“We gotta do somethin’ with them,” Mario said, jabbing his pistol into Dean’s side. “Any ideas?”
We were toward the back of the parking lot, but I still didn’t want to chance being seen holding two idiots at gunpoint. That was almost as bad for business as leaving bodies lying around. Dean was a guest of the casino and loaded enough to buy friends who would miss him if he didn’t make it home. And my old man would kick my ass if I brought a police investigation to the doorstep of his casino.
I gestured for Mario to follow me with Dean as I led his thug to the back entrance of the casino. I beat on the door until it swung open, and a soldier by the name of Dag filled the doorway. Dag stood about six feet tall and was three hundred-plus pounds of pure muscle. He had the jowls of a bulldog and the legs of a horse. I knew, because I’d been kicked by him while in training. Since his size and constant scowl frightened the guests, Carlo kept him stationed by the back door, which meant Dag spent most nights underutilized and bored out of his mind.
“Yeah?” the big man barked.
I stepped aside so he could see the men behind me. “Mario and I are running late for a…a meeting, and these two tried to jump us.” I pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of my pocket. “I’d deal with ’em myself, but I don’t got time, so I’d appreciate it if you could set ’em straight for me.”
Dag grinned, and I had to force myself not to wince. His eyes lit up as he took my cash and stuffed it in his pocket. Then his two meaty paws reached past me, landing on a shoulder of each of the men. He yanked them forward and shoved them into the casino. “You betcha.”
“Thanks, Dag. I owe you one.”
His grin widened. “You don’t owe me shit, Dom. I’m lookin’ forward to this.”
“Nothing above the shoulders. They’re guests, and you know how Carlo gets when guests come hobbling in with their faces all busted up. But make sure you let ‘em know what happens if they try to rat us out.”
Dag gave me a hard look, conveying that he knew how to do his job, and then the door closed.
My old man would beat my ass good if he found out I’d shirked my responsibility like that, but I rarely got a night off. I should be half-wasted with a girl on each knee by now. Besides, I’d just made Dag’s night and knew he wouldn’t go waggin’ his jaw.
“All right,” I said, pocketing the stolen gun and palming my car keys. “Let’s hit that party.”
As we walked away from the door, I wondered how much damage Dag would have to do before the cowboy realized the mob will always run Vegas.
CHAPTER TWO
Annetta
“THIS IS IT, Papa, the one I’ve been looking for,” I said, highlighting the help wanted ad. “Chef needed ASAP, knowledge of classic Italian dishes a must, come prepared to cook. None of that “prior experience necessary” nonsense. This has my name all over it!”
My father smiled down at me, patting the back of my head, patronizing me with a kind gesture. At twenty-one, and freshly graduated from the Culinary Academy, I was in search of my first full-time job, not six and excited about being a butterfly in the school play. And I needed this, since the part-time grocery clerk position I’d held since high school wasn’t exactly a cocoon I could grow my wings in.
“I thought we decided you were going back to school first,” Papa said.
Here we go again.
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I reminded him of our last conversation about my future. “I love you, Papa, but I’ve passed all my classes and I have glowing recommendations from my instructors. I’m not going back to school. What I need now, is a real job so I can start paying off the loans you took out to make that happen.”
“You let me worry about the loans while you focus on getting the best education you can.” He picked up the University of Nevada Las Vegas course catalog, which conveniently kept finding its way to our kitchen table, and thumbed through it like he didn’t have the whole thing memorized. “I know you want to cook,luce dei miei occhi.”
Light of my eyes. The Italian term of endearment was sweet, and I’d always appreciated it, but lately it felt like Papa’s love for me was leaving him blind.
“Wantto cook? Papa it’s much more than that. This is my dream, and I’m good at it, you know I am. You promised you’d support me in this.”
He sighed. “I know, and I do.”
Hearing the hesitancy in his tone, I eyed him, waiting for the “but.”
Instead, he let out another long, drawn-out sigh, finally relenting. “You’re right, it sounds like a great opportunity.” He plucked the phone from its wall base, untangling the cord as he held it out to me. “Call them and request an interview.”
Since I was an adult, I didn’t need my father’s permission, but knowing I had his support made me feel like I could leap over even the tallest of hurdles. And no work history in the food industry had been an ankle-breaker for sure. I needed a little pep talk to get through this.
“It says come ready to cook. If I could just get the opportunity to prepare some dishes for them…”
“You’ll not only get the job, you’ll win over their hearts as well.”
I accepted the phone, his endorsement giving me the courage I needed to make the call.
