Chapter 68 Sweet Poison

• The card table hums low under yellow lights that flicker like cheap promises — a corner booth in the back of Vince’s half-ruined bar, the smell of old whiskey and stale regret sticking to the sticky floor like blood that never quite scrubbed out.
• Ellerei’s perched on the velvet chair like she was born to sit where deals go to rot — legs crossed, dress slit high enough to make Carmine swallow his drink twice before he bothered to look at his cards.
• Her hair’s up — sleek, soft, not a strand out of place except the streak of white she didn’t bother to hide tonight. Let him see her sharp edges and think he can touch them.