Page 27 of The Bratva King

I am going to have a good day.

I settle in at my table, go through the chip count with the dealer I’m relieving, and take over.

The first hour is quiet. A couple from somewhere in the Midwest plays slowly and tips two dollars a hand. Two bucks is two bucks.

I’m midway through a sweep when someone at the far edge of the floor catches my eye.

Nikolai Sokolov is standing near the corridor that leads to the back offices. He’s dressed the same way he always seems to be dressed—all black. He always looks coiled and ready to pounce.

I deal the next hand.

He might not even know I’m out here. The floor is huge, and he has a hundred employees to think about.

When I look up again, he’s still there. And this time, when my eyes find him, his eyes are on me.

I look back at my table.

My hands keep moving, but a tingle runs down my spine. I can’t decide if it’s good or bad.

I talk myself through the next hour. Keep moving. Make money. Don’t think about the rent notice.

I’m almost through my shift when someone calls my name. I look up to see Carla crossing the floor with Luke trailing behind her.

He’s got his dinosaur backpack on, and his blanket clutched to his chest. He’s terrified. It’s too loud. And too bright for him.

“What the hell?”

“Excuse me?” The man sitting at my table looks at me.

I ignore him. My only focus is on my baby being dragged through his worst nightmare. I rush to him. He breaks free of Carla and runs into my arms.

I scoop him up, press his head against my chest, and cover his other ear.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“I have to go to work.”

“You are working. You’re babysitting my son!”

“No, work is a place that pays me. You haven’t paid me in two weeks. My manager at the restaurant called. He’s paying me double.”

“You can’t just bring my son in here!”

“Good luck, Gabby.”

She walks away, leaving my son clinging to me.

Raymond, the pit boss, is already coming toward me. I abandoned my table. I’m fired. I know it, but there’s nothing I can do.

“I need my break,” I tell him.

“You can’t just walk off the table.”

“I’m sorry. It was an emergency. Please. Ten minutes.”

“Handle your business,” he snaps.

I hurry toward the employee corridor. I only have an hour left on my shift. If I leave now, I won’t have a job.