Page 75 of The Scarab's Game
A muscle ticked in Emmett’s jaw. “Let’s head inside,” he said, steering me down a short hallway.
The passage opened into a breathtaking cavern. Natural stalactites and stalagmites rimmed the edges, while the main area gleamed with polished floors and sparkling chandeliers. Gaming tables, elegant bars, and patrons in designer clothes filled the space. Modern classical music drifted through the air, mingling with the soft clink of chips and the murmur of voices.
It was magical.
So magical, I could almost forget the insanity my life had become.
Almost.
Emmett nodded to a few dealers as we passed, but kept us moving. The ceilings rivaled the Monte Carlo Casino in height, but the atmosphere seemed more intimate, more exclusive. It didn’t smell like wet earth or stone, as I would have expected, but something richer. Like some combination of Emmett’s cologne and power. Wealth.
“Who are we meeting?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the growing knot in my stomach.
Emmett slowed near a blackjack table. “You know how to play?”
I glanced at the layout. “Face cards are ten, aces one or eleven, numbered cards their value. Beat the dealer to twenty-one without going over.”
Emmett withdrew his wallet, counting out a thousand euros in hundred-euro notes. “Table minimum is ten, maximum a thousand.”
The dealer exchanged his money for chips. The soft clatter as they hit the felt was oddly comforting. But I wouldn’t spend his money. “I have my own cash.”
“Business expense,” Emmett said without skipping a beat. “I need you here, but I also need to have a private conversation with someone.”
The words echoed Dante’s earlier excuse for taking me to dinner, setting off alarm bells in my head. Business expense. As though no one could simply enjoy my company.
Emmett reviewed a few more rules. “Bet before the cards are dealt. Dealer gets one up, one down. Use hand signals—flat hand to stay, tap for another card?—”
“Why hand signals?”
Emmett’s eyes flicked to a light fixture. “Cameras everywhere. They don’t record sound, but they track every move. If you like your cards and want to increase your bet, you can double down by matching your original wager.”
I watched the other players while Emmett detailed strategy, payouts, splits, and surrenders.
Surrender.
That should’ve been my word of the day. No more forged paintings, no more dead men rising from the grave, no more cloak and dagger.
“How long will you be?” I asked, trying to sound as neutral as he did.
“An hour or two.” Emmett flagged down a passing drink server. “Don’t bet too high, or you’ll burn through the chips. Just have fun and stay put.”
I frowned. “I thought you said I had to stay with you for the rest of my trip?”
Emmett’s expression tightened. “You’re safer here than almost anywhere in Monaco.”
“And you’re genuinely that worried about my safety?”
Scarlett’s warnings about Noah swirled around my mind. What had really happened when they found out he was alive? What did she mean when she said he wasn’t who we thought?
Emmett’s hand ghosted over my arm. “In general, yes. Scarlett’s got me paranoid. Our primary concern is that Noah and his team are also after the scarab. We need to get it first.”
“What if they win the auction?”
Emmett’s smirk was pure ego. “No one gets the better of me.”
There was the Emmett I knew. Where had he been hiding?
He leaned close, his lips brushing my cheek as he whispered, “One more thing. Your name is Krista Stone, and you’re my wife. Got it?”