Deal with the Devil is the first book in The Forge Trilogy.

Chapter One

Forge

When a billionaire walks into a room, you feel it. Especially if you’re the billionaire.

I didn’t intend to be here tonight, but heads turn as I stride across the casino floor and try to block out the scent of tropical-perfumed air Jean Phillippe pumps into his jewel, La Reina de Ibiza.

They know my name. Know my profile. They think they know everything about me, but they don’t.

No one does.

They don’t know I’d rather be on the deck of one of my ships, at the mercy of the open ocean, instead of surrounded by flashing lights and grating chimes indicating someone just won or lost a fortune.

They’re here to gamble, and I’m here . . . I don’t know why the fuck I’m here. Call it curiosity. Call it a sixth sense. It doesn’t matter. All I know is that I don’t like it when someone tries to hide something from me.

Like this high-stakes game tonight.

Regardless of whether I’m in residence on my island, less than a mile away from Ibiza, Jean Phillippe sends me an invite to the private games. Always. He never misses an opportunity to bring more money into the casino’s bank. So why, of all the games played at these tables, would my old acquaintance neglect to invite me to this particular one?

Because somebody doesn’t want me here.

It won’t be the first time I’ve shown up where I wasn’t wanted. Luckily, I don’t give a fuck what people want.

Jean Phillippe isn’t stupid, and he knows he’s risking more than my money at his casino if he’s deliberately hiding something from me. My displeasure has made more than one man wish he were dead.

Ahead of me, the door to the private poker room closes an inch at a time. Once it’s closed, no more players can join the game.

I pick up my pace and the crowd parts, making way for me. I walk without seeing any of them. They’re merely a blur of dark suit jackets and snowy-white shirts, interspersed with splashes of color from the women and more daring men.

The slice of light spilling from the doorway narrows, and I clock the exact moment Jean Phillippe sees me. His grip tightens on the knob as his dark eyebrows shoot up toward his silvering hairline.

In a moment, he recovers his composure, pulling his shoulders back and stepping around the door. It continues inching closed behind him as he pastes a smile on his face like he’s happy to see the biggest whale ever to step foot in this casino.

The smile’s a lie, and we both know it.

“My friend! I didn’t think you were in town tonight. I would’ve—”

“Bullshit. You don’t want me here, and that tells me I need to be here. Don’t even think about closing that door.”

Jean Phillippe’s movements still, but he can’t control the emotions playing out across his features. His brown eyes widen as he drops the French accent he intensifies around new marks. “It’s not like that, Forge. You know I wouldn’t—”