“He looks… kind.” I smile.
“He’s a Sicilian don. Ruthless, but he’s allied to the Murrays.”
I turn sharply to face Cash. “I thought mafia dons only existed in the movies.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “They’re real.”
“And you’re friends with him?”
“He saved Victoria and Sienna from his own daughter.” He keeps his voice low; this conversation is for my ears only. “Despite what the movies tell you, people like Don Dragonetti don’t go around shooting innocent people. Their hearts beat the same way as yours and mine.”
I’m paying attention, I am, but it’s difficult when Cash’s lips are so close to mine, and all I can think about is kissing him.
“You like him.” It isn’t a question, it’s an observation.
“I have a lot of respect for him.”
I lick my lips, remind myself that kissing him here would not be good. For either of us. It would be like distracting the chef while the soup starter burns in the pan.
“Are all your guests mafia connected?”
He swallows a mouthful of champagne. “Not all.”
“Do you always drink champagne while you work?”
“This is a first for me too, Remy.”
His lips graze my ear, and I return my attention to the tables below, grateful that no one can see my nipples hardening through my dress at this angle.
Two tall broad-shouldered men wearing dark suits enter the casino and survey the scene as though they’re looking for someone who wronged them in a previous life. I can almost see their fingers twitching towards the guns in their pockets. Ireflexively sit back from the balustrade, doing what I always do: trying to remain invisible.
“Are they mafia?” I whisper.
Cash covers my hand with his. “I can understand why you would think that, but they’re NYPD.”
“They’re cops?” I blurt out. “Why are they here?”
“Just keeping a friendly eye on the proceedings.” He is completely unfazed.
“But you… This is a casino…”
Now that I’ve started, I realize where I was going with this. Casinos are notoriously rigged in the owner’s favor. I don’t know much about it, but every instinct is screaming at me that this must be illegal.
“Yes, and it’s good to have the law on my side.”
I don’t ask him to elaborate. There’s so much I don’t know about Cash’s business, stuff that I’ll perhaps learn in time, but not tonight. Tonight is about seeing him in his natural environment, a safari around the Titan to find out how he lives.
“You see the young guy on the last roulette table?”
I check out the man in an expensively casual jersey sweater and black pants. His hair is so black it looks painted on. His expression is solemn even from a distance.
“He must be mafia,” I whisper, conscious of other people on the mezzanine level.
“Correct. Russian family. The guy sitting next to him is his boyfriend.”
Blonde, wide smile, flamboyant in a purple floral shirt, open at the collar. I don’t know how I missed him.
“Looks can be deceiving,” Cash says. “He has helped us in the past, but I wouldn’t trust him to tell me the time.”
