2:13 AM. The Nevada desert was a sea of black, broken only by the harsh floodlights of The House's compound. Bill adjusted the cufflinks of his tailored suit—black onyx, specially designed to hide razor-thin lockpicks. The earpiece crackled to life. "Security just diverted to the main hall," Blake murmured. "Victoria took the bait. You're clear for entry." Bill exhaled. Showtime. He strode through the compound's gilded front doors like he owned the place, the scent of expensive cigars and desperation thick in the air. The high-stakes lounge was packed—men in tuxedos clutching sweating glasses of bourbon, women in sequined dresses leaning over roulette wheels with hungry eyes. And at the center of it all, Victoria sat at a diamond-shaped poker table, her blood-red nails tapping the felt. "Mr. Billions," she purred. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your nerve." Bill slid into the seat opposite her, flashing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Just wanted to give you t