When I Became the House’s Chip

Dante's eyes locked on the clean black chip in my hand.

His chest rose and fell. His breathing was heavy.

"Cash?" he said. A cold laugh.

He reached out and caught a fistful of my hair.

Pain shot across my scalp. My head was forced back. I was looking straight into his eyes.

The scar at the corner of his eye was still there. Four stitches. He'd taken the bottle for me when we were both seventeen.

My gaze landed there for less than a second and moved away.

"Half a million to keep your side piece? Sienna. When did your appetite get this filthy?"

It wasn't a question.

What he'd seen in that stairwell two years ago and the report he'd held in his hand afterward—together, they'd already closed the case.

He dragged me by the hair through the casino, up to the private floor on the top level.

Sabrina lifted the hem of her dress and followed, a cold smile on her mouth.

The top floor was one wide hall. At its center stood a transparent, blast-proof tank, filled with water kept at freezing.

At the bottom of the tank, waterproofed chips covered the glass floor. Denominations from ten thousand up to five hundred thousand.

Dante stopped at the tank and let go. I hit the carpet in front of it.

He crossed to a leather sofa and sat. Didn't have anyone light his cigar.

Sabrina sat beside him and tipped her face up at the tank as if it were a piece of art.

"Dante, I heard there's three million in that tank."

She turned to look at me. A light smile.

"Sienna, you said you'd do anything. Hold your breath and go get it. Whatever you come up with is yours. Live or die, that's on you."

She turned her face to Dante. Softer now.

"A fun game. Isn't it?"

Dante didn't answer her.

He looked at me, knuckles braced on his knee. He didn't say yes. He didn't say no.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

The hospital's final notice.

Emily has developed severe sepsis. Without a three-million-dollar surgical guarantee deposit by eight tomorrow morning, we will be forced to remove her breathing tube and discontinue treatment.

I stared at the message.

Three million.

I looked up at the tank.

His jacket was still around me. Still damp.

There'd been a winter once when the rain caught us at a crosswalk with no awning in reach. He'd pulled off his coat and held it over my head, and the rain had run off his hair onto his shoulders, soaking him. I told him to come under with me. He said if he came under he couldn't keep me dry.

I looked up at the man on the sofa.

I wasn't getting that back. I'd already lost him.

I couldn't lose Emily too.

I pushed myself up off the floor, climbed the metal ladder beside the tank to the top, and jumped in.

The cold hit hard enough that my whole body shook.

I kicked down fast. The water pressure crushed my eardrums. I opened my eyes and forced myself to keep them open against the sting, and I grabbed the high-denomination chips off the floor of the tank.

Ten thousand.

Fifty thousand.

Five hundred thousand.

I stuffed them inside my bra.

My calves started to cramp. Every kick was agony.

Outside the tank, Dante stood behind the blast-proof glass, eyes fixed on me underwater.

He watched my face turn blue. He watched blood start to leak from my nose and mouth under the pressure, watched it drift into pink threads in the water.

The fingers holding his cigar started to shake.

He stood up. Took one step forward. His fist was closed.

Sabrina walked up and wrapped a hand around his arm.

"Dante." She pressed close, voice low. "It was my game. The rule is whatever she brings up, she keeps. If you go in there and save her now, who's ever going to respect you again?"

"Besides—the paternity test is in black and white. That kid was never yours. What exactly are you heartbroken over?"

Dante didn't look at her.

He lifted her hand off his arm. Didn't speak. His jaw locked.

He forced himself back down onto the sofa.

He clenched the timer in his palm. The knuckles went white.

One-thirty.

One-fifty.

Underwater, my vision was going. My lungs had nothing left.

But I couldn't die.

Emily was waiting for me.

Outside the tank, Dante was on his feet again.

He didn't say anything. Just stood there, eyes on the tank.

Sabrina gave his sleeve a small tug. He yanked his arm away.

The timer cracked inside his fist.

In the instant before his other hand came up to strike the blast-proof glass—

I kicked off the bottom.

A hard break of water.

I came up gasping, dragged myself over the edge, and hit the carpet. Lay there on my side heaving up bloody ice water.

I forced myself onto my knees.

On my knees in front of him, I touched my forehead to the carpet three times.

"Thank you, Mr. Castellano. For my life."

I didn't wait for an answer.

Dragging a wet trail behind me, I ran for the elevator.