Page 3 of Maximum Bet

“Maybe I can facilitate a meeting with Santos next weekend when he’s in Vegas for the wedding.” Leo puts the car into drive and pulls us out of the lot.

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter. With no other options, I acquiesce.

Great. Weddings and business never mix well.

Chapter 2

Cassandra

Bouquets of ivory roses, connected by streams of chiffon, line the aisle. Glass luminaries create a path along the champagne-colored runner leading to a garland-accented altar. Beyond the carved, wooden structure, a tall, stone archway frames a view of the sprawling Las Vegas Valley. It’s beginning to hit twilight hour, and the lights of The Strip are illuminated. Beyond the city, the surrounding mountains are shadowed by the orange-pink hues reflecting from the waning sun.

It’s everything a bride could dream of.

Amanda planned her wedding perfectly.

Settling in a chair, I cross my ankles, giving my feet a reprieve from my four-inch, strappy, silver Jimmy Choos. The shoes are a necessity to pull off the image I’m expected to project as Dominic Tariello’s fiancée. My knee bumps against the leg of my seven-month-pregnant best friend, Sadie, who’s dropped her jaw as she takes in our surroundings.

“I’ve never seen something so beautiful in my life,” she whispers, vision fixed on the Japanese wisteria hanging from beams above us. “It’s like a fairy tale.” Her diamond earrings, shownoff by the French twist she’s styled her long auburn hair in, glimmer in the candlelight as she shakes her head.

If we’re in a fairy tale, Sadie looks every part the courtier. Her gold wrap dress accentuates her growing belly, while a matching shimmering eyeshadow, purchased during our last trip to Sephora, makes her navy irises pop.

A bloom of warmth builds in my chest as I squeeze her hand. It wasn’t that long ago that Sadie was grappling with the idea of an unplanned pregnancy with her boyfriend, Lucas, a recently promoted associate in the Romano-Tariello organization.

Movement at the front of the room prompts me to turn and face the altar.

First to take his place is the priest, a man with graying hair, in a black suit with a clerical collar. He holds a book by his side, his gentle smile lines visible through his wire-frame glasses.

The next man to appear has the murmur of the crowd quieting to a dull whisper.

Marco Tariello stands tall, his muscular six-foot-four frame impossible to ignore.

Dominic’s brother, and the family’s head of security, is today’s groom, which has him attracting more attention than usual. Marco has added product to his curly, cropped, brown hair, slicking it back. In his tuxedo, with his boyish grin, he exudes a rakish, debonair aura. He rocks on his heels as he glances down the aisle, where his bride will soon appear.

But it’s the man who follows Marco who has my pulse accelerating and heat rushing to my cheeks. Despite Marco’s right to have the crowd’s attention today, I notice that I’m not the only one enamored by his brother.

Dominic takes his place at Marco’s side, with the two having only a one-inch difference in height; they make the poor priest look petite. I catch my lip between my teeth as Dominic adjuststhe cuffs of his sleeves before locking his hands in front of himself and facing the sea of guests.

Below his strong brow, Dominic’s brooding, hazel gaze scans the familiar faces of family, friends, and acquaintances. His jaw ticks when he notices business associates he would rather not have invited. When you’re the leader of the city’s most prominent organized crime family, certain niceties are expected. So, Dominic’s friends from Miami flew in yesterday to join in the celebration.

His full lips purse as he continues his perusal. I want to laugh out loud when my attention falls to his hair. The espresso-colored locks are neatly tamed and styled. It’s a look I don’t often see on him. Usually because I can’t keep my hands to myself and spend plenty of time running my fingers through the strands, creating a chaotic perfection of what one might refer to as sex hair.

It probably didn’t help that I created the exact look less than two hours ago when he had me pinned against the front door of our penthouse for one last rendezvous before we had to leave for pre-wedding festivities. He mussed my long mahogany locks as well. I had to find a curling iron in the bridal suite to fix the beachy waves.

Our eyes lock. The golds and greens dance in his irises as a smirk curls the side of his lips. I can only imagine the thoughts running through his mind are as lascivious as mine. He made it clear he was a fan of my formfitting, low-cut burgundy dress. The diamond choker, connected to a chain and pendant that hang between my breasts, only highlights the sultry look. I decorated my amber eyes with a smoky shadow, and my lipstick matches my dress. In Dominic’s words, I’m a temptation.

The music changes, the string quartet in the corner switching to Pachelbel’sCanon in D. As a collective, the sea of guests twiststoward the back of the terrace, where a set of wooden doors opens, and two flower girls begin their trek down the aisle. We laugh as the sisters, nieces of Amanda’s, compete to see who can toss their collection of petals first.

Next, bridesmaids in copper gowns stroll by. They hold bouquets of white roses, tied with shimmering ribbons. The string quartet lifts in a crescendo, and hanging on the arm of her father, Amanda takes her place.

Her A-line princess-cut dress with a sweetheart neckline accentuates her voluptuous figure. A blush colors her skin, giving her a radiant glow. Atop her curled, blonde hair sits a tiara and veil. I shift on my stilettos, suddenly unsure that my wedding will ever live up to Amanda and Marcos’s.

Before the altar, Amanda’s father kisses her cheek and hands her to Marco, whose smile is as bright as The Strip behind them.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as the ceremony begins. I pull tissue from my pocketbook to discreetly wipe them away. My gaze flicks toward Dominic, and I wonder how I’ll even make it through my own ceremony without ruining my makeup.

Fifteen minutes later, as the final rays of sunlight reflect in the sky, Amanda and Marco are introduced as husband and wife. Marco grabs her by the waist and gives her a kiss that has the priest shaking his head in disapproval. When they break apart, wide grins stretch across their faces as Marco lifts their hands and hollers, “Hell yeah!”

Sadie and I look to each other, rolling our eyes while we laugh, and applause rings out around us. The bride and groom run off to celebrate, as the rest of us shuffle away from our seats, toward the lower terrace where they are holding the cocktail hour.