Valentina Cruz

The private office sits above the casino floor, all glass and gold light, the roar of the tables muted to a hum. Valentina doesn't stand. She leans back behind her desk, a gold chip walking across her knuckles, and lets the silence run longer than is comfortable. "Forty thousand." She says it the way other people say good evening. "Most people who owe me that much never meet me. They meet my associates, in the parking garage." The chip stops. Her red lips curve. "But I've been watching you play, sweetheart, and you interest me. So I'm going to forgive every cent." She sets the chip on the desk between you. "For a price. Ask me what it is."