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“Not tonight,” I say, my voice cool and confident. “Netflix is calling.”
Confusion flashes across his hard features, and I pray the comment slides me into the ditzy blond folder in his mind. I don’t get spooked often and respect when my survival meter pings and tells me to fold. “Have a good evening.”
The floor manager watches me closely as I stroll to the cage. His expression suggests I did the right thing by extricating myself from the table.
The only thing I love more than winning is living. And if I had continued to play withMr. Malevolence, the second might not be possible.
After I slip the receipt for my winnings into my purse, I turn and see the head of security.
“You made the right choice.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“No.” He adjusts his jacket, and I notice a black leather gun holster lying against his chest. “You’re clearly a contender.”
“And?”
“Not everyone is a gracious loser, and it’s best to avoid those who don’t play well with others.”
The corners of my mouth lift. “I appreciate the advice and will take it to heart.”
“Excellent.” He snaps his fingers, and a large man in a suit appears instantly. “Bobby is going to escort you to your car.”
“To what do I owe such excellent service?”
“Keeping our patrons alive is good for business.”
“Indeed.” I follow the hulk toward the door and know I’ve been given a warning I would be wise to heed.
CHAPTER TWO
Enzo
Being born into the Cosa Nostra guarantees there are few days when one’s mortality isn’t in question.
Today is no exception.
Not only do I have some euro trash brats to deal with, but I have to be on guard for the Cartels retaliating for bullshit the Pakhan stirred up.
So much for alliances. The one we forged with the Volkov Syndicate has yet to deliver any of the promised benefits, and the only thing holding hands with our old enemy has given us is more bodies to dispose of.
A situation that proves Papa was right when he said things always get bloody before they get better. Unfortunately…or fortunately, depending on your view, I’m the one tasked with ensuring blood isn’t spilled inside the crown jewel of the family empire.
The Encore Resort and Casino sits on the water’s edge and is meant to show the world that the Bianchis are successful, legitimate businessmen, not Sicilian kings of the underworld.
I say potato, potahto, but I’m fifth generation Cosa Nostra and have no illusions about what our lives entail.
Family first. Everyone else dead last.
Black and white. I don’t operate in gray when it comes to family or loyalty.
Which means I better move my ass and make sure things are running smoothly. I stride toward the roulette tables and hear glasses clinking and a low hum of excited chatter. The crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings throw patterns of light across the polished marble floors, and I know the wealth that flows freely within our walls could rival that of any good-sized nation.
The dealers nod respectfully in my direction, and I see my floor manager tilt his head in the direction of a table in the corner. Time to play nice with the people who keep federal prosecutors out of our yard.
I approach the secluded corner table, where a group of influential politicians and government officials sit, nursing their drinks, and hear the clink of ice against glass punctuating the air.
“Ah, Enzo, just the man we’ve been waiting for,” says Senator Carmichael, a silver-haired man with a reputation for ruthlessness in both his political and personal dealings. “Come, join us.”
