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Dmytro released Ace’s hand, then pushed open the door, stepped out of the limousine and closed the door.
The vehicle pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
Jasmine sat in silence. Inside her head, her thoughts roiled over the information her friend had imparted. Everything that could go wrong threatened to overwhelm her.
It all boiled down to Eli. If they failed, he died.
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, deliberately, her spine stiffening and her resolve hardening. Her hand closed around the ceramic knife encased in its sheath. She bent and strapped it to her calf, comforted to know she had a weapon. She’d rather have a submachine gun, hand grenades and an entire platoon of soldiers backing her, but the knife was better than nothing.
Jasmine stared through the side window at the buildings they passed. She hadn’t played poker since she’d spent time with Dmytro and his family.
Though they were a highly competitive threesome, they’d taken the time to show her strategies they used to win. She’d have to make use of those strategies to be sure she won. Yes, the dealer was primed to help, but she had to make it look like she won fairly.
The limousine pulled to a stop in front of the casino.
Jasmine’s pulse quickened. She drew in a deep, steadying breath, using the same techniques she’d employed to calm her racing heart when going into battle as a Sayeret Matkal. She couldn’t show fear, nervousness or any other weakness. As a wealthy heiress, she needed to be collected and slightly disdainful. To her, the game must look like a diversion from boredom.
“It’s showtime,” Ace whispered and slid out of the backseat. Once his feet were firmly on the pavement, he held out a hand to Jasmine.
She laid her palm in his and let him pull her out of the vehicle. Without thanking him, she walked past him, her head held high.
The casino manager emerged from the building and met her before she reached the door. Speaking in halting Italian, he welcomed her to the Olympus Casino. “Everything is as requested by your assistant.”
She held up a hand and addressed him in Greek. “Please stop. You’re butchering my native language. Address me in your own unless you’re equally inept with it.”
He quickly switched to Greek, his cheeks flushing a ruddy red. “My apologies, Miss Giordano. If you’re ready, I’ll take you to the private room set aside for this evening’s game.”
“I’m ready to be out of this heat,” she said. “The room is air conditioned?”
“Absolutely. We can adjust the thermostat to your desire.” He led the way to the building.
As Jasmine passed through the automatic sliding door, she glanced back.
Ace followed a few steps behind, sunglasses in place, hiding his eyes. As tall and broad-shouldered as he was, wearing the black suit, black shirt and tie, he carried just the right amount of intimidation.
Jasmine hid a smile and strode through the casino.
Customers sat at slot machines, pressing buttons, watching the displays spin, hoping to hit a sizable jackpot. The clamor of ringing bells filled the room.
The manager led her past the slots, through the table games of roulette, blackjack and craps and into a hallway. At the end, he turned to the left and continued until he came to a door marked Private. A peephole like those found in hotel rooms was in the middle of the door.
He knocked three times and stood back.
A moment later, the door opened, and a big man dressed in a black and gold casino uniform held it wide.
The casino manager waved his arm toward the door. “After you.”
Jasmine entered, expecting to see the poker table and the dealer inside. Instead, they passed through a sitting room with a bar to one side, complete with an impressive selection of alcohol, a coffeemaker, a refrigerator and a microwave.
The casino manager led her to the door at the opposite end of the sitting area and opened it wide. “The final player is here,” he announced in Greek. “Gentlemen, Miss Giordano.” He swept his hand toward the door.
Jasmine entered the room, narrowing her eyes as she studied the other five players. Before they introduced themselves, she had in her mind who was who. One by one, they approached her, confirming her assessment.
Nikolai Thanos, the retired real estate broker, was a tall man with a full head of silver hair. He wore a casual tailored jacket over a white polo shirt. “Nikolai Thanos,” he introduced himself in flawless Italian. “My friends call me Nik.” His grip was firm as she shook his hand, and his smile was practiced from years of sales experience.
Jasmine replied in Greek. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thanos.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed for a second before he dipped his head, acknowledging that she didn’t consider him a friend.
