He passed me a black chip, and I pocketed it. I stopped next to the Iranian and carefully deposited the first shot on the green surface, lining up all six in a straight line. There were four men left at the felt, all of them silent, their eyes on the flop. I climbed the steps, waited for the tuxedoed protection to move aside, and approached the top table. I carefully balanced six shot glasses on the glass tray, Makers Mark swaying as I moved toward the big table, ignoring a few blatant looks and the hand that found my ass and squeezed it. The guy in the bumblebee suit was going to walk out of here a millionaire, assuming he didn’t get his fingers cut off by Big Don. Odds offering an equal chance of winning or losing, with the amount won being the same as the stake. Proofreaders: Angie Owens, Perla Calas, Erik Geversįront Cover Photography: Sean Nel, Shutterstockĭedicated to Brooklyn Bob and those six hours where the blackjack gods smiled. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.Įditors: Madison Seidler, Marion Archer, Natasha Tomic No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. Copyright © 2018 by Alessandra Torre All rights reserved.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |