Dante shook his hand but didn't smile.
"Walk with me," Dante said.
They moved through the club, past the bar, past the gaming tables, past the private VIP sections, toward the back office. Nobody tried to stop them. Nobody even looked directly at them. This was the way of the underworld: when a man like Dante Romano walked through your business, you pretended you didn't notice, and you hoped he was walking through toward someone else's problem.
In Chen's office, Dante settled into a leather chair. Chen closed the door and sat behind his desk, his posture perfect, his expression controlled.
"How long have you been running this operation?" Dante asked.
"Five years," Chen said. His hands were steady. That meant something. Fear made hands shake, but control, actual professional control...kept them still.
"Profitable?" Dante asked.
"Very," Chen said. "Dimitri's been happy with the numbers."
