Page 80 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

THE QUEEN'S GAMBIT

~RED~

L uca stands in the doorway like he owns the place, that practiced swagger only slightly diminished by the late hour and hospital setting.

His designer clothes look out of place against the sterile white walls—probably a thousand-dollar shirt to visit someone in a hospital at midnight.

The man has never met a situation he couldn't overdress for.

"Get to the point," he says, closing the door behind him with deliberate care. "I don't want to be roped into something I actually wasn't involved in."

I smirk, setting my phone aside with theatrical precision. "Oh, I know you weren't involved per se. But you arrived, didn't you?"

"I arrived because you somehow managed to get my number and called me." His green eyes narrow with suspicion. "At midnight. From a hospital bed. After nearly dying in a fire."

"Yeah, well," I shrug, enjoying the way his jaw tightens with irritation. "It's pretty easy to get anyone's info in small towns. Especially when you're constantly flaunting your presence like a peacock in mating season."

He scoffs, already turning toward the door. "If that's the only reason you called me, then don't waste my time. I have better things to do than?—"

"You're the one who told Marnay where Rafe's ranch was, weren't you?"

The words stop him mid-step. His shoulders tense, just slightly, but he doesn't turn around immediately. When he does, his expression is carefully neutral—the poker face of someone who's been caught but isn't ready to fold.

"He asked for the information when he was in town," Luca says with a casual shrug that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Easy enough to provide. Public records and all that."

"Right," I agree, letting the word draw out. "Which means he wanted to do business. And I guess it didn't go well since you pulled away and didn't pursue whatever deal you two were cooking up."

His silence speaks volumes. I can see him calculating, trying to figure out how much I know versus how much I'm guessing.

"You did try though," I continue, watching his face carefully. "But there was nothing you could offer him that he wanted. Except..." I pause for effect, "you did have something to offer. You requested me specifically. That's why the offer was triple—three hundred million."

When he doesn't immediately deny it, I bob my head with satisfaction.

"It's actually brilliant when you think about it.

Marnay shows up wanting triple my cost, which only makes sense if someone else was bankrolling it.

And you're not the type to just double the price—you're an overachiever.

You'd triple it because you want the world to know who paid for an omega at three hundred million. The man who outbid the Lucky Ace pack."

"If that's all you wanted to know," he says, voice clipped with barely contained annoyance, "you got your answer. So I'm leaving."

He's halfway to the door when I ask, casual as discussing the weather, "How's Sophia doing?"

The transformation is instantaneous. He freezes completely, every muscle locked in place like I've just pulled a gun. When he turns back slowly, his face has gone pale under the hospital's fluorescent lights.

"What?" The word comes out strangled.

I sigh with theatrical weariness, reaching into the nightstand drawer where I'd carefully placed the book earlier.

The one I'd grabbed from the shrine, the one that fell open to reveal not pages but hidden letters.

Letters in handwriting I recognized from the library books—all those margin notes Rafe thought were from years ago.

I flip to a passage I'd marked earlier, one that had made everything click into place.

"Listen to this," I say, affecting the tone of someone at a book club.

"'The omega fought against her nature, torn between two alphas who claimed to love her but only loved the idea of her.

In the end, she realized the only escape was the ultimate one—to perish in their eyes, to become a ghost they could mourn instead of a woman they could cage. '"

I look up at him over the book. "Wow. How liberating. Tragic, really. The perfect way to set up one's death—suicide by nature, of course. No foul play involved, no body to examine, just a grieving pack and a best friend who happens to inherit enough to disappear."

His face is completely expressionless now, but I can see the pulse jumping in his throat.

"And then," I continue conversationally, "whisked away to another country. Maybe somewhere warm? Europe's nice this time of year. Become a bestselling author under a pen name, making millions for her alpha savior to blow on the slots. Or, in this case, on other omegas he thinks are more valuable."

I set the book down carefully, meeting his gaze directly.

"It would be such a shame for her to find out you're practically cheating on her with her own money.

The money you flaunt in this world, knowing she can't really watch your activities because she's hiding.

Unable to reveal she's alive and well without facing consequences for fraud, emotional distress, probably a few other charges. "

The silence stretches between us like a taut wire.

"So isolating when you think about it," I muse. "But that's the happily ever after she wanted, right? Freedom from the pack that supposedly didn't understand her, with the one alpha who did?"

He crosses the room in three quick strides, stopping just short of my bed. His eyes are blazing with a mixture of rage and something that might be fear.

"You really are a cunning bitch," he mutters. "Just like Marnay said."

I smirk, not backing down despite the way he looms over me. "Well, he did say I had loads of potential. Shame he never got to see it fully realized."

"What do you want?" The question comes out through gritted teeth.

"Simple," I say, examining my nails with affected casualness. "A single opportunity. That, and you never bother Rafe or the pack again. Leave Jackknife Ridge, go back to your sweet multimillionaire omega, and live the life you always wanted with her. Away from our peaceful oasis."

I can see him wanting to argue, to deny everything, but we both know I'm right. The photo from the shrine—those distinctive eyes I couldn't place. They were familiar because I'd seen them recently, just slightly different. Colored contacts maybe, or just the similarity that comes from family.

Because Sophia isn't dead. She's very much alive, probably living under a new name with Luca, who helped her fake her death in exchange for being her savior. The ultimate manipulation—traumatize a pack, inherit money, disappear into a new life.

"You can't prove anything," he says, but there's no conviction in it.

"I don't need to prove it to authorities," I point out. "I just need to prove it to Rafe. To the pack. Think about what they'd do if they knew she was alive. That all their grief, their guilt, their broken brotherhood—it was all based on a lie."

His jaw clenches. We both know what would happen. The Lucky Ace pack didn't become feared in Chicago by being forgiving.

"Fine," he whispers, the word dragged from him like pulling teeth. "What's this opportunity you want?"

I grin, and it's not a nice expression. "Oh, now we're talking business. Sit down, Luca. Get comfortable. But first—" I make a show of checking him for recording devices, patting his pockets with mock concern. "Can't have you recording me or anything. This conversation never happened, understand?"

He nods stiffly, pulling the visitor's chair closer but sitting like he might need to bolt at any moment.

"Here's what's going to happen," I begin, my voice dropping to something low and dangerous. "Marnay thinks he's untouchable because he has connections, money, and a complete lack of moral boundaries. But everyone has pressure points. Everyone has something they can't afford to lose."

"And you know his?" Luca asks skeptically.

"I know enough," I confirm. "Three years in that place, you learn things. You hear things. Powerful men get careless around omegas they think are just decoration."

I lean forward slightly, despite the pull of my IV.

"Marnay has a shipment coming in next week. Not drugs—too traceable. Not guns—too regulated. Something much more valuable and much more damaging if it were to be... intercepted."

Luca's eyes sharpen with interest despite himself. "What kind of shipment?"

"The kind that involves documentation. Contracts.

Proof of which government officials have been taking bribes, which judges have been bought, which cops have been covering up crimes.

" I smile coldly. "His insurance policy, basically.

Keeps everyone in line because mutually assured destruction is a hell of a motivator. "

"And you want me to what? Steal it?"

"Oh no," I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "You're going to buy it. Legitimately. Outbid everyone else at his little auction. And then you're going to turn it over to some very interested federal agents who've been trying to nail Marnay for years."

He stares at me. "That's insane. He'd know it was me. He'd?—"

"He'd assume you're trying to take over his territory. Alpha posturing, the usual. By the time he figures out your real plan, it'll be too late. The feds will have everything they need, and Marnay will be too busy trying to stay out of prison to worry about revenge."

"And if he doesn't go to prison?"

"Then he'll be too busy trying to survive all the people he's been blackmailing who suddenly don't have swords hanging over their heads," I point out. "Either way, he won't be our problem anymore."

Luca is quiet for a long moment, processing the plan. I can see him working through the angles, the risks, the potential benefits.

"Why should I trust you?" he finally asks.

"Because I have just as much to lose as you do if this goes wrong," I say simply. "And because despite everything, I think some part of you actually did care about Rafe once. Before Sophia, before the jealousy and competition. You were brothers."

Something flickers in his eyes—regret maybe, or just nostalgia for simpler times.

"This makes us even," he says finally. "You don't reveal the truth about Sophia, I handle Marnay, and then I disappear. We never speak again."

"Deal," I agree immediately. "Though you might want to have a conversation with your omega about maybe not publishing any more books that could be traced back to her supposed death. The prose style is very distinctive."

He stands abruptly, clearly done with this conversation. "The auction is Tuesday. I'll need details."

"You'll get them," I promise. "Poppy will drop off a package at your apartment tomorrow. Everything you need to know, including which federal agent to contact when you have the documents."

He heads for the door but pauses with his hand on the handle.

"How did you figure it out? About Sophia?"

I consider lying, but decide on the truth.

"The book in the shrine. It was hollowed out, full of letters.

Recent letters, postmarked from Europe. All in her handwriting, all addressed to 'My Savior.

'" I shrug. "Plus the photo. Those eyes are distinctive, and I'd seen them recently.

Just took me a while to place where—in the mirror of your apartment's lobby when I was leaving that poker game months ago.

A woman with dark hair instead of blonde, different makeup, but the same eyes. "

"You saw her once, months ago, in a mirror, and remembered?"

"I survived three years in hell by noticing details that didn't fit," I tell him. "It's a hard habit to break."

He nods slowly, something like respect flickering across his features. "Rafe's lucky to have you."

"They all are," I correct. "Just like Sophia's lucky to have you, even if you're both terrible people who traumatized an entire pack for money and freedom."

"We all do what we have to for survival," he says quietly.

"No," I shake my head. "We all make choices. Some of us just make better ones than others."

He leaves without another word, the door closing with a soft click that sounds like finality.

I sink back into the hospital pillows, exhaustion hitting me all at once. The game is in motion now. Luca will handle Marnay because he has no choice—I hold the truth that could destroy him. Marnay will fall because his hubris makes him believe he's untouchable. And my pack will be safe.

My phone buzzes with a message from the group chat.

Shiloh : You okay? Thought I heard voices Red : All good. Nurse just checking vitals Talon : At midnight? Red : Dedicated healthcare professionals Corwin : That's suspicious timing Red : You're all paranoid. Go to sleep! Rafe : Says the woman playing candy crush at midnight

I smile at the normalcy of it, at these men who have no idea I just orchestrated the downfall of two enemies in one conversation. They'll never need to know about Sophia being alive—that would only hurt them more. They'll never know about the deal with Luca, the federal agents, any of it.

Sometimes protecting the people you love means carrying secrets they're better off not knowing.

My phone buzzes again, this time a text from an unknown number.

Unknown : Tuesday. I'll need those details by Monday night.

Red : You'll have them

Unknown : If this goes wrong, we all burn

Red : Then let's make sure it doesn't

I delete the conversation, then open Candy Crush.

Level 347 is still mocking me, but I have a new appreciation for strategic gameplay.

After all, revenge is just another game of moving pieces into the right position at the right time. And this particular game?

It's about to be sweet like whiskey.

Which is funny because whiskey isn’t the slightest bit sweet.