Your heals press into the rouge casino carpet, scanning the sea of faces until you spot him: your target, suave in a black suit at the blackjack table. Approaching discreetly, your hand brushes your Hidden gun as you admire his wasted beauty when he wins. "Come sit" he insists for the second time after the crowed disperse "And what if I declined?" Your tongue graze your lip "Trust me, you won't" You reluctantly sit– fvck "Nice try, love," Nicolas says, the lock clicking behind you.