Page 14 of Maximum Bet

Lucas reaches out to shake my hand before he leaves, but Leo lingers, scrutinizing.

“What was that?” he asks once Lucas is through the door.

“Nothing important.”

“I don’t believe you.” Leo adjusts his glasses before collecting his notepad and laptop.

“I’ll tell you if I think you need to know,” I lie.

“Dominic.”

“I promise.”

Leo sighs but acquiesces. “Fine.” He heads toward the door, turning before he opens it. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

My jaw locks as my eyes narrow.

“Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t talk to the boss that way.” Leo shakes his head. “Well, when the boss refuses to talk to hisconsigliere,I have a right to be concerned.” He passes through the door, giving a final glare before it clicks closed.

I groan as my attention returns to my waiting cell phone.

I open my call list, but I don’t select the most recent number. No, that’s a decoy line, hidden by a server. There’s only one clue that tells me who was calling—the area code—one that doesn’t exist in real life.

Pressing my thumb on the number I want, I rest my elbows on my desktop and hold the phone to my ear.

“Dominic,” the man says, his voice gruff. This isn’t a social call. It’s all business.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“I heard through the grapevine that you had a meeting recently.”

I drop my forehead into my palm. Of course, he did. With the information this man siphons from me, along with the intel he collects from all over the country, he knows everything he shouldn’t.

“With Santos,” I say, knowing that’s the information he’s looking for.

“Precisely. Care to tell me what you discussed?”

I swivel my chair so that I can gaze over the noon-time activity of Las Vegas Boulevard. “They’re drug running and have no plan to stop. Still staying out of trafficking, however, he refers to Kozolva and Perez as his allies.”

“None of this is new, Dominic.” My contact sighs. I can picture his expression, intense and determined.

“There’s more.”

A group of men in button-downs and loosened ties walks down The Strip twenty-five floors below. They’re probably ontheir way to a casino after a business lunch that included too many rounds of spirits.

“Santos knows where Kozlova and Perez are, or at least where they’re meeting,” I say, watching as the men steer toward my casino. Good. Drunk and cocky. Exactly what feeds my bottom line.

“Perfect, where?” my contact asks, just as eager as I am to know.

“He won’t tell us.”

The man grunts. “Did he tell you anything?”

“They’re somewhere in the Caribbean, that’s all we know.”

“There are a lot of governments scattered around that area. It’d be nice to know which one we need to work with.”

I swivel away from the window, retrieving my pen to fiddle with. “I agree. He won’t budge.”