Chapter 2

I didn't sleep that night. I sat in the old armchair in the living room, the one with the springs poking through, and stared at the faded wallpaper.

Lisa had cried herself to sleep on the couch, curled up like a child.

Twenty-five thousand.

It wasn't just bad luck. Bren Kowalski didn't do "friendly" games when Sal Moretti was dealing. Lisa had walked into a trap, a carefully laid snare for her, for our desperation. Bren knew we were struggling. She knew about Mom.

By morning, the cold knot in my gut had hardened into something else. Resolve.

I went to the kitchen. Lisa was awake, her eyes swollen. She looked older, beaten.

I took out the small tin box from the cupboard where we kept cash. Inside was two hundred dollars. Scraped together for Christmas presents for Kevin, for Mom.

I put the money in Lisa's hand.

Her eyes widened. "Mike? What...?"

"Go back to Bren's bar tonight," I said. My voice sounded flat, even to my own ears.

"What? No! Mike, I can't! I won't!" She recoiled, dropping the money as if it burned her.

"You will," I said. "Tell Bren you want to play again. Tell her you want a chance to win it back."

"But... we don't have any more money! This is all that's left!"

"I know." I picked up the bills, folded them, and put them back in her trembling hand. "Just go. And I'll go with you."

She stared at me, confusion and fear warring in her eyes. "You? But you don't play poker, Mike. You hate gambling."

"Things change, Lisa," I said. "They set you up. They targeted you. They targeted us."

Her breath hitched. "You think so?"

"I know so." My gaze was steady. "And tonight, we start getting it back."

She looked at the money, then at me, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. Hope? Or just more fear?

I didn't know. I didn't care. I just knew what I had to do.