Page 33 of Dangerous Games

I stare at him. “Are you going to tell me where I can find him?”

“The high roller table.”

Motherfucker.

So this piece of shit really took Bronwyn’s money to get them off his back just to turn around and dig the hole deeper so he can sit at this fucking table. I’m going to fucking kill him.

“He buy in at fifty thousand?” I ask, my brow raising.

“Only way to get a seat.”

I bet he was short six grand to get a seat at the table. Fucking piece of shit.

“I’m in. I want a seat next to him.”

“Follow me,” Ivan says as he turns around, leading me through the casino, away from the loud noise of the music, bars, low-end card tables and slots. We turn down a hallway, the noise fading farther and farther away. “You know I need to tell the boss you’re here.”

He probably already knows I’m here. You don’t run this good of an operation without knowing who is in your casino the minute they step foot inside.

“You’re saying that as if he doesn’t already know I’m here.”

Ivan snickers. “Maybe, maybe not.” Ivan slows down as we approach a large double set of dark oak doors that are closed. “I know you’re good for the money, but it needs to be transferred tonight.”

I pull out my phone and wire him the money, not wanting to deal with any suspicion or hostility as to why I’m here. “Already done.”

Ivan nods his head as he verifies.

“Giovanni,” a deep voice with a slight Russian accent greets. “It’s been too long, my friend.”

I barely contain my snort as Dimitri approaches me with a low smile on his face. I don’t know if I would call our alliance a friendship, but if that’s the way to get me in without a lot of questions, I’ll roll with it. “Dimitri,” I greet, taking his hand in mine in a firm handshake.

“After how many times I’ve tried to get you and your brothers down here, you finally decided to see what it’s all about. Will they be joining you?”

“Not tonight,” I reply. “I’ll try to talk them into coming sometime.”

“Ah,” he waves it off, “gambling isn’t for every man. Enjoy yourself tonight.” Dimitri pats me on the back as he walks away, leaving me alone with Ivan once again.

“Everyone’s inside. The only empty seat is yours.”

“Appreciate it.” I incline my head at him as he raps his fist three times on the door, the knocking sound echoing.

The large doors open, revealing a room full of men smoking cigars around a long oval table, waiting for the game to begin. All eyes turn to me as I walk in, a tense atmosphere settling in the air. “Gentlemen,” I greet with a low smirk as I incline my head and make my way to the only empty seat at the table. The one seat that just so happens to be right next to the man who looks like the one in the picture I saw at Bronwyn’s house.

He doesn’t look at me as I sit down. In fact, he doesn’t look confident enough to be at this table at all. His shoulders are hunched, and his hair is coated with a thick layer of grease, allowing it to slick over the bald spot on top. His bloodshot eyes focus on the green felt covering the table, avoiding all interaction, not that many are talking. Jesus, the man looks strung the fuck out. No wonder Bronwyn is so stressed out and worried about him. It’s clear he can’t take care of himself. It’s downright embarrassing, is what it is.

I lean back in my chair as I look around the room. I recognize a few faces from random dealings in the past, but most of them I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting. A cocktail waitress comes around and takes my drink order, leaving as silently as she came. I light up a cigar as conversation lulls around me. I can feel their eyes landing in my direction every so often.

“Gio Adduci,” I say, holding my hand out to Bronwyn’s dad.

He jerks as he looks at me with a startled expression before quickly schooling it, his eyes darting between my face and my outstretched hand. My brow raises as I wait for him to shake it.

He clears his throat, his red-rimmed eyes looking anywhere but me as he takes my hand, giving it a light shake. “Dennis,” he mumbles.

Jesus, his daughter shakes hands with more authority than he does.

“Dennis…” I trail off, hoping to get a last name out of him.

“Lewis.” He brings a fist to mouth, clearing his throat again. “Dennis Lewis.”