Chapter 3

Chad, feeling the game might not be the easy fleecing he imagined, made a show of pulling out his phone.

"Hold on, boys. If we're going to clean out my dear step-brother, let's make it a proper event."

He smirked at me. "I'm calling in a real player. Someone who knows how to deal with... pretenders."

A few minutes later, a man slid into an empty seat beside Chad.

He was slick, dressed a little too flashily, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Everyone," Chad announced grandly, "this is Silas Stone. You might know him as 'The Viper'."

Silas gave a small, smug nod around the table.

"Heard there was some action," Silas said, his voice smooth. "And a fish looking to lose his shirt." His gaze lingered on me.

"Silas here," Chad continued, puffing his chest, "he runs in some pretty heavy circles. Knows all the big players in Vegas. Right, Viper?"

Silas let out a low chuckle. "You could say that. Big Tony Costello himself has complimented my game."

My eyes met Silas's briefly. No flicker of recognition. He was lying.

Big Tony didn't compliment hustlers who dropped his name to impress small-timers.

I felt a slight smile touch my own lips, quickly suppressed. This was getting interesting.

Chad beamed, oblivious. "See, Alex? You're out of your league."

I simply nodded towards Silas. "Welcome to the table, Mr. Stone."

The other players, initially wary of a new shark, seemed to relax slightly at the mention of Big Tony, even if it was a blatant name-drop.

The myth of connections was powerful in this town.

I looked at the remaining seats. One was still open.

The casino floor manager, a man named Henderson who knew my true connection to Big Tony, had been hovering discreetly.

He caught my eye, a silent question in his.

I gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of my head. No need for intervention, not yet.

But I needed the table full for appearances, to make my "no limit" cover for everyone seem less targeted, more a general display of confidence.

There was a nervous-looking tourist, clearly out of his depth, who had been watching the VIP game with wide eyes.

I gestured to him. "Care to join? On me. Any losses, I cover them."

The man blinked, then stammered, "Me? Sir, I... I couldn't."

"Nonsense," I said, my tone easy. "Consider it a free lesson. Or free entertainment."

Chad snorted. "Picking up strays now, Alex? How charitable."

The tourist, emboldened by my offer and perhaps the thrill of it all, hesitantly took the seat.

The table was set. The players, a mix of Chad' s cronies, the intrigued regular, the nervous tourist, the hired "expert" Silas, and Chad himself.

And me.

The dealer began to shuffle.