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I can almost reach out and touch the history of this place even though I believe it is younger than I am. That’s the trouble with Vegas. It’s a land of smoke and mirrors, and this is just one example.
“Where are we?” My voice is laden with awe and the senator says with pride. “We are at the gala evening of one of the most powerful men in Vegas, Lucas Emiliano, aside.”
“The Casino King?”
He nods and then laughs. “Mind you, unlike Lucas, this man doesn’t follow the rules. It should make for an interesting evening.”
I fall silent because at the mention of the Casino King I realize just how powerful the senator is if he considers that man an associate.
Lucas Emiliano rules Vegas and is usually just a name that is whispered in hushed conversations around town. I was told he married last year and by all accounts is very happy. His wife Ella Emiliano is a good customer of the gallery, but I am never permitted to meet her. Desdemona prefers to deal with her account, but I have seen her and always thought how friendly she seems. Word on the street is she’s an amazing artist herself and obviously has an appreciation for it because she has bought an eye watering number of paintings from us, telling me that money is definitely no object to them.
“So, whose party is this?”
I’m curious because I have never heard of anyone as powerful as Lucas and the senator grins. “Domenico Ortega. He runs several Casinos in town…”
His voice trails off as I cease registering his words. I know that name and it only means one thing to me. Mafia.
My mind runs away from me as I suffer an anxiety attack that hasn’t hit me as hard since I came to Vegas. Not since I ran fromthem.
It’s like white noise all around me as I try to get my emotions under control. I thought I was done with that world. IprayedI was done with it, but tonight I will be breathing the same air as one of them. I may never have heard of the Ortega’s themselves, but I know their kind. Iamtheir kind and I’ve promised myself I will never glance back at a past I have tried to erase from my memory.
“Come my dear.”
An arm snakes around my waist, diverting my attention back to more imminent danger, and as his hand grasps my ass, he winks suggestively. “You know the score. Don’t let me down.”
I am on information overload so don’t react and he obviously takes that as an encouraging sign because he leans in and his stale breath hits my face as he whispers, “Perhaps we can indulge in a group session. There’s always one at these events somewhere. I’ll make some enquiries.”
The horror must show on my face because he grins, “Don’t worry, I’ll look after you and guide you through the most amazing night of your life.”
He squeezes my ass hard, which jolts me into action and, tearing myself away from him, I say in a high voice, “Can we go inside? I’m cold.”
He nods, obviously taking my enthusiasm for getting inside as keenness to get started and he nods, a pompous smile gracing his lips as he guides me through the huge portico into a wood paneled hallway that has stepped straight from an episode of The Crown.
We are greeted by a freaking butler who almost bows to the senator and says politely, “Good evening, sir. Allow me to escort you to the ballroom.”
Senator Billings reaches for my arm, and I grit my teeth as I follow by his side, vowing to type up my resume first thing tomorrow morning because, obviously after tonight, I am going to need a new job.
CHAPTER2
DOM
As I glance out of the darkened window, I note the headlights of a procession of limos snaking up my drive and sigh inside.
I hate this.
I detest the people who flock to my home intent on a night of debauchery, fine living and a conversation at a future dining table about how well they know me.
I hate this shit.
The amber liquid in the glass catches the light and it deserves its title as the demon drink. It could almost be the flickering flames from hell dancing in the glass, and the burn is every bit as brutal as it slides down my throat.
I will need at least ten of these to get me through another excruciating evening in the company of people I don’t give a shit about. In fact, I don’t believe there is anybody alive that Idogive a shit about—not anymore.
A gentle knock on the huge oak door makes me turn.
“Come in.”
My voice sounds weary, defeated already and I pray I’m only required to make an appearance for one hour at the most before I retreat back here, possibly with a willing companion to suck my cock.
