Chapter 2 - THE PINK FINGERNAIL

"She’s my underboss’s little sister."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Elena stared at the promissory note in her trembling hands. The black onyx logo seemed to mock her.

"Victor’s sister?" the Russian oligarch grunted, releasing his grip on Valentina just enough for Silas's men to haul her up by her arms. Valentina was sobbing now, mascara running down her pale cheeks in jagged black rivers.

Silas didn't answer the Russian. His eyes remained locked on Elena.

"Bring the dealer," Silas ordered his men.

"Wait, please," Elena gasped, clutching the paper. "My shift is over in twenty minutes. The babysitter—"

"I will handle the babysitter," Silas said, turning his back on her. "You’re coming with me. If Victor is making a move on my life, my entire inner circle is compromised. I need someone who sees everything. And clearly, you have a vested interest in keeping me breathing."

Two large men in immaculate suits stepped up beside Elena. They weren't rough, but their presence offered no choice. She was escorted out the back entrance of the casino, ushered into the plush, silent interior of a bulletproof black SUV.

The ride was agonizingly silent. Silas sat across from her, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, staring out the tinted window at the neon blur of the city.

"Where are we going?" Elena asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

"My estate," Silas replied without looking at her. "It’s the only place I can control."

Thirty minutes later, the SUV passed through massive wrought-iron gates and pulled up to a sprawling, modern stone mansion perched on the cliffs overlooking the ocean.

Elena was led into a cavernous study lined with dark wood and leather-bound books. A fire crackled in the hearth, offering a warmth that the room desperately lacked.

"Sit," Silas commanded, gesturing to a leather chair across from a massive mahogany desk.

Elena sat. Her eyes immediately began scanning the room—a habit she couldn't break. She noticed the security cameras hidden in the crown molding, the reinforced glass of the windows, and the sheer lack of personal photographs. It was a fortress, not a home.

Then, her eyes landed on something that made her heart stop.

Sitting on the edge of Silas’s desk, resting on a stack of ledgers, was a silver pocket watch. The casing was heavily dented on the left side, and the winding stem was slightly bent.

Elena gasped, standing up so fast the heavy leather chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor.

Silas paused, his hand on the liquor decanter. He followed her gaze.

"You recognize it," he stated softly.

"That… that was my father’s," Elena whispered, stepping closer to the desk. She didn't dare touch it. "He pawned it three years ago to pay the electric bill. How do you have it?"

Silas poured his drink and walked around the desk. He picked up the watch. "Your father didn't pawn this, Elena. He gave it to me."

"Why?"

"As collateral," Silas said. "Before he died, he came to me. He knew the Bratva was going to kill him. He begged me to buy his debt so you wouldn't inherit it."

Elena’s mind reeled. Her father had been a degenerate gambler, a liar, a man who broke every promise he ever made. But he had tried to save her?

"I told him a broken watch wasn't collateral," Silas continued, his voice devoid of emotion. "He told me it was the only thing of value he had left, because it reminded him of his daughter. I took the watch. I bought the debt. He died two days later."

Elena felt tears prick her eyes. "Answer One, Open Two," her father used to say when teaching her poker. Every time you think you figure out a player's hand, two more variables appear.

Before she could process this, the heavy oak doors of the study burst open.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit stormed in. His face was flushed with anger. This had to be Victor, the underboss.

"Silas," Victor growled, ignoring Elena entirely. "What the hell is going on? Your men have Valentina in the basement."

"She tried to poison me, Victor," Silas said, leaning back against his desk.

Victor froze. "That’s impossible."

"I have the aconite stain on my handkerchief. I have a dozen witnesses." Silas’s eyes narrowed. "Did you put her up to it?"

"Are you insane?" Victor exploded, stepping closer. "She’s a stupid, greedy girl, Silas! Someone used her. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't use a nail polish trick!"

As Victor shouted, Elena watched his hands. She watched his face.

Victor was furious, indignant. But as he wiped a bead of sweat from his temple, his index finger tapped twice against his thumb.

It was a micro-expression. A tell.

Elena had seen that exact same twitch earlier tonight. But not from Valentina. She had seen it from the pit boss at the casino right before he called Silas over to Table One.

Victor wasn't the mastermind. He was the distraction.

"Mr. Vance," Elena said softly, stepping forward.

Both men snapped their heads toward her.

"Victor didn't do it," Elena said, her eyes locked on Victor’s face. She saw the immediate flash of relief, followed quickly by confusion.

"And how do you know that, Dealer?" Silas asked.

"Because he’s terrified," Elena said. "But not of you."

She turned to Silas. "Someone else orchestrated this. Someone who knew exactly where you'd be sitting, what you'd be smoking, and who would light it."

Suddenly, the phone on Silas’s desk rang. It was a harsh, jarring sound.

Silas picked it up, pressed it to his ear, and listened. His face drained of all color. The marble mask shattered.