“Will anyone kiss me for luck?” I yell, throwing my arms up. “I could really use the luck.”
“Ma’am.” The dealer catches my attention and shakes his head. “Keep it down.”
I waggle my brows at him. “Are you interested?”
He sighs and shuffles the cards with skilled hands. I’m sure he has dealt with his fair share of drunk gamblers, but I’m about to cement a permanent place in his memory. Just give me fifteen minutes.
The drink is warming my belly. Taking the edge off my prickling nerves and relaxing me.
The burner phone shoved in the side of my dress, on the other hand, feels like a third arm. I’m positive everyone is looking at it. At me. Like there’s a spotlight aimed in my direction and the big neon sign out front says, “Aryana Georgeovich Is Here To Help Dima Romanoff Kill A Man.”
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