12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Cassandra
M y mind remains in the penthouse of Il Palazzo while I pour coffee and scribble down orders at Blanca’s. One night to fulfill a need has turned into two, and if Dominic Tariello gets his way, three.
“Eggs Benedict with a side of bacon.” I place two plates on a tabletop in front of an elderly gentleman with a copy of the Las Vegas Times spread in front of him. With an “Enjoy,” I return to the kitchen to catch my breath. It’s busy for a weekday morning, and my lack of sleep from the past two nights is catching up with me.
I have a near miss with Blanca as she spins, carrying a plate of waffles fresh off the service line. “Hey, hon. How are you doing this morning?” she asks, plucking a jar of syrup from the counter. “You’re looking a little worse for the wear. That handsome man from the other day treating you right?”
“Yeah, I’m just worn down.” I squeeze by her to fill a glass with water and take a long sip.
“Worn down, huh? Late nights?” Her eyebrow quirks with her question, insinuating she knows what I’ve been up to .
My gaze dips as I mumble into my glass. “Something like that.”
“Well, don’t let him work you too hard.” Her laugh rings out, echoing off the walls of the busy kitchen. “I need you perky while you’re here. God knows that pretty face of yours brings in plenty of regulars.”
Grinning, I wave her off and set my glass down as my order appears on the line.
Blanca has a point. I can’t keep up with the schedule of the past few days—working at the diner, dancing in the show, and then spending half the night in bed, not sleeping. If I am seriously going to consider this affair with Dominic, I need to set some ground rules, including spending nights at home in my own bed.
Stifling a yawn, I push through the swinging doors to the dining room and carry a tray full of pancakes toward a couple in the corner. The young woman’s white dress and the man’s black suit give off the “we ran to Vegas to get married” vibe.
After congratulating the couple and ensuring they’re all set, I leave to check in with my newly seated table. But before I can get there, I’m called back by the gentleman with the eggs Benedict and bacon.
“Miss Cassandra, would you be so kind as to refill my coffee?” His smile is warm as he reads my name tag, and I can’t help but wonder what his story is.
“So, what brought you to Vegas?” I ask as I pour.
He sighs as his gaze travels into space. “My wife and I got married here sixty years ago. Tomorrow would have been our anniversary.” Now more curious than before, I prop my hip against the table and wait for him to continue. “She passed away six months ago. We’d planned this trip already, and I decided to take it to commemorate our time together. ”
Blinking rapidly, I push down the heartbreak I feel radiating from him. “I’m so sorry for your loss. But it’s a wonderful way to remember her.”
“Her favorite hotel was Il Palazzo. We stayed there on our honeymoon.” He smiles, his eyes finding mine again. “It’s amazing the place is still open. It’s much more elegant than years ago, but when I checked in last night, I was glad the service was just as hospitable. Roberto Romano’s grandson has done marvels with it.”
“You’re staying at Il Palazzo?” I pick at the edge of the coffeepot with my thumb as my lip catches between my teeth. I’m more interested in this man’s take on the Romano-Tariello property than I care to admit.
“This kid, Tariello, Romano’s grandson, he’s quite impressive.” The man shuffles his newspaper around until he’s holding up a half-page story with Dominic’s headshot in the top corner. “Did you know he’s one of the country’s main donors for pediatric cancer research? He’s one of the most successful men under forty and is building another casino here in the city. Look, it says all that right here.” He points to the words on the page.
“Wow. I guess he’s an accomplished guy.” I shake my head and push away from the table. My mind is already filled with enough thoughts of Dominic. I don’t need a recap of his extensive resume. He’s a fling. I’ll turn him into something more if I start touting his achievements.
Plus, I’m still confused about where Dominic stands within his family’s links to organized crime. This morning, something nagged at me when I asked about people fearing him. So far, everything I’ve witnessed between him and the employees of Il Palazzo points to more than simply respect for the boss. Rumors are floating through the staff, and whether the stories are substantiated or not, people seem to believe them .
His pause when I confronted him heightened my suspicion. He didn’t have an answer right on the tip of his tongue for once. I forced him to calculate his words. Why would he need to do that unless he was trying to omit something, trying to bend the truth?
I set the older gentleman’s check on his table and tell him I hope his trip goes well. He nods and turns back to his newspaper, flipping away from the article about Dominic.
My shift goes by quickly as the diner picks up for the midmorning rush, and soon, I serve my last plate of bacon and clock out, handing things over to Kylie for the lunch crowd.
I sigh with relief when I arrive home and fall into bed, fully dressed. Rehearsals don’t start until late afternoon, so despite the list of chores I have piled up, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. I’ll worry about real life tomorrow. For now, I resolve to remain in the Dominic Tariello fantasy a bit longer.
Hanging my bejeweled costume on one of the center racks, I try to hide my incredulous laughter.
Marisa’s admirer has struck again—this time with jewelry.
When we filtered into the dressing room after the show, a gold-wrapped box was waiting for her on the dressing table. The large white bow caught Whitney’s attention immediately, and the squeal she released caused half the room to cringe and cover their ears.
The necklace Marisa holds high for the entire room to admire is basic. Its gold chain and small heart pendant can be purchased at any mall in America. The sentiment would be sweet if it came from a boyfriend, but my best guess is that she’s got a skeezy older man vying for her attention. I’m not sure the term sugar daddy can apply in this situation.
“You have to try and talk to him,” Whitney prods, fingering the ruby-dotted charm before Marisa snatches it away to affix the chain around her neck.
Marisa’s lip catches between her teeth as she cocks her head to the side and considers her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t I wait for him to approach me?”
“This is his way of approaching you!” Whitney’s hair flies as she shakes her head with enthusiasm. “He’s a billionaire, Marisa. Women everywhere throw themselves at him. He expects you to come to him.”
“I don’t know—”
Next to me, Sadie huffs and rolls her eyes. “Have either of you thought that these gifts may not be from Mr. Tariello?”
“Oh, come on.” Whitney laughs. “Who else could it be?”
“Well, there was a skinny bald guy in the second row moon-eyed over Marisa. Maybe it was him.” Sadie shrugs and pulls a hanger from the rack. “Personally, I think Mr. Tariello would send more elaborate gifts. Look at the flowers Cassie got last night.” She makes a point of gesturing to where my bouquet flourishes on a side table. “ That’s what I would expect from Mr. Tariello.”
My breath hitches as I glare at my friend.
Whitney’s eyes narrow as she loses herself in thought. “Maybe . . .”
“Well, I like my necklace,” Marisa says, cutting off Whitney’s speculation. “It’s my style.” With her bag packed, Marisa throws the strap over her shoulder and swipes the gift wrapping from her table. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow. ”
Mumbling, “Whatever,” Whitney works on taming her curly locks into a messy bun, thankfully dropping her matchmaking for the moment.
I make it a point to elbow Sadie in the ribs as soon as Whitney turns away. “What the hell?”
“Do you want Marisa trying to go hunt Mr. Tariello down after the show?” she whispers. “I’m trying to make them second-guess their theory.”
“By basically telling them he sent me flowers?” I slip a hair tie off my wrist and pull my hair into a ponytail, fighting with the product-covered pieces that would rather glue themselves to my cheeks.
Sadie points to a couple of strands wrapping around my neck. “Hiding in plain sight.”
“I don’t think that’s what that means,” I argue, dropping my arms.
“It kept them from searching for him tonight, which I can almost guarantee you’re about to do. So, you’re welcome.” With a sly grin, she turns and heads off to collect her makeup wipes and start the task of removing the caked-on gunk.
I roll my eyes, turning to my mirror. Sure, Sadie’s plan will work now, but what about tomorrow or the day after?
I will have to be careful that no one sees Dominic and me together. Maybe meeting in the lobby isn’t the most fantastic idea.
Speaking of, I have no idea where he wants to meet me tonight. Deciding to repeat his previous instructions, I slip from the dressing room and rush through the employee hallways until I reach the bustling casino.
I blend into the crowd quickly, having chosen jeans and a cropped T-shirt to change into instead of my standard sweats. My duffel bag passes for luggage, and I transform into a tourist taking in the sights of Vegas.
As I walk, I scan the faces of the gamblers gathered around poker tables and roulette wheels, some smiling wide while counting their chips, others with hands running through their hair as they calculate their losses. A group of men stumbles by, sloppy drunk, one winking at me after his eyes rake my form. I look away quickly so as not to engage his advances.
At the lobby fountains, I find the typical crowd of girls posing for social media photos and couples tossing in pennies. Figuring Dominic will find me eventually, I settle on a bench and people-watch.
A girl with a sash that says 21st Birthday Princess and a pink tiara makes a duck face as her friends snap photos before rushing over to take pictures one by one. The corner of my mouth curls up while I reminisce about my twenty-first birthday. I spent eight hours at the studio rehearsing for The Nutcracker before the other dancers whisked me to a bar and bought me too many shots. Technique class the following morning was brutal.
Chuckling, I shift my legs, recrossing them and dropping my bag from around my shoulder to the floor.
I am so lost in my memories that my surroundings fade away. When a bulky form takes the seat next to me, I jump, and my eyes dart up in surprise.
“Is this seat taken?” a man with a heavy Russian accent asks. His cold, piercing blue eyes make my skin break into gooseflesh and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Oh, um, no. You’re good.” I shift further to the side, expanding the few inches that separate us. My father’s warnings about Las Vegas and its seedy past cycle through my head as my spine stiffens .
Ignoring the space I’ve put between us, he leans toward me. The offensive scent of sweat and cigarettes has me holding my breath. “Seems like a pretty girl should not be left alone in this city.” His smile disarms me. My eyes travel his form while my answer catches in my throat. Tattoos peek from the cuffs and neckline of his shirt. A snake curls around his ring finger, its eyes glowing red.
“I’m meeting my boyfriend here shortly.” My answer is terse. I’m not interested in a conversation with this man—a man I can’t imagine Dominic wants to see me talking to. “Actually, I think I see him now.” I gather my bag and stand, only to be stopped by a firm grip on my elbow.
“Mr. Tariello was detained tonight, kukolka. But I can take his place.” His grin stretches wide, and his stare pierces my skin.
My heart skips once, twice, then beats triple its normal pace.
This man knows who I am.
Why does this man know who I am?
Tugging my arm from his hold, I step away, searching nearby faces for anyone I recognize. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, trying to remember the self-defense moves my father taught me years ago.
He stands, towering over me as his hands dip into his pockets. His broad shoulders and bulging muscles are enough to have every instinct screaming for me to run. “You were with him this morning, yes? You’re his girl.”
“No,” I whisper. “I barely know him.” The truth and a lie all at once.
He hums, his expression of disbelief mocking me. “He shouldn’t leave you unguarded.”
I need to get out of here.
Now .
“Okay, um, I have to go.” The heel of my sneaker catches as I step back and stumble, righting myself before I fall on my ass. The Russian chuckles, his lips pursing. This man knows he could overpower me in a single move.
“You’ll give Tariello a message for me?” He tips his head as I shake mine, words refusing to pass through my lips. “You tell him my business doesn’t concern him. And you, kukolka , will not see me again if he is smart enough to listen.”
His glare flits over my shoulder before his expression hardens to stone, and then he turns, quickly heading toward a nearby exit. With shaking limbs, I stare into the space the man occupied and blink in disbelief.
What. The. Hell?
“Cassandra!” a voice I vaguely recognize calls from somewhere behind me. It takes me a moment to regain enough sense to spin and face my rescuer. By then, Lucas is only feet away, his brows dipping in concern as he mumbles into his earpiece before addressing me. “Are you okay?”
“I—” I rub my fingers across my forehead, my brain trying to process the interaction. “I don’t know. This man, he just . . .”
“Yeah. We saw on the cameras.” Lucas indicates multiple security camcorders positioned around the lobby. “What did he say to you?”
“He wants me to tell Mr. Tariello something.”
Lucas nods, placing a hand on my shoulder as his eyes catch mine. “What did he want you to tell Mr. Tariello?”
“Uh . . .” My foggy brain struggles to remember the words as I recover from shock. “Something about staying out of the man’s business. He said I’ll never see him again if Mr. Tariello listens.”
“Shit.” Lucas glances over my shoulder in the direction the Russian escaped. “Look, Mr. Tariello got held up tonight. I can take you upstairs to a suite, and he’ll bring you to the penthouse as soon as he returns.”
I chew on my lip as I consider Lucas’s offer. With the adrenaline from a few moments ago waning, fatigue engulfs me. Spending the night in street clothes, lying across a foreign bed in the hotel, has far less appeal than I want it to.
“No. Thank you. I think I’ll just go home.” Lifting my shoulder, I secure my bag while stepping around Lucas.
“Cassandra, wait.” He shuffles to the side, blocking me. “Mr. Tariello won’t like it if you’re not here when he returns.”
“Yeah, well, tell Mr. Tariello I didn’t like a terrifying Russian man stalking and confronting me. Sorry, Lucas.” With what I hope is an apologetic look, I steer around his frame and follow my earlier path toward the employee hallways.
“Damn it,” Lucas curses softly but gives me distance. It’s not until I make it to my car and spot him watching me from the sidewalk that I realize he escorted me through the casino.
I swallow hard, and my gut drops as all my suspicions come to the forefront of my mind.
Dominic Tariello may perform an impressive act, but a dangerous web follows him. One I would be a fool to become entangled in.