Chapter 40

• Dante’s POV
• The underground gambling den reeks of sweat, whiskey, and noise. I lean back in my seat, swirling a glass of bourbon in my hand, barely listening to the low hum of conversation around me. The place is packed tonight, men with too much money and not enough self-control throwing their chips into the pit, hoping for a miracle. I know better. There’s no such thing as miracles here. Only the house is always winning, and men like me walk away with their pockets full.
• I’m not here to play, though. I’m here to think. Leona. That woman is going to get herself killed. I rub a hand down my face, frustrated. She’s too deep in this now, and Marco isn’t the type to ignore a loose thread.