3. Dominic
Dominic
By the time the MC announces Marco and Amanda’s entrance, I’m ready to cut out of their reception and take Cassandra home. Weddings are nothing but business gatherings masquerading as social events. God only knows what nonsense I’ll be forced to address at my own.
I clap along with the crowd as the couple begins their first dance, then sip my scotch as I scan the patrons.
Jorge Santos hasn’t left my radar all night.
I’ve spotted Nico and Leo watching him, as well.
Our meeting tomorrow has us all on edge.
My skin crawls with the knowledge that he and his crew from Miami are in my city.
My father offered them rooms at Le Chateau, his boutique hotel.
The closer they are, the better we can monitor them.
The dance floor opens, and my attention shifts to the beauty on my arm. A wistful smile graces Cassandra’s features, and I’m sure thoughts of our upcoming wedding fill her head.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask, leaning close.
Her voice releases on a sigh. “I’d love to.”
We snake our way between tables and guests onto the dance floor. Cassandra fits in my arms perfectly. Her body and soul were made to complement mine. My hand rests on the small of her back, dangerously low as I pull her tight against my frame.
I place a lingering kiss against her temple and reminisce over the better part of the past year that I’ve spent with her.
From our first night together, after which she disappeared, as if I would ever let her go.
Then came our battle with Alexsey Kozlova, the underboss of a Russian Bratva organization.
Cassandra came to my rescue, killing the bastard after he shot me in the shoulder.
It was only days after my surgery that her father showed up at Il Palazzo with his narrowed eyes and preconceived notions.
It wasn’t until he and I had to work together to bring Cassandra back from the Kozlovas, who had kidnapped her, that we formed an amicable relationship.
Things in our lives have settled since then, thankfully. A band tightens around my chest as I realize the calm is likely temporary until we neutralize the threat from Anatoliy Kozlova and Esteban Perez.
The song ends, and Cassandra pulls back to applaud the band.
While she watches the lead singer make introductions, my focus locks on her.
High cheekbones give her round face an elegant touch, a look that served her well in the world of classical ballet.
Pouting lips beg me to kiss them, and it takes all the willpower I possess not to make a scene in the middle of the dance floor.
After a few more dances, dinner is announced as the band retreats for a break.
The circular family table is situated next to the dance floor, beside the wedding party.
I pull out Cassandra’s chair while she gracefully sits.
Leo’s girlfriend, my interior designer, Natalie, takes a spot next to her.
Cassandra quickly begins talking to the redhead who has a light dusting of freckles covering her nose and cheeks.
Natalie and Leo are both wearing contacts tonight.
Usually, they’re twins with their black-rimmed glasses.
Although Leo’s dark hair and tan complexion contradict hers.
Nico appears in the seat beside me, his lips pressed firmly together as he folds his napkin over his lap.
“It’s not the time for an in-depth business discussion,” I remind him. “You need to stay away from Santos.”
“Then the jackass needs to stay away from me, too.” His words are meant only for me, but from across the table, my father’s brows rise when he catches the sharp look Nico sends toward the Cuban a few tables over.
I adjust my wine glass, flipping it right side up. “Let’s talk after the reception.”
Nico nods. “Sure.”
“Hi,” Cassandra’s soft, feminine voice interrupts.
I press my torso against the back of my chair as Cassandra leans over me, arm outstretched.
“I’m Cassandra Bain,” she says to Nico. “We haven’t met.”
“Nico Romano.” His lips quirk at the side as his demeanor does a quick one-eighty. He also possesses the charisma passed down by our grandfather.
My hand finds Cassandra’s thigh under the table. The fuck I’m going to let my cousin flirt with her. The glare I send his way has his eyes twinkling with delight. The competitive nature we shared in childhood hasn’t faded.
“Dominic never told me how gorgeous his fiancée is.” Nico leans on his elbows to get a better look, his eyes perusing Cassandra’s frame.
I’m going to fucking kill him. Put a bullet right between his eyes.
“Oh.” Cassandra giggles. “Thank you.” Her cheeks flood with color as she glances at the tabletop.
“If you ever get bored with Las Vegas, Chicago is a fantastic city.”
I grit my teeth and growl. “Enough.”
Nico leans back, laughing. “I’m just messing with you,” he says, patting my shoulder.
I should break his arm.
“It’s nice to meet you, Cassandra.” He tilts his head in her direction. “I’ve never seen a woman have a hold like this on my cousin.”
She smiles, shifting to allow a waiter to pour her a glass of water. “Nice to meet you, too, Nico.”
To my relief, the topic at the table shifts, and the women begin gushing about the beauty of the ceremony, while the men turn to sports—a placeholder for the backdoor discussion we are itching to have.
Dinner is served—a filet for me, salmon for Cassandra—drinks are poured, and company is enjoyed. When I stand on the stage to deliver my best man speech, I receive applause and laughter at the correct places. We raise our glasses in celebration of the happy couple, and the party starts.
I dance with Cassandra, then once with my mother while my father spins Cassandra around the floor. His ballroom moves have her relying on her ballet technique as they put on a show that humbles me.
Nico cuts in a few songs after Cassandra is back in my arms, and I glare at him for half a dance before I return to shoo him away.
We dance until Cassandra complains about her bad foot, saying, “I’ll have to ice it when we get home.”
I escort her back to our table, where she joins a gossip session with Sadie, Natalie, and my mother, while I venture off to refill our drinks.
With a scotch in one hand and a Pinot Grigio in the other, I find myself caught in small talk with Michael Ryan, another hotel and casino owner who has a long-standing friendly rivalry with my family. We lament over card counters and discuss my new property, Pharaoh’s Temple.
By the time I return to Cassandra, the only two remaining at the table are Leo and Natalie. Natalie points me toward the veranda as I attempt to ignore her canoodling with my adviser. It’s rare and slightly unnerving to find Leo so relaxed.
Couples with children at home and the older guests are giving goodbyes and well wishes as I weave through the winding-down reception.
Women shift in their heels, no doubt ready to discard them, as men with loosened ties lead them toward the valet.
On the veranda, a few people linger, mainly couples enjoying the view.
Off to the side, with elbows propped on the stone railing, I spot Cassandra.
For a moment, I drink her in. The tousled waves of her hair cascade down her back, highlighting the luscious curves of her hips. Her diamond earrings sparkle in the soft garden lighting from below.
I’m the luckiest bastard alive.
Placing her drink on the railing, I press myself against her side, then wrap my arm around her waist to tug her close. “The view is beautiful,” I say, my eyes not wavering from her face.
She laughs and lifts her wine, taking a gentle sip. “Not your best pickup line.”
“Not my worst.” I shrug, my fingers brushing her side.
Sighing, she places her head against my shoulder and lifts her glass toward the golf course. “They’re building a lot of homes over there.”
“They are.”
The development on the other side of the golf course is nothing short of impressive. The smallest model boasts six-thousand square feet. Each home has a custom interior, with enough luxury options to keep even the highest roller in my casino happy.
“Have you ever . . .” Cassandra trails off with a shake of her head. She watches the Pinot Grigio dance as she twists the glass between her fingers.
“Have I ever what?” I turn to face her, nudging her waist and forcing her to look at me.
“Well.” She sips her wine. “I’ve just been thinking about the future.
After we get married. Do you want to stay in the penthouse forever?
I mean, if you do, that’s fine. I’m not complaining.
It’s beautiful, and I know it’s convenient for you to be in the hotel.
I guess I’m wondering what the plan is.”
I look toward the half-built homes. “I haven’t thought about it,” I lie.
“Oh.” Cassandra’s gaze lingers on one home in particular. With the front of the house facing us and a huge wraparound yard, it’s a perfect lot. It sits right at a curve in the golf course, giving a view over the greenery looking toward the mountains. An infinity pool is a given.
“A discussion for after our wedding,” I say.
“Of course.” Her hand finds mine, fingers threading together. “We have enough on our plate for the moment.”
A few Romano-Tariello associates stumble onto the veranda and call my name.
I roll my eyes and point them in the direction of the country club’s entrance. “I hope you’re planning on taking an Uber.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Tariello,” one of the younger men promises. “See you tomorrow!”
“What are the chances they call in sick?” Cassandra asks once they’re out of earshot.
“Judging by the fact that I’m their boss, and I know that would be bullshit, I have a feeling I’m just going to have a lot of hungover employees at the hotel tomorrow.” I tug her forward. “Ready to go?”
“Stop talking dirty to me.” She winks. “Seriously, though, I’d do anything to get out of these shoes.”
“Anything?” My brow quirks as my mind conjures all sorts of lascivious ideas.
“Come on, Casanova. Let’s say goodbye.”
Removing my hand from hers so that I can place it on the small of her back, I guide her to the ballroom. With a final glance toward the construction, my lips curve into a grin, and the promise of our future fills my chest with a comfort that only Cassandra brings.