I look myself in the eye and say it out loud, just for me, just once.
“I’m ready.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Roberto
I make my circuit because that’s the job.
Handshakes, names, a nod for the ones who like it short and sweet, a minute of small talk for the ones who need to feel seen. I can do this in my sleep. I don’t enjoy it. It isn’t about enjoyment. It’s about making sure people leave with the sense that this place runs on attention and respect.
“Counselor,” a councilman says, touching my elbow like we’re old friends.
“Councilman,” I say. “Good to see you here.” I schmooze, laying on the charm, and ease out of the conversation like an expert.
I move on before he even realizes what’s happened.
The floor is full without feeling cramped. The air is the perfect temperature—cool enough to make jackets comfortable, warm enough that a dress doesn’t need a wrap.
Dealers hold neat attention, not stiff, not lax. Security is where they should be, where no one notices them.
My brothers Luca, Antonio, and Giovanni are doing what they do.
Don Luca stands near the grand staircase with Elena on his arm. People look, then pretend not to. They never get to see him like this.
The Don doesn’t stroll a casino opening every weekend. He wears The Regent Clubcomfortably, carrying the pride of ownership andunquestioned authority expected of him. Elena stands brightly beside him in a gorgeous skin-hugging dress that sits on her perfectly. You’d never know she had a baby at home.
The former prosecutor is beaming at a board member from the hospital foundation. Luca listens like the man is the only one in the room. He’s good at that—making people feel important when he looks their way. Every few minutes, his eyes sweep the room. Mine meet his. A nod passes between us: good, good.
Alessandra is home with a sitter. It’s not the place for a one-year-old. Stephano is home, too. Giovanni’s eyes have that slight pull toward the kitchens anyway. He’s on the floor because duty demands it, but his mind is with wife Bianca, who is now marshalling her kitchen staff to make this opening a culinary experience not soon forgotten.
He shakes hands when he must, accepts congratulations with a polite curve of the mouth, then drifts toward a railing where he can stand and watch without being pulled into a circle. People leave him alone because they can feel he wants it that way.
Antonio is the opposite. He laughs, he shakes hands, slaps backs. He takes a woman’s hand and twirls her over the shiny marble like he’s showing her off. He’s harmless when he wants to be, and tonight he wants to be. He makes investors and partners feel like they backed a winner. That’s his gift. Antonio is the Family’s charmer.
Nephew Vito’s got a drink in his hand that he doesn’t need. I clock it, then clock the next one twenty minutes later. His smile is a little too bright; his jokes, a notch louder. I mark the bartender and the nearest security lead and make a mental note to run interference if someone says the wrong thing at the wrong time. With Vito, anger doesn’t need a reason, just an opening.
Vito’s brother Nico does what Nico always does. He’s present, quiet. He posts up on the edge of circles and lets silence do some of the talking. He makes a point of introducing himself to a pair of small-business owners I flagged last week—people who built their places the hard way and will appreciate being treated like they matter in a room full of titles. He doesn’t overdo it. He never does.
Mostly because he doesn’t want to.
Their sister Caterina is a force in high heels. She’s got a glass she doesn’t drink from and a list of names in her head. She works the donors with real warmth because she means it.
She points at an usher with two fingers, and the usher moves like he can read her mind. She leans into a conversation with the tourism board and somehow answers a question froman AV tech at the same time. Her dress looks simple; the work she’s doing is not.
I watch for Olivia in the gaps.
She slides through a doorway with an earpiece whispering to her all night. She’s in black, which translates as staff to those in the know, and reads as elegant to those who aren’t.
She touches a server’s elbow and shifts the tray height an inch. She checks a flower arrangement with her eyes, keeps moving. A vendor stops her. She answers, points, thanks him. Someone from Facilities comes up behind her with a question.
Then she slides through another door and disappears.
I don’t catch her eye. I don’t try to. I’m not here to make her job harder.
A couple from the County offices steps into my path. I shift gears.
“Beautiful space,” the woman says, taking in the chandeliers.
