Page 4 of Maximum Bet

I follow behind Sadie as she hooks her arm through Lucas’s, and he steers her toward a broad, curving staircase. His boyish charm enraptures my friend as a loving smile graces his features. His dark eyes, nearly the same deep brown as his hair, fixate on her as if nothing else in the world matters. I won’t be surprised if they’re the next in our social circle to announce an engagement.

As I reach for the railing of the staircase, warmth travels up my spine, causing me to shiver in pleasure. The scent of cologne—citrus and musk—envelops me before I feel a soft breath caress my cheek.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Dominic places his hand possessively around my belly as he pulls me backward against his solid torso. I melt into him, thrilled at our connection.

“Do you think our wedding will be half as beautiful as this?” I ask, reveling in the kiss he places against my head.

He chuckles, his chest vibrating. “It will be this and more. Come on, there are a few people you need to meet.”

Linking his hand with mine, Dominic leads me down the stairs and into a spacious veranda set up with standing tables overlooking the greenery of the golf course. The wedding guests meander between the exterior space and a ballroom, the doors wide open, allowing traffic to flow.

Buffet tables full of gourmet hors d’oeuvres line one side of the veranda, while an open bar occupies the other.

At the bar, Dominic orders me a glass of champagne and himself a scotch. With drinks in hand, we mingle, starting our greetings with familiar faces.

Dominic first shakes hands with two of his higher-up security associates. Lorenzo and Dante have been with the Romano-Tariello family for years; they’re loyal to the death. It wasLorenzo who recently helped Marco recruit and train a new army of soldiers for the syndicate. If anyone other than Dominic knows where bodies are hidden, these two would be some of the first to ask.

The men compliment my dress. Lorenzo tells me I look radiant before we move on. Next, Dominic pulls me into a conversation with the wife of a Nevada state assemblyman. Political allies are a must in Dominic’s world, so I smile widely and listen to her story about finding a babysitter for her two toddlers.

As Dominic wraps up the conversation, his hand settles on the small of my back. He leans close as he steers me toward the ballroom. “The next couple won’t be as welcoming,” he warns. “Jorge Santos and I have a tumultuous partnership. We have one mutual goal, which keeps us allies, but our businesses differ greatly from there.”

Weary with Dominic’s warning, I straighten my spine and school my features as we approach a stout, middle-aged Cuban man and his wife. She’s older than I am, but her designer dress is just as eye-catching as mine. Judging by the tight pull of her skin and unnatural plumpness of her lips, she must have her plastic surgeon on speed dial.

“Jorge and Alegria, thank you for coming.” Dominic steps forward, shaking hands with the man and exchanging an air kiss with his wife.

“How could we miss your brother’s wedding?” Jorge Santos asks, clapping Dominic on the shoulder. “It’s the event of the year. Although I hear nuptials are in store for you soon. Perhaps you’ll surpass the grandeur.” He waves his arm to indicate the luxury surrounding us.

“Yes.” Dominic smiles politely before turning to me. “Let me introduce my soon-to-be bride, Cassandra.”

I take my cue, stepping forward for introductions. I follow Dominic’s lead with handshaking and air kisses.

Jorge’s expression shifts, and tension slips into his tone as he addresses Dominic. “So, Tariello, a friend told me you were recently in Miami.”

I don’t miss the slight tick in Dominic’s jaw as his features darken, his persona switching from pleasure to business. “A quick trip. I apologize for not reaching out.”

“Yet you want a meeting tomorrow?”

This isn’t a conversation meant for wives. While Dominic will tell me more later if I ask, right now it’s my turn to be a distraction. “I love your earrings.” I turn to Alegria, touching my own ear to pull her eyes from the men.

“Oh, thank you.” She knows her part and gives me a cordial smile. “They’re Cartier. My favorite.”

“I love their collection this year.” I bullshit. Despite my ability to use Dominic’s black AmEx, I rarely make extravagant purchases. The starving artist in me can’t wrap my mind around having tens of thousands of dollars hanging from my earlobes.

“We can discuss it tomorrow.” Dominic’s cutting words earn a glare from Jorge, but their murmured discussion halts, and with a chorus of “Nice to see you,” we depart.

“You’ll tell me later?” I ask, fitting into my fiancé’s side. His form is rigid as if ready for a fight. I rub my hand along his chest, willing him to relax.

He nods. It’s enough of an answer for now.

From the opposite side of the ballroom, across a dance floor, a group breaks into laughter. Dominic relaxes as we make our way toward them—the safest people in the room.

Vincent and Cecilia Tariello look every bit the proud parents of the groom.

In his tuxedo, with the salt-and-peppered sides of his dark hair, Vincent’s charm radiates. Still a powerful player in the family, he runs two of the hotels handed down by his father-in-law, Dominic’s grandfather, Roberto Romano. It was Vincent who took over the Romano family’s Las Vegas arm before passing it to Dominic.

Vincent’s forest-green eyes crinkle at the sides as he laughs. Unlike Jorge Santos, the years have been good for Vincent. He has the kind of handsome appeal you would find on the cover of an age-gap romance novel. Cecilia presses herself into his side. Her caramel-toned curls are pinned with diamond clips, giving off an old-Hollywood vibe. She’s in a floor-length, gold gown that highlights her hazel eyes. She’s poised and beautiful, a perfect role model for a Mafia wife.