Page 29 of Maximum Bet

Chapter 12

Cassandra

Itake a deep breath, set my shoulders, and plaster on my best show smile. Dominic places his hand over mine at the crook of his elbow. In his tuxedo, with his hair tamed and slicked back, he looks every bit the successful Las Vegas entrepreneur the world thinks he is.

A valet opens a gold-trimmed glass door as Dominic and I scale the short staircase leading into Pharaoh’s Temple. When we enter the lobby, the pleasant scent of lilies and lemon verbena wafts through the air. The freshener pumping through the casino is meant to keep gamblers engaged.

The entire space mimics a North African palace, with columns framing the check-in desks and the walkway leading to the casino. Hieroglyphics decorate a tiered ceiling. Wooden couches with plush white cushions and gold-threaded pillows give guests a place to relax and enjoy the atmosphere. Strategically placed palms give the illusion of privacy.

“Oh, my God, it’s beautiful,” I murmur, squeezing Dominic’s arm.

“Natalie outdid herself.” He grins, pleased with the result of years of work.

“I hope you plan to give her a raise.”

Dominic barks out a laugh, leading me toward the casino. “Trust me, she is being paid generously.”

Unlike at Il Palazzo, the pathway into the casino leads to gaming tables rather than slot machines—blackjack to the right, Roulette to the left. Dominic’s theory is that they can urge gamblers to hit the games that make the casino the most money if they’re the first things guests see.

A few people sprinkle the casino floor: gala attendants dressed in formal wear, sipping on wine or spirits and enjoying every moment of their preview of the hottest new hotel in town. Staff scurries around, providing the best possible service during the soft opening. A fresh set of security guards patrols the floor, most of whom are new Romano-Tariello recruits on their first assignment.

Guiding me between game tables, Dominic murmurs that there’s a guest he’d like me to meet.

Speaking to a woman in a midnight-blue, floor-length dress, the man we walk toward sips on an old fashioned, then laughs heartily. He’s average height, with a runner’s build, glasses, and dirty blond hair, graying at the sides. When he spots Dominic, his grin widens, and he excuses himself from the brunette.

“Dominic, the place is fantastic.” The man reaches out, shaking Dominic’s hand.

“I’m pleased with it myself.” Placing a hand on the small of my back, Dominic glances at me with a smile. “Ezra, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Cassandra Bain.”

“Cassandra, I’ve heard so much about you. Ezra Kaplan.”

It’s my turn to shake hands as I respond with, “Nice to meet you.”

“Ezra is a real estate developer,” Dominic says. “The community across the golf course where Marco’s wedding was held is his.”

My interest piqued, I turn to Ezra. “The community with the Mediterranean style architecture and the large lots?”

“That’s the one.” He chuckles and sips his drink.

“Oh.” I sigh. “I fell in love with those the second I saw them.”

“As did half of Las Vegas,” Ezra says. “Nearly all the lots are sold.” He glances at Dominic, one of his brows quirking as if to boast his success.

I push off the disappointment that rushes over me. Fantasies of raising a family in one of the grand homes wash away. But, as expected, I smile at Ezra and congratulate him on his accomplishment.

“We’ll talk soon,” Dominic says, shaking Ezra’s hand. “You know I’m always interested in a good investment opportunity.”

We part ways and continue toward the ballroom—the epicenter of the party.

I gasp as the room comes into view. The first thing that catches my attention is the tall, recessed ceiling with warm lights glowing from the alcoves. A balcony wraps around three sides of the second floor. The sconces were painted to look like stone from ancient ruins. Winding staircases lead down from the second level to the main dining area. Curtains hang from the walls, with lighting rising from the floor, casting shadows and creating an intimate atmosphere.

“Oh, wow.” I release my breath on a sigh. “This couldn’t have turned out better.”

Dominic nods as he peruses his domain. “I couldn’t have asked for more.”

It’s not long before the greetings begin. Men in tuxedos and women in ball gowns wait patiently to meet Dominic andcongratulate him on his success. He introduces me to so many partygoers, my head spins, and I know I’ll never be able to keep them all straight. By the time Cecilia and Vincent approach, I’m beyond grateful to spot familiar faces.

“You did well,” Vincent says, clapping a hand on Dominic’s shoulder. “Your grandfather would be proud.”