Chapter 32
The dealer looked paler than before. That twitch in his left cheek returned. He was sweating. His gloved hand trembled just slightly, but enough for me to clock it.
He spun again. The room around us held its breath. Cards shuffled from distant tables. Cocktail waitresses floated past with trays of overpriced fantasy. Somewhere, a jackpot bell rang, but it sounded like a child’s toy in comparison to this moment.
The ball danced.
Slowed.
Black 17.
Mylene squealed, doing a little shimmy of fake surprise. “Oh my god, did I really just—”
The croupier cleared his throat. “Winner.”
Jhing Jhing slapped the table. “Buy me a yacht!”
Laughter erupted. From us, and—begrudgingly—from the men watching. A few clapped. Some were leaning forward now. Others weren’t smiling anymore. Their chips sat untouched as they stared.
They weren’t sure whether to flirt or fear us. I could taste the tension. It rolled off the walls like heat from a kitchen. By now, even I was feeling giddy.
Not from the money. Please. It was the power. The reclamation. It was mine, this casino. Once upon a time. And now, here I was—winning my way through the gilded halls of my past with two glamazon best friends and a dress that made men walk into chairs.
“Another drink?” a waiter asked, tall and awkward, holding a tray with crystal glasses and too much cologne.
I turned, flashed a grin, and purred, “No, darling. I need all my brain cells for math.”
Mylene giggled like a schoolgirl. Jhing Jhing raised her glass, sipping mocktail like it was poison. “She’s dangerous when she starts calculating.”
The croupier finally spoke, soft and clipped, “Ladies... would you like to continue?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I said, stacking chips like a warlord lining up artillery, “we haven’t even started.”
Craps was always the loudest table, the wildest game. Perfect cover.
I nudged Jhing Jhing to roll.
“You want me to throw dice?”
“Yup.”
“I haven’t rolled dice since Monopoly in 2003!”
“Just act drunk and follow my finger.”
Thanks to an old mechanic that still existed—table tilt awareness—I could signal which side the die was more likely to land using pressure memory on the felt and the angle of the corner bumpers.
She rolled.
“Seven!”
Cheers.
Then again.
“Eleven!”
A man next to us muttered, “These women are on fire.”
“You have no idea,” I murmured. The neckline plunged almost to my belly button, and the key to keeping my breasts covered was tying the halter tight behind my neck. The slit stopped about six inches before my pubic mound. I would have to be careful when I walked, or my vagina would play peek-a-boo with everyone I met.
By the third hour, we had amassed nearly £275,000.
And now? Now Mick was frowning.
He started talking into his radio, eyeing every dealer we touched. Two security officers subtly circled our area. One even fake-stumbled just to check my bracelet.
Fools.
That bracelet was not tech—it just connected to the heel of my shoe, which housed the real transmitter. My feet hurt, yes, but it was worth it.
Mylene whispered, “They’re onto us.”
I nodded. “Let them watch.”
Then I took out my phone—the old one. Burnt-looking. Clunky.
The one connected to my private server hidden in Greece.
And I tapped a button labeled:
“Gambit Protocol: Disperse Winnings. Dummy Win Registered. Lock Surveillance Loop.”
The cameras would now play a 15-minute loop of our past behavior while we moved to the VIP vault payout room.
I leaned into the table, gave Mick a wink, and said, “Well, it’s been fun, but I think it’s time for champagne and a cashout.”
He sneered.
“Of course, ma’am. Right this way.”
In the payout vault, we were handed our cash. Bundles. Stacks. Thick envelopes filled with dirty, glorious casino money. They wanted us gone before they figured out what we’d done.
Mick smiled politely, but I saw the twitch in his jaw.
“Have a good night, ladies,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, “we will.”
As the elevator doors closed, I looked into the mirrored panel and whispered to myself:
“This place used to be Alec’s.”
Pause.
“Now it’s mine again.”
We didn't speak much on the drive home. Not because we didn’t have anything to say—but because the girls were in shock. I pretended to be in shock as well.
£275,000. Freaking. Pounds.
From three hands of blackjack. No guns. No bloodshed. No broken bones. Just cleavage, eyeliner, and sass.
By the time we reached our building, reality hit Mylene and Jhing Jhing like a slow-motion slap. They just stared at each other inside the parked car like they had survived an alien abduction. I smirked at them.
They were amazing. Such innocence.
Then Jhing Jhing blurted, “Did we just commit legal robbery?”
Mylene shrieked. “We did! Oh my God, we just—did that! £275,000. pounds!” She clutched her pearls—literally, her fake pearl necklace had twisted during our victory strut and now looked like a noose of disbelief.