ALESSIO #2
"I got another two thousand!" A delighted clap follows. "I like this machine!"
I don't even turn around. "I figured."
I don't have the heart to correct her and tell her that, technically, she lost eight thousand dollars on that spin. As long as she enjoys it, I'm happy. I’ll gladly have her spend millions tonight if that smile stays on her face.
I wave over one of the pit bosses. He immediately abandons his conversation.
"Boss."
"Everything alright?"
"It is."
I motion towards Beccs. "Keep an eye on her."
His lips twitch. "Of course."
The cocktail waitress arrives carrying a bright orange drink crowned with enough cherries to feed a family. "Tequila Sunrise with extra cherries."
Beccs beams. "You remembered!"
She digs into her tiny purse. Pulls out a crumpled ten-dollar bill. "For you."
The waitress blinks. "Oh!" And without missing a beat, smiles back at Beccs. "Thank you."
She hurries away, not letting on to Beccs that in this room she's used to tips with an added zero.
"I don't mean security," I tell the pit boss, watching Beccs fish two cherries from the cocktail. One goes into her mouth. She closes her eyes—actually groans. "Just make sure she doesn’t accidentally bankrupt me."
The pit boss chuckles. "I'll do my best."
The same cocktail waitress passes by, and I quietly slip a folded hundred into her apron.
"She doesn't know."
The waitress glances toward Beccs, who's now talking excitedly to the slot machine. "I gathered that, Boss." She smiles. "I won't ruin it."
"Thank you."
"My pleasure."
The pit boss follows my gaze. "She's..." He searches for the right word. "Unique."
I smile without taking my eyes off her. "You have no idea."
She fishes another cherry out of the glass.
Tilts her head back. Lets it disappear between those perfect lips.
I've never been this envious of a fucking cherry before.
A sentiment my dick fully agrees with as it stiffens inside my pants.
Jesus. I discreetly adjust my jacket. The pit boss notices. And very wisely... pretends he didn't.
Beccs jumps out of the chair. "I won again!"
She throws both fists into the air as if she'd just won the Super Bowl.
The sound carries farther than she'd intended.
Across the room. A man in an expensive navy suit turns.
His eyes linger on her a second too long.
I meet them. Smile pleasantly. Very pleasantly.
His face drains of color. He suddenly develops an overwhelming interest in the baccarat table behind him. Smart man.
"Boss?" The pit boss follows my line of sight.
I don't even look at him. "Send him a complimentary steak dinner."
The pit boss blinks. "Sir?"
"I'd rather keep feeding customers," I check my cufflinks, "than burying them."
"Understood."
I take another look at Beccs. She's busy celebrating another modest win with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just broken the bank.
God. I think... this casino has been missing her all along.
From the corner of my eye, movement catches my attention.
A man stands near the baccarat tables. Mid-thirties, maybe.
Tailored charcoal suit. He stands completely still.
Watching. Not the casino. Her. My gaze hardens.
The pit boss notices immediately. "What is it, Boss?"
I don't take my eyes off the stranger; he's different than the first guy. "You know him?"
The pit boss follows my line of sight. "Pavel Romanov."
I've heard the name before. He's Bratva, but nobody knows exactly where he actually fits into the Russian crime family. Some say he's Grigori's diplomat. Others swear he's the man Grigori sends before a war starts. I've even heard whispers he answers to nobody at all. Rumors.
The only thing everyone agrees on... if Pavel Romanov is in your casino... he's here for a reason.
I could walk over. Introduce myself. Measure the man. But not tonight. Tonight isn't about politics. Or alliances. Or power. Tonight belongs to her.
"Excuse me."
I leave the pit boss mid-conversation and head back toward Beccs. She doesn't notice me until my arm slides around her waist. She looks up, positively glowing.
"Are you having fun?"
"I am!"
She practically vibrates with excitement. "Look!"
She thrusts the voucher into my hand. "I won twenty-eight thousand dollars!"
I glance at the screen. Twenty-eight thousand. I suppress a grin. The machine, of course, only shows her current winnings. Not the two-point-something million she's happily cycled through over the last fifteen minutes. Money well spent.
She pokes my chest. "I can pay your ten thousand back now."
"Oh?"
"I don't owe you anymore."
My hand settles against her hip. She leans into me without thinking.
Comfortable. Mine. For a brief moment, I let myself forget where we are.
Then instinct drags my gaze back across the room.
Pavel Romanov is still standing where I last saw him.
Still watching. But not Beccs anymore. His attention is solely on me now.
Ice-cold gray eyes meet mine across the sea of flashing lights and ringing slot machines. He gives me a single nod.
Neither friendly nor threatening. An acknowledgment.
Message sent.
Message received.
The Bratva is in my casino, and sooner or later, I'm going to have to figure out exactly what the hell Pavel Romanov wants. But not tonight. Tonight belongs to her. I look back down just as Beccs pokes my chest again.
A smile tugs at my lips. Oh, Beccs. If only you knew how much you've already cost me. And why I'd gladly lose ten times that just to see you smile like this.
God help me. I'm hopelessly in love with this woman.
The realization hits me with an almost physical force.
Not because I suddenly discovered it. I think I've known for weeks.
Maybe from the moment she called me a rich, spoiled asshole to my face in Idaho.
Maybe when she held a gun and pulled the trigger.
Maybe when she climbed into my Shelby and told me my driving was mediocre.
Or maybe... maybe it happened so slowly I never saw it coming.
Beccs crashed into it like a fucking wrecking ball.
And now here she is. A five-foot-nothing mechanic in a brown dress, celebrating twenty-eight thousand dollars like she just conquered the world while millions disappear into the machine behind her.
She doesn't care about the money. She cares about the lights. The excitement. The possibility. The memory she'll take home.
I own this casino. I've walked these floors thousands of times.
I've watched men gamble away fortunes without blinking.
I've seen marriages end at these tables.
I've seen friendships destroyed over cards.
I've seen every corner of this place. Or at least I thought I had.
I was wrong. Because tonight... for the first time, I'm seeing it through her eyes.
Not as a business. Not as an empire. Not as another asset in my portfolio.
But as a place where people laugh. Where they celebrate.
Where they forget their problems for a few precious hours.
Somehow, standing twenty feet away from me, screaming at a slot machine because she won another two thousand dollars...
she's done something nobody else has ever managed.
She's made me forget. My father. My mother.
The Collector. For one stupid, beautiful moment...
none of it matters. Only she does. And that's terrifying.
Because for the first time in over ten years, if someone asked me to choose between everything I've built...
and the woman jumping up and down in front of that machine... I already know my answer.
And I don't even have to think about it.
I watch her throw her hands up in victory again, lights flashing, another five grand popping up on the screen.
She’s glowing. Absolutely radiant. And completely unaware of what she’s doing to me.
My hand is still on her hip when my fingers brush bare skin under the hem of her short dress.
No panties. I check my pocket. She put them in my fucking jacket. My cock hardens instantly.
I lean down, lips brushing her ear.
I groan low in my throat. “You’re trying to kill me tonight.”