Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
"I’m happy to increase the stakes," I say, "but are you sure you can handle it?"
"Are you serious?" His head has snapped around, and his beady eyes are suddenly full of fire. That he is an incurable, degenerate gambler is finally undeniable. Unless he gets some serious help, this man will never stop gambling. The door to the forbidden corridor creaks open and I step into the velvety darkness. It doesn’t feel wrong. On the other side is Lara and her hate and her beautiful passion.
"Yes," I reply. "How much do you owe?”
Suddenly his eyes narrow. "You look familiar. Have we met before?"
No doubt he’s seen photos of me in a suit and in his befuddled state doesn’t recognize me with a basketball hat on. "No, we’ve never met."
He looks at me challengingly. “Are you good for a quarter of a million?”
I nod. “Stanley will vouch for me.” Stanley is the guy running this scam.
“That’s good enough for me.”
“One game. We'll play for your debts. If you win, I’ll pay off all your debts, if you lose you owe me a quarter of a million."
The fog and desolation clears, as if by magic from his eyes as they nearly pop out of their sockets. He is suddenly alert, excited, and supremely confident. To him, there is nothing like the rush of playing for everything with someone he has seen lose the previous few games.
"Well then, let's go play,” he says eagerly and starts walking ahead of me.
I look around at the other gamblers in the room. They are nothing but little fish—an eyesore. I send a message to my guys guarding from outside the room. A few seconds later, they appear at the door, huge and intimidating, and in an instant, the room feels claustrophobic and cramped.
“Excuse us, gentlemen, but this table is now closed. Please leave the room,” I say calmly.
The two professional gamblers stand instantly. They are here for easy money, not trouble, but one of the degenerates who has had too much to drink looks at my men, and starts to puff up. He still has money in his pocket and he wants to carry on playing. He starts to protest, but I don’t have the time or the patience to engage with him. Alexei steps forward and glares down at him. When the man starts to stand, Alexei clamps down hard on his shoulder. The man flinches and cries out in pain.
Alexei steps back.
The man massages his shoulder and looks confused. Everyone grumbles, a few curse words slipping through, but they all rise reluctantly to their feet. The room empties and a heavy silence settles.
"I’m ready when you are,” Lara’s father says.
Chapter Fourteen
LARA
The doorbell rings and I hurry out of the kitchen, spatula and apron in hand. I open my front door to Leila. She has a bottle of wine in one hand and a covered dish in the other.
"You said you wanted to talk, so I assumed we'd be staying up late. I brought my famous sweet potato pie and a bottle of Italy’s finest. At least that’s what the guy minding the shelves at the store told me. One bottle is probably not enough, but we both have to go to work tomorrow, so I had to, very sadly, force myself to only stick to one."
Smiling, I move out of the way as she sweeps in.
"Oh my God! What is that wonderful smell?” she asks heading towards the kitchen.
“It’s just me. I’ve been baking scones,” I reply as I shut the door behind her and hurry back towards the pot simmering on the stove.
She looks at the spread of food on the kitchen table. “Have you been cooking all evening?"
"Yeah."
"Why? There’s enough here to feed a whole country. Wait! Good God, are you pregnant?"
I scrunch my face. "What? Why would your mind even go there? You know I always cook when I’m tense."
"Holy shit, this must be serious stress then," she says, trying to find a space on the crammed table to put her pie on. She goes to the drawer and retrieves a corkscrew. "I guess we better start drinking."
"Alcoholic," I tease.
"At this point, I can't even argue. I'm so harassed at work, last week I considered replacing my coffee with neat vodka."
“What?”
"I'm kidding, calm down."
"You better be," I reply.
She starts to pour the wine into two glasses while I put the lid back on the pot and head over to sit next to her. She pushes over one of the glasses, and then she instantly downs more than half of hers.
"Wow! Is your work that stressful?" I ask.
"How stressful could managing a store be?" she asks. "It's not, it's just... I don't know, I think I'm bored. I want a change. I'm looking for other options, but nothing really appeals to me, but not to worry, I'll figure it out. Maybe I'll become a wine connoisseur or something."