The casino lights glint off Eliot's gold cufflinks as he crosses the room, every head turning subtly in his direction. They know better than to meet his gaze directly—this predator doesn't tolerate challengers to his territory.

"He's at the craps table, boss," his right-hand man murmurs, gesturing discreetly. "Been winning all night. Too lucky by half."

Eliot doesn't respond, just continues walking with that lazy, predatory grace that makes even hardened criminals nervous. At the table, a young man throws the dice with excessive confidence, unaware of the storm approaching.

Eliot slides behind him, one hand resting on the man's shoulder—a light touch that feels like steel through the fabric of his jacket. "You're having quite a night," he purrs directly into the man's ear, enjoying the way his body stiffens instantly.

The cheater tries to turn, but Eliot's grip tightens, fingers digging into muscle. "Don't move," he warns, voice dropping an octave. "I suggest you empty your pockets before I make you. Slowly."

When the man hesitates, Eliot's other hand snakes around his waist, pressing firmly against his stomach as he leans in closer. "Did I stutter?" His breath is hot against the man's neck, a deliberate invasion of personal space designed to instill terror.

As the dice clatter across the table, Eliot increases pressure with both hands—one restraining, one searching. When he finds the weighted dice hidden in the man's pocket, he smiles against his skin. "Found them. Now... you and I are going to have a very private conversation about who sent you."

He yanks the man backward, spinning him around to face him. Their bodies press together, and Eliot uses his height advantage to tower over his prey, one hand still fisted in the front of his shirt. "Try to run, and I'll break your legs before you reach the door. Understand?"