When I Became the House’s Chip

In the underground casino, my ex-fiancé Don Dante Castellano threw the card in my face.

His arm was around Sabrina—his first love—and his eyes were ice as they shoved me toward the table.

"Your father owed mine a life. The thing in your belly isn't mine." He pressed the card flat against my cheek. "The daughter pays the father's debt. Tonight you're the living chip on that table."

The paternity test was fake. The child was his.

I knew. He didn't believe me.

That night, with a gun pointed at my head, I took off all my clothes in front of everyone.

Two years passed.

Two years later, in Vegas, he saw me again.

I was in a red silk dress with a gold chain around my neck, the other end of the chain held by a yellow-toothed gambler.

"This bitch is cheap. Bark for me, and all these chips are yours."

I picked up the chips, practiced. "Woof. Woof."

Sabrina pressed her face into his chest, covering her nose. "Dante. This is disgusting. Let's go."

He didn't go.

The veins rose along his temple. He was staring at the bruises on my knees. Then he kicked the gambler across the room.

He bent down and took hold of my chin. Hard.

"Sienna. Money, and you'll do anything at all?"

He was close enough that I could smell him.

Soap. Two years, and still the same soap.

I closed my eyes, opened them, pulled my mouth into a smile for him. "That's right, boss. Pay up and I'll cooperate with whatever position you want. Care to buy a round?"

I tilted my face up and pulled out the practiced, obliging smile.

He froze where he stood.

His eyes were locked on the bruise across my knee.

I'd earned it the night before, kneeling three hours on crushed gravel for a gambler with particular tastes.

Dante's chest rose and fell, hard.

He bit down on his back teeth and kept staring at the bruise.

Once, years ago, I'd tripped at his front step and scraped the skin off my knee. He'd crouched in front of me, cupped my ankle in his hand, and blown very seriously on the red patch.

I'd looked down and seen the top of his head. He told me if he blew on it, it wouldn't hurt. I don't know whether it worked. What I know is that his palm under my ankle was warm.

I lifted my eyes and found him in the crowd.

Same hands. Resting on Sabrina's shoulder now. Not moving.

Around us, the wolves started laughing.

"She's cheap, Mr. Castellano, but she listens! That's the thing about her!"

"Yeah—throw her a few chips and she'll crawl like a dog. That's a deal right there!"

Sabrina wrinkled her nose and fanned the air with a gloved hand. She tucked herself back against Dante's chest.

"Dante, why even look at trash like her? They say she's killing herself in the casino to keep some dirty