Page 4 of Ace of Hearts

“It’s easy to work out a person’s chances when you really think about it. I’d say you’ve got about ... a fifty-two percent chance of winning the pot.”

“Is that all?”

“Those are pretty good odds.”

True. What a strange young woman.

“Why have you bet everything if you’ve only got a forty-eight percent chance of winning?”

“More like forty-five, I’d say,” she corrects me. “Counting the split. As for your question, the round isn’t finished. I’m putting my trust in destiny or science, whichever answers my prayers first.”

Destiny or science . I frown and glance once more at my hand before going all in too. There’s no way I’m going to fold. I have to admit, I’m burning with curiosity to see what she’s going to come up with. I almost want her to win, if I’m being honest.

The croupier turns over an eight of hearts. Good news for me. There’s a good chance I’ll win with a hand like that. I allow myself a quick glance in her direction, but she doesn’t react.

“So? What’s my percentage now?” I joke as the croupier prepares to reveal the next card.

She takes her time replying, her hands folded on the table.

“I’d say . . . about seventy-three?”

I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “That’s high. Do you still think you’re going to win?”

“Why not?” she says with an enigmatic smile. Suddenly, without taking her eyes from mine, she very discreetly lifts up the edges of her cards. I look down instinctively. She’s deliberately showing me her hand, right in front of everyone!

An ace and a two of diamonds.

What’s she up to? I look back at her, intrigued. I run through all the possible card combinations and all the scenarios that could give her a win.

“It would take a miracle,” I say.

She just shrugs. We both focus silently on the center of the table. My heart beats faster as the croupier picks up the fateful card and turns it over.

A two of clubs.

My heart thuds when it hits me what she’s done. I can’t believe it. She’s won. She’s actually won. She’s gone from 27 percent to 100 with that one last card. She’s just won everything with one damn flush—again. It really is a miracle.

I can’t help but gaze at her in surprise and admiration. She just flashes me a teasing, triumphant smile and sweeps the chips into her bag.

I congratulate her with complete sincerity and then ask calmly, “How did you know?” I can’t help it. I want her to explain it to me. If she doesn’t, it’ll haunt me all night.

She hesitates a moment, then gives in. “I didn’t know , exactly. There’s no way to be absolutely sure. Let’s just say ... I had a feeling.”

I don’t believe that. It’s the second time she’s pulled off that kind of win.

I have nothing left, thanks to her. Unbelievable.

I want to ask her to wait while I withdraw some more money so we can play again .

.. and again and again, all night. But she closes her bag and says, “Thanks for the shoes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The ones I’m going to buy tomorrow with your money.”

I laugh and put my hands in my pockets. If only Thomas were here. He’d hate her, no doubt about it, but her barb would definitely make him laugh.

I check out the high heels she’s wearing now: black, classic. Or are they blue? Brown? I can’t say for certain. Strangely, I like the idea that she’s going to treat herself with my money. She deserves it. I let her run rings around me as if I were a beginner, and that doesn’t happen every day.

“I hope you’ll get the most expensive ones,” I say.

“I always do.”

She gets up and smooths her silk trousers. I stand, too, and I’m about to ask her to stay, or to have a drink, when we’re interrupted by two men in suits. Security guards. They come up and speak to her politely.

Seemingly unbothered by their sudden appearance, she tells them coolly that she doesn’t speak Mandarin. One of them takes a step toward her, looking very serious. He says in halting English, “I’m going to ask you kindly to leave.”

I frown. She asks why, still nonchalant. As though it’s not the first time this has happened to her.

“We’ve heard all about you, Ms. Alfieri. We don’t stand for tricks like yours at the Venetian.”

I look back at her, concealing my surprise. Is he saying she’s a cheat? And a well-known one, at that? I laugh, respecting her even more.

“Oh, I get it now! We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I.”

She glares furiously at me and tells the guards, “Counting the cards isn’t cheating. It isn’t illegal, last I checked. It’s not my fault I’m intelligent.”

Her answer stops me short. She counts cards? This information puts her in a new light. It’s true that counting the cards isn’t against the rules. It’s just very much frowned upon. And not many people can do it, especially in poker.

Of course, any self-respecting player calculates their chance of winning, but some extraordinary individuals, like this girl, take it even farther. A person has to be a mathematical genius to be able to weaponize counting the way she does.

“I’ll say it again. We don’t accept that method here. I’m going to have to show you to the exit.”

She rolls her eyes and says she can walk by herself. She winks at me, just like I winked at her earlier in the evening. I want to stop them, to say something, anything, to make it so she can keep playing.

But one of the men follows her, and before I can speak, it’s too late. She disappears through the huge doors and out of the room, her heels clicking quickly against the tiles.

I should go too. I have no money left to bet, anyway. Plus I need to tell Thomas what’s just happened. God knows I’ve already done everything I can to ensure I beat Tito this year. I promised myself: this time, I absolutely will not lose.

But maybe ... maybe I need a little bit more help to keep that promise. A secret weapon. A plan B.

A masterstroke.

“Excuse me!” I call the other security guard, a crazy idea springing into my mind. “What did you say the lady’s name was?”