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WhiskeyUndertheRocks, Devil’s Hollow.
My monthly poker game is in full swing. On the surface, the cave bar hums with a good time, and the excitement of Christmas being just around the corner adds an electric edge to the night. Between the Christmas trees spilling out from every alcove, drinks flow over bars and dice roll over tables. Underneath, tension broils like a dangerous undercurrent.
After a few phone calls, my VIP clients were back on board with the night, but Tor hasn’t shown up. I knew he wouldn’t, but throwing one of these nights without him feels like a bullet-sized hole in my chest. And then there’s the irritating issue of Angelo shooting eye daggers from the roulette table. He doesn’t even play roulette, but he’s still pissed at me for popping a cap in Kelly O’Hare’s head yesterday. Not even because he doesn’t want his sadist wife to be exposed to any more violence, but because now I’ve given Gabe an excuse to focus on something more exciting than lacing Dante’s associates’ cigarettes with cyanide: starting a war with the Irish.
“Um, okay. Hit, I think? Yeah, definitely hit.”
Speaking of Angelo’s sadist wife, Rory sits on the other side of Gabe, muttering under her breath. We’re playing Visconti Blackjack. I usually refuse to play with her, and not just because beating her has become boring, but because I’m pretty sure she does something weird every time she loses.
Like spit in my drink.
But if my brother wants to ignore me, I’ll happily take more of his money. Besides, Rory is the only family member who’s not been giving me shit all night.
My jaw ticks as a bandaged hand comes down on my shoulder.
“Are the rumors true, cugino? You really shot from your own gun? Dio mio, what are your minions for, then?”
Keeping my smile tight and pleasant, I stare at the space above Rory’s curls and ignore Benny. Unfortunately for him, he keeps going. “How was your aim? It must have been rusty after all these years.”
I take a lazy sip of whiskey, set the tumbler down on the table, then draw my elbow back to connect with his groin.
“My aim is just fine, Benny.”
He grinds out some profanity in Italian and hobbles off.
Despite the smirk lifting my lips, I get why my recent outburst is the talk of the family. I haven’t pulled a trigger outside our Sinners Anonymous game in years. Griff’s fuming. Gabe’s amused. Everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, because why else would I be impulsive enough to put a bullet between Kelly O’Hare’s eyes? He’s been an excellent business partner for years.
It started how it always does: with me unable to say no to a bet. Only this time, I wasn’t ready to lose what he’d asked me for.
Penelope.
Christ, I’d never bartered with one of my girls before. It’s barbaric, something the Russians would do. But the way he kept looking at her, touchingher, clawed under my skin and skewed my rationale.
Before I’d connected the dots between my newest employee and his brother’s casino fire, the most bitter part of me hoped he’d take her off my hands. My favorite watch, the port explosion. Losing Miller and Young and the hit-and-run at Lucky Cat. Doom card or not, there’s no denying my empire started to fall apart like a cheap suit the moment she stomped down the stairs at the Blues Den in those muddy boots.
So, I slid her across the coffee table like a poker chip, offering my morals with her. I didn’t think Kelly would actually win—he was off his nut on whiskey and benzos, for fuck’s sake.
Even before the ace of spades hit the table, I knew handing her over was never an option. There were only two: cheat, or shoot him.
And the day I cheat is the day my mother rolls over in her grave.
Ah, well. At least my hands are still clean. The day I have busted knuckles is the day I know what the bottom feels like.
Sucking in a lungful of festive air, I lean back in my seat and glance at the card Gabe, who’s acting as dealer, just tossed on the table. Nine of diamonds. “Hit.”
Gabe turns over the four of clubs.
My eyes move up to Rory. She’s frowning, strumming her fingers against the table.
“All right, I need a minute.”
I turn my attention back out to the crowd, but my mind is still on Penelope.
It’s crazy. I’ve just lost millions of dollars and put a price on my head, all with the squeeze of a trigger, and my first instinct was to check on the girl I suspected started this mess. And then when I confirmed it—in the woods with no witnesses, of all places—I didn’t squeeze my trigger again. No, I told her I’d handle it for her.
I’ll have to kill Martin before he kills me now, but I have a niggling suspicion that, even if that wasn’t the case, I’d hunt him down regardless.
As I lift my whiskey to my lips, the faceted tumbler refracts something red on the other side of it. I slide my gaze over the rim and see the devil herself floating through the door.
