(Cleo POV)

Nobody moved.

Or maybe it was five seconds. Hard to tell when four armed men are standing between you and the only exit and the guy you just beat at poker turns out to be the kind of person who travels with armed men.

"My name is Dante Ferrante." He unbuttoned his jacket and sat on the edge of the poker table like we were having coffee. "That card is a debt marker. It represents a significant financial obligation owed by my family to whoever holds it."

"How significant?"

"More than you won tonight."

I looked at my pile. Forty-three thousand dollars. More money than I'd seen in one place in my life.

"And I won it. In a fair game. At your table."

"You did."

"So it's mine."

"The marker wasn't supposed to be in the pot," he said. "The man you beat put it up without authorization. It belongs in my safe, not a poker game."

"Sounds like your security problem."

One of his men shifted behind me. Dante held up a hand, and the movement stopped.

"I'll make this simple. You give me the card. I give you a hundred thousand dollars. Cash. Tonight."

A hundred thousand dollars.

That was my mother's hospital bills. Every last one. Three years of collection calls, threatening letters, a credit score so low I couldn't rent a parking spot. Gone. One card for one clean slate.

I ran my thumb along the edge of the marker.

"No."

His eyebrows rose. The first crack I'd seen in him.

"If you're offering a hundred grand for a card, the card is worth more. I don't need to know how much more. I just need to know you want it badly enough to offer six figures to a bartender who forgot to take her apron off."

Something moved behind his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or the look a predator gives prey that doesn't understand the food chain.

"You don't understand what you're holding. That card means every family in this city knows you have leverage over me. Men who would cut off your fingers to get what's in your hand right now."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's geography."

We stared at each other across the table. His armed men, my bottle opener. Neither of us blinked.

"Then I'll need protection," I said.

That surprised him. I could tell because nothing on his face changed, which was his version of surprise.

"You'll need more than a card. You'll need someone with a reason to keep you alive."

"And that's you. Because I have your card."

"Because you have my card."

At least he was honest about it.

The drive took twenty minutes. I sat in the back of a black SUV that smelled like leather and cedar. Dante sat next to me. Not close, not far. The exact distance that said I chose this seat on purpose.

I texted Mia.

Won't be home tonight. Don't worry.

Three dots. Immediate.

WHERE ARE YOU

Long story. I'm fine.

Cleo Marin if you are dead I will kill you

I put my phone away.

The Ferrante estate was a compound. Brownstone exterior, iron gate, a driveway lined with cars that each cost more than I'd ever made in a year. Inside, it was dark wood, oil paintings, and the kind of silence that comes from walls built thick on purpose.