Twelve kills. Thirteen if she made it out alive tonight.
The casino pulsed like something alive and hungry. Gold lights bled across the ceiling. Music throbbed low and expensive, crawling under her skin. Chips clacked. Dealers moved like machines. Raven cut straight through it all, heels clicking soft on marble. No one really looked. Just another woman in a tight black dress, long dark hair brushing bare shoulders. Money to burn. Time to waste. Exactly what they expected.
She didn't slow down.
Thursday nights ran like clockwork. Vincent De Luca liked order. Predictable. Easy to slip inside.
Her fingers brushed the thin blade hidden in her clutch. Cool metal. Perfect balance. Hers. Not the casino's.
Twelve times before. Same walk. Same wait. Same second when the whole world narrowed to one point. But tonight… something felt off. Not nerves. Nerves were sharp and useful. This was quieter. Like standing on the edge of a roof and wondering, just for a breath, what it would feel like to step back.
She killed that thought fast.
Raven snatched a champagne glass from a passing waiter, barely let it touch her lips, then set it down. Her eyes never stopped moving.
Elevator doors slid open.
The whole floor shifted. Conversations dipped. Dealers paused mid-shuffle. Guards straightened like dogs hearing their master's voice.
Vincent De Luca stepped out.
Tall. Black suit cut sharp. Black hair catching the light for half a second before it slid down his shoulders. Nothing loud about him. But the room bent anyway. People made space without thinking, like stepping back from open flame.
Two men followed a few paces behind. Not regular bodyguards. These two were dangerous.
Left one: broad, straight-backed, eyes scanning everything. Gabriel Vargas. The Iron Wall. Right one: lean, lazy-looking until you noticed he barely blinked. Lucian Voss. The Phantom.
Raven's pulse kicked harder. Not fear. Something closer to hunger.
Vincent moved like he owned every inch of the floor. He stopped at a private table, dropped into the chair, and the game started. Calm. Almost bored. One hand resting on the green felt like the cards already belonged to him.
She hated how steady he looked.
Raven slipped toward the bar, then ducked behind the staff rope. The lights changed. Smell of old carpet and cleaning chemicals hit her. She kicked her heels off fast, grabbed them in one hand, and moved barefoot down the narrow hallway. Cold floor bit her soles. Good. Kept her sharp.
Halfway down, voices leaked through a metal door.
"…boss just got here." "Yeah, keep your eyes open. Caruso's been sniffing around."
One of them laughed. "Relax. Nobody's dumb enough to try shit tonight."
The door swung open.
Raven moved.
She grabbed the first guard by the collar and yanked him forward. Her blade flashed once — fast, ugly. Hot blood sprayed across her wrist. He made a wet gurgle and went limp. She lowered him quick, heart slamming against her ribs now.
The second guard spun. Eyes wide. Hand already clawing for his radio.
Too slow.
Raven lunged. He caught her wrist. Strong. Panic made him brutal. They crashed against the wall, his breath hot and sour in her face. Her pulse roared in her ears. Sweat prickled down her spine.
She twisted hard. Bone and muscle screamed. The knife found the gap under his ribs and drove up. Straight into the heart.
His eyes went blank. Body sagged.
Raven shoved him down beside the first one, breathing fast through her mouth. Blood slicked her fingers. She wiped the blade on the inside of her dress, leaving dark streaks. No time to care.
She pushed through the door.
Narrow stairs. Up. Toward the balcony.
Her bare feet slapped concrete. Breath came short. The casino noise grew louder above her — music, laughter, the constant clack of chips. She reached the top, slipped into the dim corridor behind tinted glass. From here she could see everything.
Vincent still sat at the table. Calm as ever. New players had joined. One guy was laughing too loud, stacking chips like it mattered.
Raven's grip tightened on the knife. Ten meters. Straight drop. Easy.
She swung her leg over the railing.
The fall was silent. Carpet caught her feet. No one noticed. Music swallowed the sound.
One step. Two.
She pressed the cold blade against Vincent's throat from behind. Right under his jaw.
The table froze.
Cards stopped moving. Players stared. Someone's champagne glass tilted and spilled.
Vincent didn't flinch. Didn't even turn his head at first.
"Interesting entrance," he said, voice low and smooth. It cut through the noise without trying.
Raven's heart slammed harder. She could feel the steady beat of his pulse against the edge of her knife.
He finally looked up. Dark eyes. Calm. Like he'd been waiting for her.
"You're early," he murmured, tilting his head just enough that the blade kissed his skin deeper. A thin line of red welled up. "I thought you'd wait till midnight."
Her stomach twisted. Not fear. Something hotter. Angrier.
"Move," she hissed, "and you die."
Vincent's mouth curved — not quite a smile. "I know."
He glanced at the knife like it was interesting, then back to her face. Studying her. Taking her apart piece by piece.
"Caruso trains their assassins better than this. Usually they watch for a full week."
How the hell did he—
Raven pressed the blade harder. More blood. Her hand wanted to shake. She locked it down.
Vincent leaned back in his chair. The knife followed his throat. He didn't seem to give a damn.
"I should thank you," he said softly. Almost conversational. "You saved me the trouble of sending an invitation."
Her jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
He tilted his head again, eyes dragging over her face, her bare shoulders, the dark streaks on her dress. "You've grown since the last report. More confident. Less hesitation in those shoulders."
His gaze dropped to the knife. "Cleaner technique, too."
Rage and something else — something sick and warm — flared low in her belly. She wanted to cut him open right there. She also wanted to hear him say more.
"You talk too much," she growled.
"Yes," he agreed, voice dropping even lower. "But so do you."
Before she could react, his fingers moved. A single card flipped between them and slid across the felt toward her.
Queen of Hearts.
It stopped right at the edge.
Vincent looked straight into her eyes.
"Welcome to my casino… Raven Caruso."
The name hit like a slap.
Her breath caught. For one stupid second her grip on the knife loosened. Heat flooded her face. Her pulse thundered so loud she was sure he could hear it.
How?
How the fuck did he know?
Vincent leaned closer to the blade. Close enough that she felt his breath brush warm against her wrist. Close enough that she smelled his cologne — dark, expensive, dangerous.
"You came here to kill me," he whispered. That damn smile was back. "But you should have checked one thing first."
His eyes locked on hers. Steady. Unshakable.
"I already know who you are."