Chapter 2
I scan the security feed one last time, eyes tracking every corner of the Venetian Rose's main floor. The cameras catch everything—the flash of diamonds, the hungry eyes at poker tables, the calculated smiles of the dealers. Nothing escapes my notice.
"System's running clean," I tell Noah, who's leaning against the wall, scrolling through something on his tablet. "No blind spots."
Noah doesn't look up. "You said that the last three times we checked."
"And I'll say it again if necessary." My voice comes out harder than intended. "This isn't just another night."
The security room hums with technology—multiple screens showing every angle of the casino, the steady beep of the alarm system, the soft whir of cooling fans keeping the equipment from overheating. The space smells of coffee and the faint trace of Noah's cologne mixed with gun oil.
Noah finally looks up, his dark eyes narrowing. "Fucking hell, Hayes. You need to calm down. It's a gala, not a war zone."
But that's where he's wrong. Every crowded room is a potential war zone when you're protecting the Feretti family.
I tap commands into the system, bringing up the staff entrance camera feed. "Check the new guards' positions again. I want eyes on every entrance."
The leather of my shoulder holster creaks as I lean forward. My weapon sits heavy against my ribs—a familiar, comforting weight. My fingers tap an impatient rhythm on the desk.
"Already done," Noah says, setting down his tablet. "Listen, I get it. But we've got twenty men on site, metal detectors at every door, and enough firepower to start a small revolution."
I clench my jaw. "Twenty-two men. And it's not enough."
Noah watches me with that calculating look he gets sometimes.
I ignore him, switching to the camera feed showing the VIP entrance where the family will arrive. The red carpet is in place. Two guards stand at attention, faces impassive, hands ready. Good.
"Damiano's already inside," I say, changing the subject. "Enzo and Lucrezia should be arriving in ten."
Noah pushes off from the wall, coming to stand beside me. His reflection in the monitor shows a smirk playing on his lips.
The walkie-talkie on my belt crackles to life pausing whatever shit Noah was about to say. "The first guests are arriving. Sartori family just pulled up."
I grab the device. "Copy that. Stay alert."
I shove the walkie-talkie back on my belt and grab my suit jacket from the back of the chair. The fabric feels expensive against my fingers—another reminder of how much has changed since I joined the Ferettis.
"Time to move," I tell Noah, adjusting my tie. "I want to be on the floor before they arrive."
Noah follows me into the hallway, the security door clicking shut behind us. The corridor is quiet, carpeted to muffle our footsteps. It smells of fresh paint and cleaning products—the casino always immaculate for these events.
"You know," Noah says as we walk, "for someone who's supposed to be just the head of security, you act a lot like you're part of the family."
I shoot him a warning glance. "I do my job. That's it."
"Right." Noah's voice drips with sarcasm. "That's why you're dressed like you belong at the gala instead of watching it."
"Appearances matter," I say flatly. "You know that."
We reach the end of the hallway where it opens into a service area. From here, we can slip onto the main floor without drawing attention. I pause, listening to the growing noise of the gala—glasses clinking, conversation humming, music floating above it all.
I step into the main floor, Noah at my side. The Venetian Rose gleams like a treasure chest tonight. Security is my focus, but I can't help noticing how the gold and crimson décor catches the light, making everything feel both opulent and dangerous.
"Targets identified," Noah mutters, his eyes already tracking the entrance.
The main doors swing open, and there they are. The Ferettis entering their domain. The crowd doesn't part dramatically, but there's a subtle shift in the room's energy, like everyone simultaneously holding their breath.
Damiano leads the way, of course. The Don moves with grace, his suit fitting him like armor. His expression remains carefully neutral, but his eyes miss nothing. Power radiates from him like heat.
Enzo follows a step behind, his face harder than his brother's.
Where Damiano carries power like a birthright, Enzo wears violence like a second skin.
The tattoos peeking above his collar tell stories of blood and loyalty.
His hand rests at the small of a woman's back—Sienna, they have been together over a year now.
Her blue eyes are watchful, her delicate features a mask hiding steel beneath.
She moves closer to Enzo's side when she spots a crowded area, a subtle tell I've learned to recognize.
Then I see her.
Lucrezia Feretti.
My throat tightens as she steps into the light. She's wearing green—the color somehow making her seem both vibrant and fragile at once. The dress hugs her figure. Her dark hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and though she smiles at someone who greets her, the expression doesn't reach her eyes.
"Hayes," Noah nudges me. "You're staring."
I snap my attention back to security, scanning the perimeter. "Just doing my job."
"Right," he says, not bothering to hide his smirk.
I ignore him, watching as Lucrezia moves through the crowd. There's a brittleness to her movements tonight, a careful distance she keeps from everyone who approaches her. She stands straight, chin high, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curl tightly around her clutch.
It's been almost two years since I was assigned to protect her after what happened. Two years of watching her try to rebuild herself while pretending she wasn't broken. Two years of standing guard, silent and unobtrusive, as she fought her nightmares.
"I'm going to check the east section," I tell Noah, already moving.
My path takes me around the edge of the room, staying in the shadows while keeping the Ferettis in sight. Security is positioned exactly as planned.
I position myself near a marble column, adjusting my stance to look casual while maintaining clear sightlines to all three Ferettis. Lucrezia stands beside Damiano now as he speaks with a businessman whose name I can't recall. She smiles politely, but her eyes keep drifting toward the exits.
Old habits. I know them well.
When someone brushes past her unexpectedly, I notice how she flinches. A micro-expression most would miss. Her hands tremble slightly before she clasps them together, steadying herself. Still haunted, still fighting.
The protective instinct hits me. I force myself to remain still, to remember my place. I'm security, not savior. Protector, not friend. I have no right to the concern that tightens my chest when I look at her.
But damn, she's beautiful tonight.
She's always beautiful.
The gala officially opens after an hour of mingling.
Damiano taps a crystal glass, the sound ringing through the casino as conversations fade.
He welcomes everyone with practiced charm, thanking them for supporting our family's charitable foundation.
It's all carefully scripted. The perfect blend of gratitude and power that reminds everyone exactly who owns the room.
Cameras flash as photographers capture New York's elite pretending to care about whatever cause we're supporting tonight.
I've stopped keeping track. Judge Holloway laughs too loudly with the mayor near the bar.
Senator Williams and his third wife hover near Damiano, desperate for his attention.
Police Commissioner Burke stands awkwardly in a corner, probably wondering if anyone knows how many bribes he's taken from my brother.
The casino floor buzzes with activity. A monument to the alliance that changed everything for our families.
"Quite the turnout," a voice says beside me.
I turn to find Vittoria Sartori, Riccardo's sister, dressed in a sleek black jumpsuit.
"Always is," I reply, grateful for her presence. "How's Chicago?"
"Cold. Corrupt. Perfect for expansion." She grins, sharp and knowing. "Your brother and mine are quite the power couple these days."
She's right. The Venetian Rose exists because of their partnership.
Damiano and Riccardo joined forces two years ago.
The casino stands as both peace treaty and business venture, allowing Damiano to expand into Chicago while Riccardo strengthens his hold on New York.
Smart, calculated, and mutually beneficial.
Exactly how mafia alliances should work.
I actually like the Sartoris, though my interactions have been limited to Riccardo, his wife Ava, and Vittoria. They're a massive family—six children with Riccardo stepping up as Don after their father's death. Unlike our compact unit of three, they're sprawling and complicated.
"How are your brothers?" I ask, watching Vittoria's expression shift.
"Riccardo's the only normal one," she says with a shrug. "The others are... challenging."
That's putting it mildly, according to rumors. The Sartori brothers are notorious—each with their own brand of danger. I've never met them in person, but stories travel fast in our world.
"And you're the only girl," I observe.
"Lucky me." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Six brothers. Five of them insane. Makes for interesting family dinners."
Across the room, I spot Riccardo speaking with Damiano, their heads bent close in conversation. Ava stands nearby, elegant in midnight blue, charming a group of potential investors. They look like royalty.
"Your sister-in-law is good at this," I comment.
Vittoria follows my gaze. "Ava was born for it. She handles the legitimate side of things better than any of us."
I nod, understanding completely. Every family needs someone who can move comfortably in both worlds. The criminal and the corporate. For us, that's usually Enzo, though tonight he seems more interested in keeping Sienna close than networking.
"I should circulate," Vittoria says, straightening. "Can't let Riccardo have all the fun corrupting New York's finest."
She slips away, leaving me alone again.