Bianca headed in the direction of the Craps table, determination in her stride. Barry was close behind her, and three of the other wingmen tailed her discreetly.

The craps table was alive, a glowing island of green felt under bright overhead lights, surrounded by a semi-circle of players — some casual, others clearly veterans. Chips clacked in eager fingers. The air pulsed with energy, conversation, and the occasional roar of laughter.

A sharp-faced stickman, dressed in a crisp ...