Heist Royale (Thieves’ Gambit #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

Twenty-One

8:00pm, 0 victor chips accumulated.

That was the newest message dropped in the encrypted chat app Taiyō’d had us all download. Zero, depending on the context, is the most intimidating number. But at least I wasn’t staring it down alone, even if Taiyō’s plan technically had me venturing into this nightmare of a casino solo.

Hart’s was reminiscent of a haunted mansion from some gothic novel, trying to camouflage its ominous nature with glowing lights and a come-hither spirit. But I knew better than to be seduced.

On the southern tip of Monte Carlo, sitting on prime oceanfront property, the casino might have climbed out of the waves. The flat stone design with curving balconies, arched windows, and larger-than-life crown molding made me think of a summer palace, one that would sit large and echoing and empty for most of the year while waiting for some faraway prince or princess to return on a whim. It didn’t, however, look much like a casino. Only the endless parade of brake lights and people headed toward the gates hinted there was something going on inside. That, and the classy albeit understated Hart’s logo protruding from the corner of the roof. A heart lying on its side. The left half was black, and the right a maroon red.

Entering the casino was something like entering a lush devil’s wonderland. After a short line, on a red carpet no less, and a flash of my fake ID, I was in. As the bouncer waved me through the gilded doors, I was almost reminded of being back in Cairo, entering a certain auction.

Jittery as hell, I pulled my arms apart just a few seconds after folding them. Tonight’s outfit was a departure from the usual ritzy cocktail dresses. Instead, I found myself in a chic white blazer with black satin trim and piping—the fabric was stiff, and since I didn’t wear this sort of thing often, I had to walk circles around for half an hour just to break it in—paired with wide-legged black shorts and a fashionable crop top. Not gonna lie, I was really liking the look, especially the sheer leggings and the black suede booties and the high ponytail Noelia helped me wrangle my braids into. Even in the occasional designer—or high-quality knockoff—evening gown, I’d never felt like I walked off a high-fashion runway until now.

Music unlike anything else on earth wrapped around me: upbeat disco-pop in the background; yelps, laughter, giggles, and squeals; and the constant ring of clattering coins, the whir of shuffling cards, the chime of slot machine levers, the skim of balls over roulette tables, and the stacking of poker chips. Add it all together, and you got an intoxicating and exhilarating song. I think I was finally starting to understand the death grip casinos had on Mylo’s heart. It was two hundred thousand square feet of booze, luck, loss, and temptation.

Two hundred thousand square feet of secrets, hidden currency, and danger. I was about to dive into the deep end.

“No funny shoes tonight?” I recognized the voice and stopped. Slowly, I followed it to find Baron sipping a fruity margarita, legs crossed on a suede bench. Dissatisfied, he added something from a flask in his jacket, which turned the concoction a shady gray, before taking another sip.

“No bodyguards tonight?” I countered.

He nodded to the side, where the man I’d come to know as Marc was holding his own suspiciously colored cocktail. He didn’t seem inclined to finish it, but winced and took a gulp once he realized Baron was looking his way.

“I’m here in good faith.” Baron gestured for me to sit. I ignored him. “Hart’s is a hell of an undertaking. You really think you can hack it?”

“Do you think your team can?” Why the hell was he here? We hadn’t accounted for the possibility of Baron inserting himself into the game.

“I think the odds are in my favor. But I’d feel a lot better if you and your mummy agreed to jump ship.”

I scoffed. “Jump ship right into Diane’s shark-infested waters?”

“Don’t pretend that’s my fault. Can you blame a downtrodden woman like Ms.Abara for wanting to protect her baby boy from a vicious heart eater like Rhiannon Quest?” Baron took a sip, the shadow of a grin on his lips. He was hiding something, but the chances of me getting it out of him were minimal.

“I’d dump her for you in a heartbeat,” he said. “ If you brought your mom with you.”

My nails dug into my palms. For Mom. Notorious, efficient, brilliant Mom. That was why he was here. Mom knew better than to side with something as slimy as him from the get-go, but if I switched up now, then she’d come with.

As pretentious and pathetic as Baron was, why did it twist a knife in my chest to know even he thought she was still leagues more valuable than me?

“Screw off,” I said, turning on my heel. After two steps, Baron caught me by the shoulder.

“With or without you, I’m still going to win.” His breath was scalding on my ear. “You know, Diane didn’t specify how she wants all of you to die. Some members and I have been betting on the most creative ways to get the job done. I’d share some with you, but I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

With that, he strode away.

···

I only gave myself a minute to shake Baron off. There was work to do.

“Excuse me.” I approached a row of cocktail waiters with placid smiles and complimentary champagne. “Where can I cash in?”

A man, tanned and twentysomething, gestured with a smile into the wide-open doors leading into the first floor, as if they weren’t already beckoning everyone in. “Cashier’s booths are inside on both walls. You can only use Hart’s currency inside the building. They can cash in any amount of money you’d like and convert it out when you’re ready to leave.”

“Thank you,” I said. My next words were important. Count had told us that they had to be said verbatim. No paraphrasing. No stuttering. No second chances. “I’m feeling blue tonight. Can you lend a hand to a dealer’s friend?”

The waiter gave nothing away. “Are you an old friend or a new friend?”

“A new friend.”

He looked me up and down before gesturing to the side. An empty-handed waitress scurried up, and he handed his champagne platter off to her. During the handoff, I noted bruises on his knuckles. The waitress had the same. A quick glance down, and I caught a pinkish rash under her knees. Rashes from hand wraps and shin guards, bruises from training. They weren’t just waiters—they were fighters. Something told me that staff training at Hart’s comprised a lot more than watching outdated HR videos.

The waiter led me away from the tiled lobby to a nook with a row of golden elevators. I followed him into the last elevator. He pressed his thumb to the down button long enough for me to know his print was being scanned. After the elevator doors closed, he turned to face the back of the car, only for it to completely slide away, revealing a windowless velvety blue room. A trio of cashier’s booths were nestled into the left wall, each with a line of three or four people.

“Have a dazzling night, new friend,” the waiter told me before retreating back into the fake elevator. The door shut behind him.

As I waited my turn in line, I watched one man cash in four million dollars; another slid the deed for a house under the teller’s window, a woman handed in a cooler with god knew what inside, and the man in front of me, at least four times my age, just wrote something down on a paper, his hand trembling. He swatted a tear off his cheek as he folded the note and handed it over.

This place was a death trap dressed as a playground, and I was suddenly very grateful that this was the last time I’d ever be cashing in here. Hopefully.

“Hi, there,” the teller said. She wore shoulder-length box braids that reminded me of my own. “You’re a new friend?”

“I am.” I handed over my forged American passport.

She closed the curtains of her booth, returning about a minute later. “What would you like to cash in tonight, Ms.Nolan?”

I took my passport back, not knowing what she’d done with it.

“Currency. Five hundred thousand US dollars.” As I stashed my passport back into my white leather purse, I found the cashier’s check. Made out to Hart’s, as ordered by Count.

“Excellent.” She swiped the check out of my hand so fast it almost gave me a paper cut. “This is the last time you’ll be able to use any form of monetary currency to cash in for blue chips. Should you need to cash in again, we’ll require another form of payment.”

“I understand.”

She disappeared behind her curtain again, and when she came back, her glass window slid aside. She pushed a short box over the counter, then opened it for me. Inside were four rows of shimmering blue chips. I picked one out. Identical to the other Hart’s chips Taiyō had us research, aside from the sparkling sheen and the midnight-blue shade.

“Five hundred thousand buys you fifty chips. These, the blue, are game chips. You can use them to play any game in the casino. Win a game, and you’ll be paid out in victor chips.” She held a shimmering black chip with gold trim up for me to see. “If you win using these, you’ll be given four times however many victor chips you wagered. You can also use victor chips to shop from our exclusive catalog. Victor chips are the only currency accepted for the catalog.”

Their catalog of curiosities, the former possessions of desperate people who cashed in more than they could afford. Things even the organization couldn’t buy back. I looked down at my new collection of game chips. They were worthless now unless I turned them into victor chips. Just like that, Hart’s had me invested.

“Have a dazzling night,” the teller said.

I tucked the box of chips into my bag. “I intend to.”