Free The Price of Winning: London Calling Book Four by Kat Faitour

new opportunity in Monte Carlo.  
    Everyone else was familiar. Casinos experienced notorious turnovers in employment. The exclusivity and wealth of Club Hobart’s members provided more stability for staff. Plus, Natalie Enfeld did one hell of a job scouting the best talent and making sure they stayed once she found them.
    Sebastian headed up the stairs, his watchful gaze taking in the ornate walnut carvings and the crimson carpet running up the center of the steps. Everything was polished and spotless.  
    As it should be in a business of this caliber. Sebastian knew that in a place like Club Hobart, the devil was in the details.  
    He paused outside the closed door to his office, looking both ways down the hallway. It was still fairly quiet, the hour too early for serious gambling to have started. He inserted his key into the lock.
    Only in the past month or so had he taken to locking the door. Natalie used to come and go at will. But since she reunited with Dominic Martin, an Internet security expert and rumored hacker, Sebastian became more careful.
    It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. Quite the opposite, really. But he’d be lying if he said he was sure of Martin, despite the work he did for Angeline.
    Sebastian kept his distance. But Angeline provided periodic updates, and it was evident that Martin had quickly become a vital component to their operations.  
    Maybe someday he’d like the other man.
    Sebastian turned and shut the door behind him. Dominating the room was an antique mahogany partners desk with brass fittings. Taking a seat, he tossed his keys on the tooled leather top then bent down to access his safe. Sometime in the twentieth century a carpenter had removed two of the drawers to replace them with a cupboard space. The door used the fronts of the missing drawers so the desk retained its symmetry. In fact, with the false front, most people would never detect it had been altered.
    The piece would have been worth a mint except for the changes made to it. Sebastian couldn’t be bothered to care too much, since he had more use for the safe ensconced in the cupboard than for cash.  
    He swung the door open and reached inside to the miniature vault. It had the appearance of a plain metal box but was, in fact, made of heavy-duty steel and came equipped with a biometric scanner for access. Sebastian pressed his left index finger into the small indention on top of the safe. The door swung open to reveal its contents.
    Sebastian didn’t store things like money and valuables in his safe. His family’s wealth had afforded him a high degree of privilege his entire life. But the events of his childhood taught him that objects weren’t what needed protection in the world. People were.
    And, of course, there were no guns. No weapons of any kind.  
    Sebastian didn’t believe in guns. He didn’t need to.
    Instead there were files. Sturdy pressboard folders in blue, black, and gray, stacked according to color on top of opaque poly envelope files, which were neatly secured by elastic loops. On top of everything were two Moleskine notebooks, both black, but one faded and worn.  
    Sebastian chose the newer one and brought it out to rest on the desk. He flipped it open to where an attached ribbon bookmarked his last entry. Moving it aside, he read over his notes regarding his upcoming meeting with the Russians.
    They would arrive here, at Club Hobart, in late July. Both penthouse rooms would be prepared for a private poker tournament with a maximum of twenty invitees. The last thing Sebastian needed was to get careless with the guest list. It would be exclusively populated by moneyed and affluent businessmen, most based in Moscow and all Russian citizens.  
    They should see that as the defining commonality between them. If Sebastian made one mistake, invited the wrong person or too many, someone might see the other shared trait running through the group.
    All of them were involved in child trafficking, to some