Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Adrian
The conference room sits in one of the quieter areas of the administrative floor. Far enough from the casino floor to keep the worst of the noise muted, close enough that the low pulse of the place still makes it through the walls.
A constant thump under everything. Voices. movement. slot chimes. Money, music.
I stand near the door where I can see the entrance, the hall through the glass, and both women at the table.
Caterina and Olivia are halfway through a stack of meeting materials. Roberto stepped out ten minutes ago to handle a series of calls while he had the chance, leaving me with the easier part of the assignment on paper and the more complicated one in reality.
On paper, I’m guarding two women in a conference room.
In reality, I’m guarding one principal who hates being guarded and another woman who is pregnant, sharp, and too used to working through inconvenience to treat her own condition with the caution it deserves.
Neither of them is making this easy.
Caterina sits nearest the projector screen, one elbow on the table, dark hair pulled back over one shoulder, eyes on the figures in front of her while Olivia talks through a guest issue for next week’s private event calendar.
Olivia is seated across from Caterina, posture straight, one hand on a legal pad, the other resting absently at the curve of her stomach when she’s not making notes.
The room is neat, professional, and not nearly as secure as I’d like. Too much glass and open space. I don't know why they couldn't get this done in an office.
With no windows.
I’m still working through all the ways I want to change that when the door opens too fast.
A host steps inside with urgency.
Every muscle in me tightens by habit, but I don’t move yet.
She’s young. Suit pressed. Name tag straight. Breathing a little harder than the walk up here warrants.
“Sorry,” she says immediately, eyes on Caterina, then Olivia. “I need one of you downstairs.”
Caterina looks up first. Olivia, right after.
“What happened?” Olivia asks.
“There’s a VIP high roller on the floor losing his mind over a marker issue,” the host says. “Security and the floor manager have tried to calm him down, but he’s demanding to see someone from Executive.”
Caterina’s mouth flattens. “Who?”
The host gives the name.
I don’t know the man personally, but I know the type. Big money. Bigger ego. Used to being coddled and indulged because people like him lose fortunes one hour and come back the next to lose more. Casinos tolerate a lot from those customers because revenue is revenue.
Olivia already starts pushing her chair back on instinct. “I’ll go.”
Caterina is faster.
“No.”
Olivia turns her head. “Cat.”
“You’re not going down there.”
“It’s my department.”
“And you’re pregnant.”
Olivia’s mouth tightens. “I am aware.”
Caterina’s tone doesn’t soften. “Then act like it.”
I step away from the wall. “Neither of you is going down there.”
Both women look at me.
Caterina with immediate irritation.
Olivia with a kind of professional patience.
Caterina folds her arms. “We can’t ignore one of our biggest players because my bodyguard is in a mood.”
“This isn’t a mood issue.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s a live floor, crowd density, open sight lines, and an unknown variable who is already agitated.”
Olivia leans back in her chair and exhales once through her nose. “He’s not an unknown variable. He’s a well-known high roller with a gambling problem and an ego issue.”
Caterina looks at me like I’ve just volunteered the stupidest thought in the room. “We can’t ignore a VIP.”
“You can send someone else.”
“Like who?” she asks. “The floor manager he’s already screaming at?”
Olivia rubs a hand over the edge of her legal pad. “He won’t calm down for just anyone. If it’s the marker account I think it is, he’ll take it as an insult if we keep him waiting too long.”
Caterina nods once, already calculating. “Exactly.”
The host is still standing inside the doorway, trying very hard to disappear.
I look at her. “How bad?”
“Loud,” she says. “Not violent. But he’s drawing attention.”
Caterina makes the call before anyone else can.
“Go back down,” she says. “Tell him I’m coming.”
I look at her. “No.”
That stops her cold.
She lifts her chin. “Excuse me?” Her tone is icy.
“You send another executive. Or you move him upstairs.”
“He’s not going to come upstairs calmly.”
“Then security escorts him.”
Olivia lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “That’s not how you treat a high roller who’s already furious.”
“No,” I say. “That’s how you treat an unstable variable on an exposed floor.”
Caterina’s eyes flash. “He’s a customer.”
“He’s a problem.”
“He’s a problem attached to millions of dollars.”
“That doesn’t make him less of one.”
She stands now too, palms on the table, leaning toward me just enough to make the point. “This is my casino. We do not let someone like that sit downstairs and melt down in front of half the room.”
“We also do not use a valuable principal as customer service when there are other options.”
Olivia closes her eyes for one second like she’s already tired of both of us.
The host doesn’t breathe.
Caterina straightens. “He asked for executive management. He gets executive management.”
“Not alone.”
“I didn’t say alone.”
“Not on the floor.”
For one second, I think she might actually tell me to go to hell and do it anyway.
I think of the best way to stop her that might only bruise her ego a little bit.
Then Olivia cuts in.
“Enough.” Her voice isn’t loud, but both of us stop. “We do not have time for a philosophical debate about casino operations.”
She looks at Caterina first. “You’re right. We can’t ignore him.”
Then at me.
“And you’re right. Sending me down there is a bad idea.”
At least somebody in the room is interested in common sense.
Caterina presses her lips together. “I wasn’t sending you.”
“No,” Olivia says dryly. “You were just getting ready to martyr yourself instead.”
Caterina glares at her. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
I take the opening before Caterina can argue again.
“There’s a private salon off high-limit,” I say. “Better than bringing him all the way up here, less exposed than the main floor.”
The host finally seems to remember how to breathe. “The Bordeaux room,” she says quickly. “It’s empty right now.”
Caterina looks at me, irritation still hot in her face. “And you think he’ll just agree to be moved?”
“If you’re the one asking, yes,” I say. “Tell him you’ll meet him there personally. Frame it like a benefit.”
Olivia points at the host. “Go. Calm him down and tell him Ms. Conti herself is coming to the Bordeaux room.”
The host nods so fast it almost looks painful. “Yes, ma’am.”
The host disappears as quickly as possible.
I turned to Olivia. “Get Roberto back here now.”
She's already dialing.
Roberto steps back into the room a moment later, phone still in his hand, his eyes going first to Olivia, then to Caterina.
“What happened?”
“VIP issue downstairs,” Olivia says. “Caterina’s going to meet him in Bordeaux. You get to play bodyguard again, handsome.”
His gaze shifts to me, quick and assessing. He understands the security risk immediately and how much I must have objected. But this is also happening.
He nods once.
I move to the door ahead of Caterina. “Straight to Bordeaux. No stops on the floor.”
“Bossy, bossy, bossy,” she mutters.
I ignore that and step into the hall.
Caterina falls in behind me, heels sharp against the floor, her pace brisk enough to make it clear she is not being shepherded anywhere she does not intend to go.
We head for the stairs instead of the elevator.
She notices immediately.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“The elevator is faster.”
“The elevator is a box.”
“And the stairs are… what, a tactical delight?”
“They’re visible and reliable.”
She makes a sound under her breath but doesn’t argue further, which tells me she’s already shifting her focus to the real problem downstairs.
Good because then I won't have to explain the itchy feeling that's starting between my shoulder blades. I don’t like this. Not at all.
By the time we hit the landing, the muffled pulse of the casino is already getting louder, and every instinct I have is sharpening along with it.
The floor manager is waiting just outside the corridor, tight-faced and trying to look as though nothing at all is wrong.
“He’s in the Bordeaux room?” Caterina asks.
The manager nods. “Yes, ma’am. Host got him in there. He wasn’t happy about it.”
“Is he alone?”
“His assistant is with him.”
I glance down the corridor that leads toward the casino floor. Unfortunately, we have to go through it to reach the high-limit area.
Caterina squares her shoulders.
I turn to her before we move again.
“Once we step onto the floor, you stay tight to me,” I say. “No drifting, no stopping for anyone else, no letting him keep you in the open longer than necessary.”
Her eyes flash. “I know how to talk to a difficult guest.”
“I know,” I say. “That isn’t what I’m talking about.”
She exhales through her nose. “Fine. We go in, fix it, and get out.”
We go through the doors that lead to the casino floor, and the noise hits at once.
Light, music, voices, chips, machines. The whole place is bright enough to feel artificial and alive enough to make every instinct in me sharpen.
Caterina is beside me in black and white, chin up, expression composed, already shifting into the take-charge version of herself.
I don’t like any part of this.
Not the floor. Not the exposure. Not the fact that she is about to walk straight into a confrontation, because that is what this job requires of her.
But this is where we are.
I stay half a step ahead and slightly to her side as we move through the crowd. The path to high-limit is not long, but it is too open for my taste.