: All good. Nurse just checking vitalsTalon: At midnight?Red: Dedicated healthcare professionalsCorwin: That's suspicious timingRed: You're all paranoid. Go to sleep!Rafe: Says the woman playing candy crush at midnight
I smile at the normalcy of it, at these men who have no idea I just orchestrated the downfall of two enemies in one conversation. They'll never need to know about Sophia being alive—that would only hurt them more. They'll never know about the deal with Luca, the federal agents, any of it.
Sometimes protecting the people you love means carrying secrets they're better off not knowing.
My phone buzzes again, this time a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Tuesday. I'll need those details by Monday night.
Red: You'll have them
Unknown: If this goes wrong, we all burn
Red: Then let's make sure it doesn't
I delete the conversation, then open Candy Crush.
Level 347 is still mocking me, but I have a new appreciation for strategic gameplay.
After all, revenge is just another game of moving pieces into the right position at the right time. And this particular game?
It's about to be sweet like whiskey.
Which is funny because whiskey isn’t the slightest bit sweet.
CHECKMATE
~MARNAY~
The private suite at the Crimson Roulette feels like a mausoleum tonight—all that opulence and excess suddenly hollow, echoing with the ghosts of what used to be an empire.
I close the heavy door behind me, the click of the lock sounding final in a way it never has before.
The walk to my desk feels longer than usual, each step on the Persian rug that cost more than most people's annual salary now feeling like walking toward an executioner's block. The crystal decanters on the side table catch the low light, amber liquid promising temporary oblivion from the disaster that's unfolding around me.
I don't bother with propriety, grabbing the whiskey bottle directly and taking a long swig that burns all the way down. The familiar heat is comforting for about three seconds before reality crashes back. I pour a generous amount over a sphere of ice in my best crystal glass—might as well use the good stuff while I still own it—and settle into my leather chair.
The breath I let out carries the weight of twenty years building this empire, twenty years that are crumbling in a single night.
My phone rings, the sound sharp in the silence. I already know what this call will bring, but I answer anyway. Some part of me still hoping for a miracle, for one piece of good news in this avalanche of catastrophe.
"Did everything go through?" I ask, though my voice already carries the resignation of someone who knows the answer.
There's hesitation on the other end, my lieutenant—former lieutenant now, probably—clearing his throat nervously. "I'm sorry, Sir."
Those two words confirm what I already suspected. But he continues, each word another nail in my coffin.
"The last supporter... you know, the source from South Africa? She just pulled out."
I close my eyes, gripping the phone tighter. Amara Kruger, the omega who ran the most exclusive establishment in Cape Town. We'd had a partnership for fifteen years, sharing clients, information, opportunities. She'd been rock solid through FBI investigations, rival takeover attempts, even that mess with the Russians five years ago.
"I guess they got word of the fire in that small town," he continues, his voice carefully neutral. "Apparently, their alpha is associates with the Lucky Ace Pack. Seems like the stunt left a bad taste in their mouth. Decided they don't want to do financial business with Crimson anymore."
The Lucky Ace Pack. Of course. Even from their little hidey-hole in Montana, they're reaching out, pulling strings, turning my own network against me. I underestimated them. Underestimated her.
