16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Cassandra
I ’m insane.
Certifiable.
I should be institutionalized.
That’s the only rationale I have to explain my feelings for Dominic Tariello.
He’s the epitome of a bad choice. The type of man my parents warned me to stay away from. Although I think when my father told me to make better choices, he was referring to my high school boyfriend, who wore a leather jacket and rode a motorcycle, not the mob boss who fucked me so hard I could barely dance.
I’m in the dressing room after rehearsal, popping two more Advil because of the ache between my legs. High kicks and oversplits probably aren’t helping the problem, but sitting out practice due to a thorough fucking isn’t an option.
“ I know. It’s scary.” Whitney leans toward her mirror, wiping remnants from last night’s mascara off her lower lids. Her glitter-covered phone is glued to her ear. “I told my little sister to stay off The Strip at night. I heard the girl was from Baker. She ran away from home and ended up here. She was only sixteen.”
I linger as I change into a blue strapless sundress, listening to the story. Usually, I don’t pay much attention to the depressing Las Vegas news, but this morning, before Dominic left, he signed me up for another streaming service and flipped on the news as I made him breakfast. At the mention of a girl found murdered at a new boutique hotel right off The Strip, he had his phone in hand and was kissing me goodbye before I could finish scrambling his eggs.
“What was that about?” I ask Whitney as she drops her phone into her bag.
“Oh.” She flips a hair tie off her wrist and collects her newly bleached strands behind her head. “Did you hear the story about the girl that got murdered last night at The Oasis?”
Humming, I adjust my hem, feigning disinterest. “I think it was on the news this morning.”
“The poor thing was so young,” Whitney says, rechecking her reflection. “But you know what’s super crazy?” She pauses, adding a dramatic flair as she waits for me to beg for information.
I stop myself from rolling my eyes. I know she will tell me the rest of the story whether I play her game or not. “What’s crazy?”
“I heard from my friend who works there that they think she got murdered by the . . .” She glances around before whispering, “ Mafia .”
“Oh?” My voice cracks, and I have to break eye contact. I dig through my bag for something nonexistent to hide my shocked expression.
“Yeah. Apparently, she was a call girl or something. A couple of burly guys followed her into the casino and handed her off to a slimeball in an expensive suit. They all left together, and she was found behind a dumpster out back three hours later.”
I choke on the water I’ve pulled from my duffel. “ What? ”
“I know, horrible, right? They’re trying to find the guys, but the two that brought her in had hats on, so their faces weren’t visible in the security footage. I heard the man in the expensive suit already left town.” Whitney shrugs and pulls her backpack over her shoulder. “See you tonight.”
“Uh, yeah. Tonight,” I mumble as she walks off. My hands shake, and my pulse pounds in my ears as I zip my bag.
I curse myself for bringing wedge sandals as I make my way toward the employee halls. I’m unsteady on my feet, and my brain is spinning.
The Mafia?
As in the same organization Dominic runs?
I’m going to lose the eggs I ate for breakfast.
Why did Dominic rush off this morning after hearing about the murdered girl? Could the Romano syndicate have killed her?
No, they cannot be involved. They wouldn’t murder a child.
Right?
I’m supposed to go up to Dominic’s penthouse. He texted a few hours ago, apologizing for leaving quickly and promising to meet me for a late lunch. My stomach lurches, and the last thing I want is food, but I find my legs carrying me to his private elevators regardless.
As I round the slot machines near Dominic’s lobby, I find Lucas waiting, speaking into an earpiece, eyes focused on a blonde in a skintight black dress. “Yeah, Ruby’s back,” he says before spotting me and lifting a hand in greeting. “I’ll take care of it.” He lets go of the button on his communication device, his dimples popping as he grins my way .
“Hey, Cassandra. How was rehearsal?” Lucas’s boyish charm is difficult to ignore, and I give a weak smile and respond, “Hey.”
“Mr. Tariello left this for you.” A black and gold key card sits in his palm.
I take it, flipping it between my fingers as I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Um, do you know where he is? I’m supposed to meet him upstairs, but . . .”
Lucas’s focus flips between me and the blonde leaning against a machine, talking to a couple of guys in cargo shorts and university tees. “He had to run out this morning but should be back soon. Go ahead and go up. Make yourself comfortable.” Lucas’s head turns back toward the slots where the two guys are standing, flirting with the woman. “ Shit. Sorry, Cassandra, I’ve gotta deal with this.”
I’m left shifting from foot to foot, contemplating my next move as Lucas hooks the woman in the black dress by the elbow and apologizes to the two casino patrons for the interruption. Sighing, I decide I have too many questions to leave now. Plus, if I don’t show up in the penthouse, Dominic will track me down.
Slipping out of the casino, I make my way to Dominic’s elevator bank. I spend the ride to the twenty-sixth floor shifting my weight between my heels and desperately pushing away images of Dominic, hands covered in blood, while he instructs men to bury bodies in the desert.
I watch too much TV.
A chill runs along my spine as I tap the key card against the lock on Dominic’s penthouse. Every rational part of my mind tells me to hightail it back downstairs and out the front door, but another voice begs me to hear him out.
I drop my duffel next to the side table in the entranceway and then flip my phone between my hands, unsure of what to do next. The panel of expansive windows in Dominic’s living room that overlooks The Strip peeks at me from around the corner of the wall. Intrigued by his bird’s-eye view, I move toward the sight of the bustling city.
When I approach, I lift my palm to press against the reflective glass, but I think better of the act. Dirtying the flawless space with smeared fingerprints feels wrong, so I settle for leaning close and peering down.
Tourists and entertainers line The Strip. Women in feathered hats and costumes meant to replicate what I wear on stage lure the crowd in, taking pictures before demanding a tip for the photo. I laugh as a group of men struggle to find the cash the girls want. A collection of couples passes by with obnoxiously large neon drinks in hand. I can’t help the giggle that escapes as they stop to dance to what must be music filtering from a nearby bar.
“The best place to people-watch in Vegas.” Dominic’s smooth voice caresses my ear as his hands slip around my waist.
I jump, not having heard his entrance.
He’s lethal.
A man who hides behind his charms but possesses the skills of a killer. How many times has he surprised his targets by sneaking up on them?
I shiver and step away, brushing hair from my face. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“I just got back.” His brow raises at my response to his arrival, but he’s undeterred. He reaches for my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen. “Lunch was delivered earlier. It’s waiting for us.”
Humming, I follow along. In Dominic’s presence, my anxiety diminishes. But my questions remain .
On the marble counter of his kitchen island, we find trays of Italian dishes: Caesar salad, fresh bread with olive oil and vinegar, and a chicken piccata that has my mouth watering. My hunger kicks in full force as the twisting in my gut lessens.
“This looks amazing.” I help open the containers as he fetches plates from a cabinet.
Dominic grins, turning to the silverware drawer. “It’s from my Uncle Salvatore. He owns a restaurant off The Strip.”
I dip a piece of fluffy Italian bread into the spiced olive oil and bite in gratefully. The moan I release has Dominic smirking as he serves himself salad. “Your uncle knows what he’s doing. How can bread be this good?”
“It’s made fresh every morning. Here . . .” He passes me an already full plate and nods toward the table. He retrieves water bottles from the fridge while I grab the bread and oil. I will have to add extra workouts if this is how Dominic plans on feeding me. God knows my corsets and bodysuits are unforgiving.
We sit in silence as we enjoy our food. I have the fleeting thought that I need to meet Uncle Salvatore and see if he’ll give me some advice for my cooking. But Dominic and I aren’t at the “meeting the family” point yet. Are we?
I picture myself meeting the refined Tariello family—them masquerading as blue-blooded philanthropists and me a simple showgirl. Dominic, meeting my parents—meeting my father, the federal agent.
Shit.
“You left quickly this morning,” I say after sipping on my water, all my questions from earlier reappearing at the thought of my father. For some reason, I had begun to convince myself that Dominic wasn’t the villain and had to be the good guy in some twisted way. But if he’s involved in that girl’s death . . .
“Yeah. Um, work,” Dominic mutters through a mouthful before swallowing. His eyes dart to mine briefly before dropping back to his plate. “Unfortunately, that happens a lot.”
I nod, my throat constricting. I try to soothe it with more of the cool water. “Did you hear what happened at The Oasis last night?”
His fork pauses mid-stab, hovering over a piece of chicken. His jaw ticks, but his expression is otherwise unreadable. “I heard something.”
“A girl was murdered there.”
I have his attention. The intensity of his stare accentuates the dark greens in his eyes. “That’s what they say.”
“Dominic . . .”
“Cassandra . . .” He shakes his head. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” His voice drops in warning, and my heart sinks with it.
“So you—the Romanos— you killed her?” The word slips out of me in a whisper, as if it won’t be true if no one hears me.
“We . . . what ? Jesus, Cassandra!” His fork drops to his plate as his hand tugs through his hair. “You think we’d off a teenage girl?”
“I don’t know,” I stammer. “You ran out the door this morning after the news played that story. What was I supposed to think?”
“Not that I was fucking deranged,” he scoffs. “Look, I have my demons, trust me.” His pointed glare has me chewing on my lip. Yes, I’ve seen hints of his demons . “But never, not once, have I, or anyone in my family, considered hurting an innocent girl.”
My eyelids slip closed in relief as I sink into my chair. “Then why did you rush away?”
“Because I’m trying to stop the people willing to commit such a heinous act. ”
“Oh.” Once again, my head fills with the notion that Dominic is a twisted hero, flawed as he may be.
“I’m not the good guy, Cassandra.” He shakes his head, fingers drumming on the table. “I don’t want you thinking that.” I blush and drop my gaze, caught. “My rap sheet is long, but there are certain things I won’t stand for, and trafficking young girls into a world of violence and sex is one of them.”
“That girl was trafficked?” I gasp.
He nods. “Ran away from home and probably met up with the wrong guy. They had her held captive and sold her to the highest bidder. I tried to track down the man who bought her this morning.”
Goose bumps break out across my skin as I consider his admission. “What would you have done if you caught him?”
Dominic snorts and raises a brow. “You done with your plate?” He stands, reaching across the table and relieving me of my leftovers.
“Dominic.”
Placing the dishes by the sink, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When they open, his haunted gaze has my pulse tapping a staccato rhythm. “I would have tortured him to get answers, and I would have killed him.”
I should care that my boyfriend is homicidal.
I really should.
But I don’t.
“Did he kill the girl?”
Dominic nods. “I believe so, yes.”
“Then he deserves it.”
A dry smirk passes Dominic’s lips before he crosses the distance between us and gently kisses my temple.
“Come, bellissima . I have an afternoon planned for us.”
I take his outstretched hand, eyebrow raised .
But God help me, I follow blindly.
When Dominic told me he had plans, I never would have guessed that those plans involved dragging me through every nook and cranny of the Il Palazzo property. We follow back hallways through kitchens, loop the pool deck, and visit the private grotto exclusively for high rollers and celebrities who frequent the hotel.
Through a set of nondescript double doors, a veritable security fortress awaits us. I gasp when Dominic shows me the casino’s operations room. Surveillance screens line the walls, and multiple men observe everyone on the property. The wall overlooking the casino is reflective glass, giving us a clear view of the floor. I’m mesmerized by the commotion of gamblers and tourists. I could spend hours people-watching from here.
The final stop on my tour is the offices located on the second to top floor of the hotel. Stepping off the elevator, we find ourselves at the greeter desk for Tariello International. Polished cherry wood features accent warm tones and the silver T logo behind the desk.
“Hello, Mr. Tariello.” A young man in a suit and tie stands at our arrival. Dominic nods his direction as I offer an awkward wave.
Dominic retrieves his key card, swipes it over the electronic reader, and gives us access to the main office. I jump as the door swings open, revealing a beautiful blonde holding a cup of coffee and a folder .
“Welcome, Mr. Tariello,” she says, handing him the cup. “I have the permits to review for the new property.” Dominic hums, taking the folder from her hand. Her glance flits to me momentarily, curiosity briefly running over her expression. “Miss, is there anything I can get for you? Coffee, tea, water?”
“Um, I’m okay. Thank you.”
“Sophie, this is my girlfriend, Cassandra,” Dominic mumbles, flipping the folder open and skimming over the contents.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Sophie smiles, her hand outstretched.
I’m momentarily dazed. Hearing Dominic refer to me as his girlfriend makes my breath hitch and my chest bubble. I’m acting like a high school girl with a crush, and I would be embarrassed if I weren’t so thrilled.
Sophie’s head tilts to the side, and I quickly shove my hand out, shaking hers. “Nice to meet you, too.”
I trail behind Dominic in awe as he strolls through the modern space full of glass windows and Vegas-inspired artwork. Photographs of The Strip, many from the early days of Il Palazzo, line the walls. In a conference room, a centerpiece of red dice graces the middle of the long wooden table. I can picture Dominic at the head, commanding the attention of business partners and colleagues. A thrill shoots through me at the image, and I wonder if we can come here alone later. I wouldn’t mind letting him command me on that table.
At the end of a hallway, Dominic stops before a set of frosted glass French doors. He swipes his key card again, eliciting a gentle click as the lock disengages. His gaze catches mine, and his lips hitch at the side.
“And this is mine.” He gestures his coffee cup toward the exposed room, guiding me forward.
Curious, I step ahead of him, my eyes drinking in the space .
Dominic’s office fits him perfectly. Centered in front of expansive windows sits a grand mahogany desk. A desktop monitor takes one corner, with a laptop in the center. A stack of folders is piled neatly to the side. Next to a leather pen holder, a nameplate says Dominic Tariello CEO .
“CEO?” I saunter between plush chairs in front of the desk to slide my finger along the engraved letters. “I guess I should be impressed.”
“Have I not impressed you yet?” He chuckles as he settles behind the desk, placing the files in his arms on the smooth surface.
“You’re getting there.” I shrug and move to inspect the wall to our left. Framed diplomas and family photos lure me forward. I grin at a picture of two adolescent boys, arms around each other. Their messy hair is wet, probably from swimming in the lake, as shown in the landscape behind them.
“That’s me with my brother Marco. I think I was fourteen, and he was almost thirteen. My mom’s sister has a lake house in upstate New York. We used to go there during summer break each year.”
“You guys are adorable.”
A deep, amused voice behind me chuckles. “Hear that, Dom? She thinks we’re adorable.”
I spin on my heel to find a burly man taking up most of the open space provided by the single open door. He’s tall, maybe an inch or two taller than Dominic. His hair is cropped short, but the tight curls are still evident in the brown locks. His broad shoulders remind me of a linebacker. However, the dimples that pop on the sides of his grin give him a puppy dog quality that makes me smile with him .
I do not doubt that Marco Tariello can be just as dangerous as his brother. However, it’s clear I have nothing to fear from the man.
Dominic sighs, eyes fixated on a report at the top of the file he’s flipped open. “Don’t call me ‘Dom.’”
Marco rolls his eyes but ignores him, strolling over to me with his hands in his pockets. “That’s a great picture,” he says, nodding toward the one I’ve been admiring. “But this one’s my favorite.” He points to a photo in a silver frame down the wall.
I step closer and examine the shot. It’s the whole Tariello family. I recognize their father from news articles online. His hair is darker in the picture, not yet graying on the sides. He’s laughing, arm wrapped around a beautiful woman with long mahogany-colored hair. She’s leaning into his side, a glass of white wine balancing in her free hand. Two little boys cuddle either side of their parents. The whole group is dressed for summer, the boys and Vincent in linen pants and short-sleeved button-down shirts. Cecilia Tariello wears a floral sundress I would die for. It fits her curves perfectly as the skirt flows mid-calf.
“That’s from our winery in Sicily. It was our parents’ fifth anniversary party,” Marco explains.
“Wait.” I study the picture closer, noticing the vineyards in the background. “You own a winery in Italy?”
“It’s a family property,” Dominic chimes in nonchalantly. But when my eyes trail toward him, the hint of a self-satisfied smirk rests on his lips.
“Dom, you ought to take her there sometime,” Marco says, prodding his brother as he dips into one of the chairs in front of Dominic’s desk.
Dominic’s brows rise, but he doesn’t respond. Unsure of how to handle Marco’s suggestion, I return to browsing the wall .
“Cassandra, since my brother has lost all his manners, let me introduce you,” Dominic scolds, pausing his perusal of the papers in front of him. “This is Marco. Marco, Cassandra.”
“I’m happy to finally meet the woman who’s wrapped Dom around her finger.” Marco’s laugh has me rolling my eyes and cracking a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” I give my obligatory response.
“Marco, don’t you have work to do?” Dominic’s narrowed eyes fixate on his brother as his fingers tap on his desktop.
Anyone else would be shaking at this response from Dominic, but Marco just leans back, folds his hands over his middle, and says, “Nope.”
To hide the laughter that threatens to bubble from my chest, I turn to study a diploma situated between the Tariello family photos. My brows dip as I read the accolades. “You have an MBA from Columbia?” I blurt, my shock evident.
“Yep, Dominic’s the smart one in the family,” Marco answers for him. “Graduated college at twenty and finished his master’s at twenty-two.”
“I work hard.” Dominic shrugs as if his accomplishments are regular everyday occurrences.
“I actually came in here for a reason.” Marco leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as his playful demeanor morphs into a scowl. “I got some . . . information.” His eyes flick toward me before settling on Dominic.
And that’s my sign.
“It sounds like you two have business to discuss.” I try to keep my voice light, peppy even, as if I don’t know their business entails crime and death. “I have things to do before the next show anyway. Thanks for the tour, Dominic. I enjoyed it.”
I’m not two steps toward the door when Dominic stands in my path, hands placed on my waist, and head dipped. “You can spend as much time in the penthouse as you need. And remember what I said about the grotto. Your key card gives you access to every high roller club in the hotel.”
I nod, remembering his insistence that I use the amenities offered at my convenience.
“If you get hungry, order room service. Later today, I’ll tell my staff that all restaurants are to comp you anything you want.”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, overwhelmed with Dominic’s generosity and the perks that come along with being his girlfriend .
“You’ll go to the penthouse after the show tonight? Wait for me there?” His thumb pulls at the flesh of my lip, breaking it from its trap before he leans in, placing his mouth against mine.
His kiss isn’t gentle as he takes from me as much as I’m willing to give. I’ve almost forgotten we aren’t alone when Marco’s whooping catcall echoes through the room.
“And you said Mandy and I are bad.” Marco laughs as Dominic breaks free with a scowl.
“I’ll be waiting for you.” My palm rests on Dominic’s cheek as I promise him another night.
Face flushed and lips tingling, I work to collect myself as I depart and walk through the Tariello International offices.
Once I hit the elevators, my mind is made up.
The benefits of being Dominic Tariello’s girlfriend are too good to pass up.
I’m ordering a bikini from the Il Palazzo boutique and spending my afternoon tanning by Dominic’s private grotto cabana.
At the moment, it’s not so bad being Cassandra Bain.