26. Jenn

Chapter 26

Jenn

Trust my instincts? Had Emmett seriously said that to me? After last night? After this morning?

God, after believing Dante?

My instincts had only been right about Wheatfield —the fake.

My heart was still in my throat since the phone call with Scarlett, but I couldn’t help staring at the imposing Baroque facade of Monaco’s Oceanographic Museum. It loomed over us, almost blocking out the sun. I should have been sightseeing inside instead of skulking around with Emmett.

He guided me toward an outdoor elevator near the end of the building, his hand hovering near the small of my back. “This goes to the parking garage below, and it’s also the entrance to the Casino Rocher.”

As we stepped inside, a couple tried to follow us.

Emmett blocked their path.

“Sorry, private tour,” he said with a disarming smile, so smooth the couple smiled back instead of protesting. Once the doors closed, he punched in a combination of buttons. “Code for the casino level.”

“Why so secretive?”

Emmett’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “It’s an underground facility, and not just physically. They operate outside the law, but close to it.”

My stomach twisted. Were we criminals for going inside?

“Security’s tight. We’ll surrender our phones—they’ll be stored in Faraday bags. Empty pockets, purse search for you, metal detectors for both of us.”

“Seems excessive.”

Emmett shrugged. “It’s partially required for some of the clientele but mainly a marketing ploy. Like the Monte Carlo Casino, they play up the exclusivity. Dress code in the evenings, top-shelf alcohol, the works. It’s not actually a secret, though.”

The elevator stopped, doors opening into…

The only casinos I’d visited were the big one here and a few in Vegas. This room reminded me more of a private screening room at an airport than a casino lobby. I whispered, “This isn’t what I expected. There are no flashing lights.”

“Security first.” Emmett approached a burly man in a black suit, standing behind a long metal table. “No photos allowed inside. That’s why we go through the checkpoint before seeing anything.”

The guard placed two small trays on the table and said in a thick French accent, “Place all items in here, then proceed through the metal detector.”

Emmett emptied his pockets: watch, phone, wallet, and a white poker chip with a hole drilled through it. No gun. Did he leave it behind because of where we were going? Or did he only keep it on him at night? The security guard placed Emmett’s phone in a pouch, handing him a small chip in return. That must have been to track where Emmett’s phone was stored, since the security guy placed it into a slot behind himself.

As Emmett went through the detector, I surrendered my phone and let them search my purse. Another guard waved a wand over Emmett, pausing at his belt before waving him through.

Once we’d collected our belongings, I couldn’t help but ask, “What’s with the poker chip?”

Emmett’s hand closed around it possessively before tucking it into his left pocket. “Good luck charm.”

“Why the hole?”

“It’s from a game earlier this year. The hole prevents me from using it again.”

Did I see it right? Five thousand written on its face? “You didn’t cash it in?”

A muscle ticked in Emmett’s jaw. “Let’s head inside,” he said, steering me down a short hallway.

The passage opened into a breathtaking cavern. Natural stalactites and stalagmites rimmed the edges, while the main area gleamed with polished floors and sparkling chandeliers. Gaming tables, elegant bars, and patrons in designer clothes filled the space. Modern classical music drifted through the air, mingling with the soft clink of chips and the murmur of voices.

It was magical.

So magical, I could almost forget the insanity my life had become.

Almost.

Emmett nodded to a few dealers as we passed, but kept us moving. The ceilings rivaled the Monte Carlo Casino in height, but the atmosphere seemed more intimate, more exclusive. It didn’t smell like wet earth or stone, as I would have expected, but something richer. Like some combination of Emmett’s cologne and power. Wealth.

“Who are we meeting?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the growing knot in my stomach.

Emmett slowed near a blackjack table. “You know how to play?”

I glanced at the layout. “Face cards are ten, aces one or eleven, numbered cards their value. Beat the dealer to twenty-one without going over.”

Emmett withdrew his wallet, counting out a thousand euros in hundred-euro notes. “Table minimum is ten, maximum a thousand.”

The dealer exchanged his money for chips. The soft clatter as they hit the felt was oddly comforting. But I wouldn’t spend his money. “I have my own cash.”

“Business expense,” Emmett said without skipping a beat. “I need you here, but I also need to have a private conversation with someone.”

The words echoed Dante’s earlier excuse for taking me to dinner, setting off alarm bells in my head. Business expense. As though no one could simply enjoy my company.

Emmett reviewed a few more rules. “Bet before the cards are dealt. Dealer gets one up, one down. Use hand signals—flat hand to stay, tap for another card?—”

“Why hand signals?”

Emmett’s eyes flicked to a light fixture. “Cameras everywhere. They don’t record sound, but they track every move. If you like your cards and want to increase your bet, you can double down by matching your original wager.”

I watched the other players while Emmett detailed strategy, payouts, splits, and surrenders.

Surrender.

That should’ve been my word of the day. No more forged paintings, no more dead men rising from the grave, no more cloak and dagger.

“How long will you be?” I asked, trying to sound as neutral as he did.

“An hour or two.” Emmett flagged down a passing drink server. “Don’t bet too high, or you’ll burn through the chips. Just have fun and stay put.”

I frowned. “I thought you said I had to stay with you for the rest of my trip?”

Emmett’s expression tightened. “You’re safer here than almost anywhere in Monaco.”

“And you’re genuinely that worried about my safety?”

Scarlett’s warnings about Noah swirled around my mind. What had really happened when they found out he was alive? What did she mean when she said he wasn’t who we thought?

Emmett’s hand ghosted over my arm. “In general, yes. Scarlett’s got me paranoid. Our primary concern is that Noah and his team are also after the scarab. We need to get it first.”

“What if they win the auction?”

Emmett’s smirk was pure ego. “No one gets the better of me.”

There was the Emmett I knew. Where had he been hiding?

He leaned close, his lips brushing my cheek as he whispered, “One more thing. Your name is Krista Stone, and you’re my wife. Got it?”

I pulled back. “Wife?”

He moved in again. “And I’m Reginald Stone.”

Stone. The alias he used with the De Rosas. “Reginald?”

“And Krista. With a K.”

His cologne enveloped me, dark and dangerous. He’d warned me about Dante, but here he was, asking me to play pretend. Why all the deception? Why the games?

“I like to stay anonymous in places like this, so that’s how anyone would know me here.” He gave me a peck on the cheek, sending heat blooming through my chest.

My mind flashed to the early hours of this morning, when he’d held me through my terror. When I’d almost believed he wanted me the way I wanted him. Before I learned the truth about Wheatfield . Before Noah. Before realizing my best friend and her family had lied to me for years.

“Have fun, honey.” Emmett winked at me, sending a fresh wave of heat through my body. He paid the drink server with another hundred, told her to take care of me, and then he was gone, sauntering away with his infuriating confidence.

He disappeared into the crowd, and I tried summoning anger over his betrayal. Instead, all I saw was the swagger that had always drawn me to him.

With a sigh, I sat and placed my first bet. The hands flew by in a blur as I lost myself in the opulent surroundings, barely paying attention to the cards. Emmett’s strategy lecture went out the window, and I lost hand after hand.

I made small talk with a German couple next to me, who were celebrating their thirtieth anniversary. They’d been married as long as I’d been alive. Five kids. Twelve grandkids.

And what did I have?

A string of broken hearts. A cheating ex.

I placed another bet, thinking of the gorgeous Italian who should’ve been a fun distraction—until I learned he was likely a criminal and working with a man I’d thought was dead.

The worst part? I’d liked Noah. I’d thought he was good for Scarlett.

How had my judgment in men gotten this bad? How had it gotten even worse since leaving Simon, the cheating asshole?

I skipped a hand, lost in thought.

A new player joined our table. Middle-aged and soft around the middle, but impeccably dressed in what had to be a bespoke suit. His eyes raked over me like I was on the menu. “Just decorating the table, beautiful?”

Seriously? I was still in the work clothes I’d worn to the gallery—nothing spectacular, and certainly not an invitation.

“Waiting for my husband,” I said coolly.

He leaned on the table. “How long’s he going to be?”

I was supposed to wait here, but suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere else. I stared at my chip stack. If I lost it all, I’d have an excuse to find Emmett. He’d probably lecture me about staying put, but at least I’d be away from Mr. Bespoke’s leering.

I glanced around. No sign of Emmett.

“This is my last hand,” I announced, shoving all my chips forward. Business expense this, Emmett.

The dealer slid me a jack. Ten to her nine. As she delivered cards to the other players, I considered my face card. Emmett had once told me the jack was originally called the knave. The trickster. Dishonest. Untrustworthy.

Was that Emmett?

My next card was a seven. I was supposed to stand on seventeen.

Standing was the safe play.

But hadn’t I come to Monaco for an adventure? To break free?

Screw it. I could make one decision for myself.

Even if it was colossally stupid.

If I won… I looked out at the glittering casino. At the chandeliers, the flashing lights, the sounds of triumph and despair. Emmett, handsome in his pale gray suit, acting like he was born for this world, was nowhere to be seen.

If I won, I was taking control.

I’d order room service and make my move tonight, long before bedtime. Eliminate all his excuses.

And if I lost? Well, I’d just be continuing my current streak, wouldn’t I?

The dealer’s attention turned to me. I tapped the table.

She hesitated. “You have seventeen, madame. Normally, you want to stay on seventeen.”

I muttered, “I’m tired of staying when I’m told to.”

“Anything above four will bust.” She held my gaze a beat longer.

I tapped again.

And wouldn’t you know it?

She dealt me a fucking five.