Chapter 3
VINCENZO
Iadjust my cuff links and tug the crisp white ends of the dress shirt beneath my suit before taking the private elevator from my penthouse to the lower level of the DeLuca Casino and Hotel.
I walk off the elevator and down the red carpeted hall to the black double doors with a gold embossed sign saying Deluca X Club.
The guard has been one of our trusted soldiers for years.
He takes my invitation without looking at me or my masked face before waving me through.
We may be in disguise, but the people who know, know.
As evidenced by the barrage of unattached women who eye me from the booth just ahead.
I give them a gentle nod but keep moving.
The socialite princesses, all with their sights on one thing.
Money, power and more of both. Groomed by their families from a young age to match well.
The thought of being in someone’s sights makes me move quicker past their table and deeper into the club.
Across the room, I spot Mistress Valentina in a bright red dress that plunges right to her navel with her signature black laced-up boots.
Her eyes, adorned in a femininely ornate black and gold mask, light up when she sees me walk through the private door.
I close the distance between us taking in her sleek and sexy cane, her implement of choice I’m told, in one hand.
Our club manager taps my suit coat with the tip giving me a bright white smile framed in red lips. “You clean up very nice, Vincenzo. Anyone you wish to be paired with this evening?” she asks, referring to the abundance of women at the ready in any of our casinos and lower-level clubs.
I tap her very thin sleek mask, hardly a cover for her eyes at all. “No, just going to wander around and check things out. You’re not supposed to know who I am.”
She laughs. “Darling, I know who everyone is, it’s you who isn’t supposed to know who the others are and vice versa. Go play. Enjoy the freedom. It’s been far too long since you’ve been to the club my dear friend.”
“You’re dressed to the nines tonight, Valentina. Looking for the one?” I ask.
Valentina laughs, a deep throaty laugh that many swoon for I’m sure, I just don’t happen to be one of them. “Not in this lifetime, love. I’m a free spirit, coming and going as I want, no need to tie oneself down to a life of monotony. I’m afraid I would die of sheer boredom after a week.”
I smirk at the overtly dramatic Mistress of DeLuca X Club. “Truer words. Looks like your invitations have drawn a full house. And the money in the coffers come Monday will look great.”
Valentina arches a well-shaped brow. “Always about the bottom line. Go enjoy. I have work to do,” she says, using her hand to brush me away.
I leave her to the business of mingling with the elite, walking to the bar while mindfully scanning the bottles against the deep crimson back wall.
The horseshoe design of the black marble bar accommodates more seating, in close proximity to the booze usually equating to far more profits for the house, all while giving the staff a little more room behind the counter.
Space needed for critical things in this powerful underworld game we play and that no one else is privy to see.
Increasingly so with the war between the Rosellis, Gallinis, and Amortes in Jersey City spilling into the adjacent family turfs and signs of growing much worse in the near future.
The bartender doesn’t recognize me, and I’m not surprised.
It’s been far too long since I’ve been downstairs.
“Dalmar please.” It was probably a mistake to come.
Out of all the seemingly unattached females I’ve passed this evening, not one interested me enough to put in the time or energy to even broach a single conversation.
The young guy behind the bar pours the top shelf scotch kept on hand for our most exclusive customers, the ones who generally ask for Dalmar specifically.
I inhale the aroma before bringing it to my lips but a slight movement in the dimly lit room draws my attention to my left, causing my glass to stop midair on its way to my lips.
A dark-haired angel in a golden dress that sparkles floats gently across my path of vision, tentatively looking this way and that as though unsure of where to go or what to do. My eyes follow the sway of her behind, watching every single step and grace of her walk.
I set my drink on the bar and move slowly to the column close by, leaning against it as I watch the young woman who takes in the club as though seeing it for the very first time. My blood thrums with unprecedented desire for the figure waltzing across my club as though in a fantasy.
Her steps are slow, in no hurry to get anywhere as though drifting or searching, but then speed up as she sees shadows in the corner, as though something she desires has been found in the lower-level sex club.
I find her movements intriguing, and pure animalistic magnetism draws me to her, a chemical reaction to the other sex that is undeniably strong.
She moves slightly ahead, her long fitted gold gown glimmering, generating interest from several males along the way.
My jaw tightens in irritation, not wanting to disturb the young woman, but instead to watch her as though a doe in the forest and not just for the hunt but not wanting to share even a second of the show with the men in this room.
My breath catches as she turns. A woman with unmistakable dark brown eyes made pronounced by the woven golden colors of her mask, and that rich dark flowing hair, and body I dream about every night.
The one that was pressed against mine for so long the night I rescued her that I thought of taking her home to monitor her healing myself be damned the consequences or wrath of the Rosellis that would follow.
Anna Cassone … thought dead for almost six months but never once out of my mind.
It simply can’t be, but yet it’s undeniable.
I lean against one of the columns watching as the angel from my dreams continues to take in the atmosphere of the club.
Not much surprises me, but Anna Cassone being in my club, and very much alive, shocks the fuck out of me.
On instinct, my eyes scan the club looking for rivals, or fuckers from any other family in the area, because where Anna Cassone roams, more of those bastards are sure to start coming out of the woodwork if only to finish the job they so clearly did not.
Cashing in on a billion dollar reward the Gallinis put out on her head before we all got the message that she was dead is going to be very high on their priority list.
But clearly, she’s not. Anna Cassone is very much alive, looking like a glamour model who would be at home on any runway around the globe. I watch furtive glances and outright leers. A normal occurrence with such beauty in our midst, but it does not make me feel any easier.
A billion fucking dollars is a lot of damn temptation to put in front of someone, especially anyone in a crime family who wants to turn an easy buck, and as a bonus get in good with a family like the Gallinis.