"Who hits on fourteen against a dealer showing garbage?!"
"It was a seven showing! Basic strategy—"
"Basic strategy says you're mad!" Sarah threw her hands up. "If you had stood, that six goes to Lilianna. She busts at twenty-two. We all win."
"That's not how the game—"
"Don't you 'how the game blah blah blah' me, Bryan Stewart. You and your smiling stone face took that six like it was a gift from the cosmos and handed Lilianna a twenty-one on a silver platter."
Bryan looked to Iris for help. But the other was perched on the arm of the large sofa, watching with an amused expression. She offered him nothing but a shrug and a sip of her drink.
"Traitor," Bryan muttered, indignantly.
Having exhausted Bryan as a target, the mob turned their head to find their next target.
"And you." Ciel swiveled toward Neville, his youthful face twisted with exaggerated betrayal. "Two seven. You split two seven."
